October 29, 1950 – September 13, 2025
He was a Titan among Giants…
Even as a young child, I remember the Scales of Justice on display in our home. My father’s love affair with the U.S. Constitution and the laws that define this nation began long before I was born and only grew stronger with time. In his courtroom, the words “In God We Trust” adorned the great wall behind his bench — a fitting tribute, given his devotion to St. Francis of Assisi, who believed that divine law and the salvation of all souls were above civil law. My father was incredibly religious. He was also incredibly predictable… with the exception of how he left this earth.
Every morning, by 4:30 a.m., the smell of his coffee filled the house like an alarm clock. And if that didn’t wake you up, his loud televisions, Sid in the Morning on the radio, and his booming exit out the door certainly did. He was the first one at the gym, a regular at 7-Eleven in St. James by 7:00a.m., and out the door for work by 8:00. Saturday evening meant Mass. Sunday night meant Life, Liberty & Levin at 8:00p.m.
My dad knew the importance of laughter, especially when life was stressful. In his courtroom, he understood that empathy and humanity always came first. The law was beautiful — but only if the people who stood before it left feeling the same way. He cracked jokes at the start of trials, lightened tense conferences, and quoted lines from his favorite movies — especially My Cousin Vinny — to explain the law to juries. His courtroom was his stage, and he treated every case with the gravity of an Oscar-worthy performance.
One of the most profound lessons he taught me was this: never let anyone see you coming. Be the surprise that others underestimate. He wanted me to laugh often and to find someone who would always make me laugh… which I absolutely did. The last text he sent me asked, “Do you need any help?” He worried about me because of my workload. I love my work, as he did his.
But I think, in retrospect, he’d remind me…he’d remind us all: that work isn’t what matters most. He’d tell me that life is fleeting, and that every day is a gift — one to be treated with the utmost respect. He’d urge us all to leave the world better than we found it — but to remember that true legacy is not measured in achievements, it is measured in the love we give our family, and the certainty they carry of always being cherished.
I will miss him most in the quiet moments. We could sit together on the couch in silence without ever needing small talk. Our conversations alternated between movie quotes and profound philosophy, depending on what we were watching. I will remember the dad only my sisters and I got to know — the man who sat on the stoop, floated in the pool, or sat by the beach and asked, “Who’s got it better than us?” The man who taught Joelle and me, at ages five and seven, how to fry bologna in a skillet. The man who told me I’d turn into a mermaid if I stayed in the water long enough and later cheered me on as I swam across the Long Island Sound.
I will miss his Avanti cigars — which were everywhere. I will miss covering for him with Mom and picking up the chewed gum he left on the counters. I will cherish the stories he told me about his grandparents, so often that I grew up emulating his grandmother. I will miss the way he’d sit quietly while everyone else talked over one another, and then — just when we expected him to say something profound — he’d say something ridiculous, like how the Wicked Witch of the West got a bad rap because “I’d be mad too if someone dropped a house on my sister.” And we would all stop talking and laugh with him.
My dad would be upset that he didn’t have more time with us — in fact, he’s probably really annoyed that certain people outlived him. But I know he’s also seeking out those he wished to meet: Jesus first and foremost, Sinatra second, maybe Plato, and he’s definitely excited to talk philosophy with Charlie Kirk.
Most of all, he’s reunited with his parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles — and he is experiencing the joy of eternity with them. He always reminded us of one unshakable rule of faith: if even one person loves you on earth, God loves you and will embrace you in Heaven. By that measure, my father is surrounded by boundless love, because he was cherished by so many.
So, as you mourn my father — the husband, brother, uncle, mentor, colleague, the Judge, or his favorite title of all… Pop! — don’t dwell in sadness. He’d want you to laugh together. Don’t get me wrong, he’s enjoying the pomp and circumstance, but he would want you to honor him by being decent to one another. Be the lawyer who cares for your clients. Be the judge who doesn’t judge people. Be a faithful husband, wife, friend, or partner. And above all, believe in a higher power.
One of our last conversations was about how desensitized society has become. He believed in Heaven, and he believed in Hell — and he worried those truths had been forgotten by younger generations. But he remained an optimist, always faithful in good triumphing over evil.
So, honor him by living as he did: striving to be a little better each day. To be honest, kind, faithful, and decent. To be a jurist of the people, and a servant of God.
Justice Garguilo, 74, had been serving as the Presiding Justice of the Appellate Term of the Supreme Court for the Ninth and Tenth Judicial Districts. Over his sixteen years on the bench, Garguilo was assigned the Coordinating Justice for New York’s landmark Coordination Opioid Litigation, resulting in forty defendants and $1.7 billion in settlements across sixty-two counties. He serves as an Assistant District Attorney in Suffolk County from 1977 to 1979, entering the private sector in 1980 to help found a law practice that focused on negligence claims, criminal cases, commercial disputes, and administrative matters. He lectured before judges, attorneys, law students, and medical students from SUNY Stony Brook. He was also involved in the Suffolk County Bar Association, where he served on many committees and supported the local legal community in many ways.
Garguilo, of St. James, is survived by his wife of fifty-two years, Angela, his three daughters and sons-in-law, and his five grandchildren.
Editor’s Note: Justice Garguilo’s bio in bold was sourced from the Suffolk County Courts’ obituary.
