Looking Back

As I grew up in Highwood, visiting my friends was like being in my own home: the same foods were served, I sat on the same style furniture, and I saw pictures of relatives on their walls posted in a fashion similar to mine at home. The promotional calendars of the local Italian insurance firm hung right next to the pictures of the pope in all our kitchens. My friends’ parents spoke broken English with the same Italian accent as my parents. They imposed identical rules and doled out similar discipline. We all saw each other at Sunday Mass, after …

Twenty-eight miles north of Chicago, Highwood was home to a large, Italian-immigrant community from the early 20th century up to the late 1980s. Many families from our home province of Modena settled there. As is usually the case in mass immigration, it started with families calling connected families, who in turned called others to their new home. Highwood was a place that offered plentiful job opportunities for men with trade backgrounds — that was because of Fort Sheridan. Fort Sheridan was home to the United States Fifth Army, a base supporting 5,000 military and civilian personnel at its peak. It …

The bus to Pisa from Piandelagotti negotiated the tight turns down the mountainside. With every passing kilometer my parents knew there was no turning back. They stayed to themselves. My mother kept crying while my father was stoic, and my sister and I remained silent. Pisa would be the first stop. There, we would change buses to continue on the final bus leg to Genova, the Italian port city. We stayed the night in a hotel near the docks.  Early the next day, we boarded the Andrea Doria, the principal Italian, luxury ocean liner. All travel arrangements had been made …

World War II reached from end to end of the Italian peninsula, leaving devastation in its wake. With the Allies’ aid and support through the Marshall Plan in 1946, structural reconstruction and governmental reform began. The monarchy was abolished by popular vote. Benito Mussolini’s death minimized the Fascist Party. America supported the democratic forces in Italy and worked to reduce the rising power of the Communist Party. Political and social dynamics began to stabilize. Italy became a democratic republic in 1946, and the people elected a president. By 1947, this new government ratified the constitution and promulgated it in 1948. …

The Irish Dominican nuns at St. Rita’s in the South Bronx were tough, even the pretty ones. After Sr. Catherine Michael would finish speaking with a parent at our first-grade classroom door, her broad lovely smile darkened into a scowl as she turned to face us. We had inevitably been chattering behind her back, and she immediately rearmed herself with the pointer or yardstick she had left on her desk. Richie, my first friend in school, had a markedly oblong head and would tremble with excitement in anticipation of fun, such as when we played Americans against Germans in the …

In her own unobtrusive way, Mom had long been preparing me for school. In a letter my grandfather wrote her from Italy when I was four and a half, he was glad to hear I spent entire days “writing.” He was referring to my filling a sheet of paper with rows of little vertical lines in imitation of the lines my mother had made on the page. Now, a year and a half later, while she was reading her weekly letter from her father, I asked her whether it was hard to learn how to read. “No, it’s not hard, …

I was a reasonably docile child who misbehaved only occasionally, though among the first things I did when I could grasp a pencil was to use it to punch holes in the faces of all the photos in our family album — one in the mouth and one in the eyes. I also acquired the habit of sticking my tongue out, and my father once love-tapped me on the lips to discourage it. After that, I still did it, but only while cupping my hand over my mouth and crouching on the far side of the washing machine from my …

My aunt Margaret had blue eyes, a blue dress and a pair of hairbrushes backed with blue velvet, all of which made sense because her birthstone was the sapphire for September. She lived with us in our Bronx apartment, but when she was in her early 20s in June 1953, she decided to revisit her native Italy. My aunt’s departure from a Hudson River pier is my earliest memory, occurring well before my third birthday. I remember my father cradling me in one arm and telling me to wave goodbye to his youngest sister. All I could see high up …

Franco entered the barn to gather the cows and lead them out to graze.  A few chickens followed him clucking and prancing at his feet. The 14-year-old boy gave three crisp, high-pitched whistles announcing his presence to the cows, which rustled in their stalls, turning their heads toward the piercing noise. They had been milked three hours ago and knew it was time to go outside. “Good morning cows! A new day is here. More fresh grass to eat and milk to give. You have me today so be on your best behavior!” Franco unlatched them one by one from …

La Signora Vincenza Tomasello and her five daughters were busy shopping, baking and preparing their home for visitors on a very special day, a truly glorious day. The women were thrilled because it was March 19 — St. Joseph’s Day — but it was so much more than that. The year was 1946, World War II had finally ended and their men were home at last. The Tomasello women were preparing for their annual St. Joseph’s Table, and every detail had to be perfect. Three tiers tall and topped with a statue of San Giuseppe, the table would be laden …