Petrakis, Emanuel T.

August 24th, 1924 – February 4th, 2023

A Life Of Dedication . . . to his Family, Friends and Country.

Emanuel "Pete" Petrakis was born and raised in Chicago by Greek immigrant parents; Titos and Elpitha (Lagouvardos) along with surviving brother Myron and two deceased sisters; Helen and Koula. Graduating high school during the early years of World War II, he enlisted in the United States Navy where he proudly served as a Naval Aviator. Not long after his years of service he met and married his loving wife of 42 years, Francis G (Murray). They became longtime residents of Elmwood Park where they raised their family; Mary (John) Damore, Jeannie (Joseph) Banno, Thomas (Cheryl) Petrakis, Deborah (Eric) Kallback, and James Koke-Petrakis. Adding to the ever-growing family, they welcomed seven cherished grandchildren; Denise (Dee Dee), Joey, Cassie, Christopher, Melissa, Brian and Scott; and eleven great grandchildren.

After the passing of Francis in 1986, Emanuel eventually remarried and shared 31 years with Janet D. Koke-Petrakis, a retired teacher, also of Elmwood Park. Together they traveled the world, always eager to return home to their enthusiastic and obedient four-legged friends, George, Vinnie, Cleo and Caesar, Mackie, and Murphy. Janet passed away in November of 2017. Thankfully, both she and Pete are survived by everyone's favorite Scottish Terrier, the infamous Franklin DR.

Private Interment at Elmwood Cemetery Mausoleum.

Donations to Pete's last residence are encouraged.

Chicago Home Resident Benefit Fund

% Illinois Veteran's Home at Chicago

4250 N Oak Park Ave. Oak Park, IL 60634

His Story.

On any given Sunday in the land known as Elmwood Park neighbors could be found lingering in their backyards as they listened to a whimsicle, yet almost virtuoso sound melodicly eminating from a curiously mysterious place - our father's garage. You see, long before the adoption of the current term "man cave" our father defined his personal Kingdom by declaring absolute rule over anything and everything that happened within, or was stored in his maticulously organized, single-car garage, and the abundantly appointed tool room located in the basement of our home. It was within the confines of these two sacred spaces that Emanuel, often called "Pete", would indulge in a variety of personal passions, many of which were never seen by outsiders.

There was model airplane building, a huge collection of antique HO Trains, a flair for detailed woodworking often featured another artistic expression, the tiedious and often dangerous craft of cut stained glass. On rare occassions Pete would quietly reveal a completed piece, but these moments were few and far between because of all the other projects and distractions needing his attention.

Always running after five children – their endless games, practices, schools and shows. Our father, the primary driver of the family, always making the effort to get to know our friends and their families as he shuttled all of us wherever we needed to go. Our journey through childhood filled our home with every type of Scout, athlete, artist, a scholar and ballerina; from first boyfriends to first after school jobs, and even our first naval recruit – we all were allowed and encouraged to explore our individual interests knowing we would each be celebrated . . . even on those occassions when we fell down.

Pete's practice of unconditional support extended far beyond our family as our house became a "safe haven" for many. Co-workers, friends and relatives - anyone whose choices or lifestyle placed them at odds with those they cared for would take up residence in our home until the issue was resolved. To this day our father is praised with deep appreciation by those he lifted up and mentored as they worked through the hardships of finding their place in the world. Everyone knew his time (and his heart) were always available because, as he used to say; "it costs nothing and hurts no one to simply listen to someone pour their heart out. And sometimes, just being heard is all they really need!"

Continually remodeling our home, the projects never seemed to end. I recall one holiday season our mother greeted guests using the term "mid-century dropcloth" as explaination of all the organized chaos. The Petrakis Family construction zone – raising the roof to accomidate the always expanding needs of raising five very unique kids. Yet, no matter how hectic, at the end of each day, the rides complete, the tools finally put away . . . he could be found splashing away his aches and pains in our inviting, refreshing and sparkling clean backyard swimming pool. A safe, familiar evening gathering place where everyone could relax, reconnect and simply check in.

These nights eventually came to an end with our father closing up the pool and doucing the outdoor lights . . . all the while as that captivating, melodic sound could once again be heard.

What was it, you ask?

It's the extraordinary, multi-octive delivery of what seemed like a full sympony of sound. The irresistable, magical music of . . . our father's unforgettable virtuoso whistle!

He and his whimsicle music will remain in our hearts forever.