As I sit down to write these words, I find myself both filled with gratitude and overwhelmed by the loss of my Superman. Dr. Charles Camillo Fenzi, my father, my hero, drew his last breath peacefully at home, surrounded by loved ones, on January 21, 2025, at the age of 83, after a hard-fought battle with cancer. His was a life lived in service, in love, and in unwavering commitment to everyone around him. As my son so beautifully stated: “He was everything to everyone.” While his physical presence may no longer be with us, the legacy of his kindness, grace, and spirit continues to touch the lives of everyone who was blessed enough to have crossed his path.
Born in the small mining town of Morenci, Arizona, my father grew up with a deep love for western culture. His high school days at the Orme School dude ranch would shape him into the adventurous spirit we all knew, admired, and loved. But it wasn’t just his love for horses and wide-open spaces that defined him; it was his zest for life, his sense of adventure — he was always ready to say “yes” — his love for his family, and his lifelong dedication to making a difference wherever he went.
Dad’s journey took him from the University of Arizona, where he found thrill as an ambulance driver, to the battlefronts of Vietnam as a river boat lieutenant. He served two tours that profoundly impacted his soul, encountering the horrors of war with courage. Two incidents in particular inspired him to pursue a career as a doctor — seeing the Navy medics in action and having to deliver a local woman’s baby (by himself) on a boat deck. It was between these tours, while on leave in San Diego, that he met the love of his life, my mother, Vera Hurt. Their love story, born during a tumultuous time, was both a testament to their strength and a source of inspiration. Marrying in Hawai‘i between deployments, they forged a bond that would last nearly 55 years until her death in 2023.
After the war, Dad’s desire to become a doctor led the family to Brussels, Belgium, where he attended medical school. This chapter in his life instilled a lifelong love for culture, culinary delights, and the richness of human connection. Watching him embrace new experiences taught me that life’s greatest joys come from exploration and appreciation of our world and all its people. He was engaged and present and knew everyone’s name and their families and what their stories were. He knew how to make you feel like you were the most important and valued person in the room.
After medical school, we moved to New York while he completed his residency in Connecticut. Dad then chose to open his practice in Roswell, New Mexico, an area in great need of doctors. He became a beloved family physician for the next three decades. He and Mom, who ran his practice, were pillars of that community. The ability to see generations of families grow, even delivering the babies of those he had delivered, was a source of immense pride and satisfaction for him. He was especially proud that he was a pioneer in caring for Roswell’s first HIV/AIDS patient at a time when the disease was new and there was no treatment. Everyone loved him not only for his medical expertise and leadership skills but also for the genuine care he gave to every patient. His employees loved him as well. Though he retired from Roswell nearly 20 years ago, what a testament that the love for him in New Mexico is still very evident today.
Retirement did little to curb Dad’s drive to serve. After he and Vera moved to Santa Barbara, he lasted about a week before he was actively looking for a new opportunity to make a difference. He had several jobs before finally landing at Santa Barbara Neighborhood Clinics (SBNC). His commitment to the Neighborhood Clinics as chief medical, financial, and executive officer transformed the organization, ensuring that compassionate care was its cornerstone.
Dad always maintained a “patient-centered” philosophy, and his favorite part of his myriad of duties was always seeing patients. I have heard so many stories of programs and partnerships that he championed: SBNC expansions, CALM, Direct Relief, Cottage Hospital, and so many more. None of this came from him, of course. Dad was never one to accept personal recognition. He always deflected praise with “It was my great team.”
The epitome of dignity and the ultimate professional, Dad had a fun side, too, and loved a good joke. And then there was the flair of his unbelievable tie collection. It held more than 250 neckties, and each had a story of where it came from, who gave it to him, and its significance.
After Dad’s cancer diagnosis in 2022, he attempted to retire again, but he humorously dubbed retirement his “only failure.” His work with Direct Relief and his volunteer efforts at Cottage Hospital personified his belief that helping others was life’s greatest calling.
Dad’s capacity to inspire extended to our family. While we learned at an early age to share this great man with the rest of the world, every moment he spent with us was filled with love, laughter, and learning. His adventures with his grandchildren — Harley, Luther, Madison, and Logan — filled his home with stories, sports, games, chaos, and much joy. Whether on biking expeditions with his WLPA group, enjoying zoo visits, walks on the breakwater, or merely soaking up the sun on his patio, Dad lived life fully. His ability to embrace life’s simple pleasures, from good food and drink to watching Westerns, made him relatable, approachable, and beloved by both old friends and new.
Preceded in death by his parents, Warren and Eleanor Fenzi; his sister Louise; and his cherished wife and my mom, Vera, Dad’s absence leaves a void that I have no words to express. Yet, his spirit lives on through myself and my brother, Stephen, and our families; his siblings, Warren S. Fenzi, David Fenzi, Joan Fenzi, and their families; as well as his many cousins and extended family members.
There are so many things I will miss: our harbor walks to look at all the sailboats; stopping at railroad crossings, hoping to spot a train with lots of engines; watching sports or the next episode of whatever series we were watching; Saturday trips to the fish market and burritos for lunch; and, of course, catching up on current events and maintaining our “Swiftie” status.
My father’s life was a masterclass in compassion and humility. Though his battle with leukemia was long and taxing, he faced it with the same courage and grace that defined all aspects of his life. His only response was: “It is what it is.” In his final act of selflessness, Dad donated his body to UCLA medical school. It was his wish that even in death, he would contribute to the world of science and learning, illustrating once more his determination to serve a purpose greater than himself.
A Community Celebration of Life takes place at Direct Relief on Sunday, March 23, 1-4 p.m. In lieu of flowers, consider honoring his memory with a donation to the Santa Barbara Neighborhood Clinics, Direct Relief, or VNA Health. Go out there and make a difference: volunteer, donate blood, choose kindness, let go of hate, give grace, smile, and spread more love.
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