"He was an inexhaustible repository of humorous stories about the political world," said Common Pleas Judge Lisa Richette. "His recall was perfect, and he could immediately launch into one of the innumerable tales in his repertory, telling it always in a unique combination of dialect and his own turn of phrase. He was an incredibly generous, warm and loving man."
"He shoulda' been some kind of president," said Rita Wright, his sister. ''That's how great he was."
She said her brother was the natural leader of the family. The strong one. Nearly 6 feet tall and a burly 240 pounds, Joe the Goat's gravel-voiced authority went unchallenged.
He had been a fighter in his youth, taking amateur bouts as "Joe Barry." But his mother found out, Rita recalled,"and made him quit because she didn't like violence."
Raised in the 15th and Moore streets neighborhood, Joe didn't get much schooling after leaving Drexel Elementary School because the family needed another income. Joe did fancy tile work and other kinds of jobs.
The guys on the corner starting calling him Joe the Goat because, he would say years later, he sounded like a goat when he talked. The name became official when, a few years later, a goat being taken to the slaughterhouse broke loose and Joe grabbed it by the horns and wrestled it down before the police arrived.
When he wasn't holding forth at the Messina Club on 10th Street near Tasker, politicians and attorneys would seek out his company. Sometimes they would ask him to join them on an excursion to the Poconos and Joe would bring along his own hot plates and cooking utensils and food so he could whip up special dishes. He learned to cook from his father, Anthony, who had been a caterer.
