We’re truly sorry for your loss. Our thoughts and prayers are with your family. I have fond memories of discussing the independent pharmacy business with Marco. He was a wonderfully caring, smart and exceptional man both personally and professionally. He will be missed.
Many blessings to the Cutinello family,
Tammy, Peyton, Paige, Brooke and Sydney Riley

Hi Neighbor!, was my usual greeting upon arriving at Marc’s open garage door so as not to sneak up on him while he tinkered with his plants or some fertilizer concoction. I would walk down the street whenever I saw the open door to see if he was working or he left the door open. He’d say I didn’t have to help every time I came by, but then he’d find some thing or other to put away or take down from a high shelf. Meanwhile, we'd find some "pressing national or local news" about which to talk.
We made trips out to the garden center and Marc was happy just to look at everything. We both would buy more than we could plant. We would check each other’s gardening skills. Marc was much more methodical than I.
Two summers ago, we made a trip to the doctor’s office for Marc's "chicken shots" in Manahawkin, which co-incidentally is next door to Aldi’s grocery. After the grocery order, we went over the bridge to LBI for a fish sandwich and to sit by the beach for a few minutes. It sure made the trip to the doctor more enjoyable.
God rest you, good man.
Chris Lamanna

I followed my dad into the profession of pharmacy, and I think he was always proud that we had that connection. But the part of him that I carry with me now is the gardener that he taught me to be.

I remember every garden my father ever had. I remember eating tomatoes off the vine as a small child in White Meadow Lake. I remember the rock garden in Roselle, full of white stone pathways and beds of creeping phlox.

There were eggplant, tomato and pepper plants in dad’s garden at the back of the yard in Clark, with it’s compost pile and shed full of gardening tools. In Manchester, he grew his flower and vegetable plants from seeds started under lights in the garage. Every inch of that house’s foundation once hosted some kind of growing thing.

My father taught me how to start seeds, how to pinch off the new growth on the mums to trick them into making more flowers, and how to dead-head the flowers so they would continue to bloom. He showed me how to split a perennial, trim a shrub, and grow a new plant from a cutting.

I have had a garden of one sort or another in every house I’ve lived in. My dad helped plant some of them. Every time he came to visit there was a plant in the trunk; a tuberous begonia he wintered in the garage, a petunia he grew from seed, or cuttings from a flowering vine. He brought concoctions to repel pests, fertilize, and adjust PH. On most visits, he would stop in the garden first, inspect and trim and weed, then come inside to say hello and dispense some gardening advice.

In all of these gardens, his and mine, I learned lessons that apply to more than just growing plants. I learned to appreciate nature’s beauty, but I also learned about patience, and perseverance, and putting in the work that ultimately leads to the reward. I learned living things need loving care and that a garden not tended will go to seed. I learned that what you reap depends on how you nurture what you sow. I learned to take pleasure in what I have grown and to share the fruits of my labor.

These last few weeks have shown me that there is also solace in my garden, comfort in the simple tasks of tending it, and a connection to my father that will last as long as I nurture the gardener he taught me to be.

Karen Kamenetsky

I grew up at my Dad’s drugstore. I should say drugstores, my sister tells me that at one point there were 7 stores affiliated with Rita Pharmacy. When I was small, I would be dropped behind the counter at Cranford or the old Roselle store when there was no one home to babysit. When I was in college, I was the day manager in Linden. In between, I spent most of my time at the big store in Roselle. That’s where my dad taught me how to be the person I am today.

The flagship store in Roselle was built in a grocery store footprint, it was big. At the front right corner of the store were the cards and gifts. My very first job was making bows for gift wrapping, on an old, manual bow machine. 5 cents per bow, he told me, make as many as you can for Christmas wrapping, and you can earn money to buy gifts. I made so many bows they probably lasted until I went to college. That taught me about work – about the satisfaction of getting things done, with nothing but your own stamina in your way. Kind of how my dad went back to the drugstore every night after he had dinner with us, because there was more work, and Lord the man had stamina.

Opposite gifts were the promotional items. In August that meant school supplies – my favorite. My Dad taught me himself how to block the shelves so they looked nice – every item in every row of every shelf – till it’s done. He taught me how to look up the prices and use the pricing gun to put out the new stock. That was the first time I got to work there in the store with him. To see the pride he took in every inch of that store, and the respect with which everyone there treated him. “That’s his daughter,” employees would whisper, and I would smile back to convey – yeah, so you better not slip up.

At the back of the store was the pharmacy and the over the counter medicines. That’s where I learned about helping people. When my dad was the pharmacist, everyone wanted to talk to him. I watched him help scared new moms decide if they should call the doctor, and elderly customers understand their insurance or how to use their medication. He always came down from behind the counter to help people, talk to people, shake their hand. I learned the most about my Dad there, I learned that behind the hours and hours of work there was a reason – there were people who needed help. I marveled at how much he knew, and how generous he was with his time. You could see that was what drove him, and why the drugstore was a hub in the community. My Dad created that place – his sheer will and his heart and his hands.
Upstairs from the pharmacy was of course, the business offices. I worked there too – and my dad taught me himself how to count the cashier drawers, do the accounts receivable, prepare bank deposits, tick and tie. I heard him in his office, making plans, making decisions, and having the difficult conversations you sometimes have when you are in charge. That’s where I learned the big picture and very real challenges of running a business, and my respect for what my Dad had built grew even more.
The middle aisle of the store was an open space. A place where my Dad often met or talked to customers and salesmen. My favorite memory of that space, though, is my dad taking me to the store hours after closing one night, because I had a physics project due and I needed space to throw little cardboard projectiles and record measurements. By the time I’d gotten that far in the project it was too dark outside and I was in a panic, so my Dad drove me back to the store (after working 12 or 14 hours there already that day) and turned on the lights so we could throw cardboard cylinders with reckless abandon in that big center aisle. My dad would do anything for his kids, at any hour of the night, and he would kind of enjoy it. I learned that from him too.
Sometimes people ask me from where I get my relentless work ethic, attention to detail, willingness to help, love of seeing big projects through – I tell them I grew up in my dad’s drugstore. When they think I’m nuts for helping with a kid project in the middle of the night – I laugh and think of my dad throwing those cardboard cylinders. And when they ask why all my plants are always half dead when my dad had such a magic touch with all things green – well what can I say – some things you can’t teach.