Aldobrando Piacenza is acclaimed as an American folk artist who inspired both art students and artists alike. In 2007, his replica of the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception sold at Christie’s Auction house in New York for more than $10,000. He is famous for his “outsider art” of birdhouses modeled in the shape of both famous and simple churches. These are cherished by collectors nationwide. He also painted in primitive folk art style, often on wood surfaces or murals. In the 1960s, art collectors and art students came from the Art Institute of Chicago to visit his home in Highwood to be inspired by his art.

Born in 1888 in Sant’Anna Pelago, he came from modest means. His parents worked the land and raised cows in an old stone house called Casa del Collo. Before coming to America at a young age, he had spent time with his father’s uncle who was a priest in nearby Fanano. Don Giovanni Battista was the fourth in four generations of priests in the family. Don Fortunato was Aldo’s father’s uncle who also was a priest. Both had great influence on Aldo. Don Fortunato willed his library to the family and it was from there that Aldo was exposed to the classics.

Like most family farms in the area, it didn’t produce enough income for the Piacenza household. In those days it was customary for the men to go to work far away to earn money for the family. Aldo and his father went to work in Campiglia, in the gulf of Spezia when Aldo was 14 years old. It was on this trip that they toured the cities of Lucca and Pisa, where Aldo had his first exposure to fine Italian church structures, including the duomo and leaning tower of Pisa.

One month after their return, Aldo set off for America with others from the village in order to find work. In his memoir, which he translated to English in 1959, he described rough seas the entire voyage, “the longest seventeen days of my life.” When he arrived by train to Chicago, he was welcomed by Italian friends from his native village. Even though he was underage, he was able to find work stamping bread loaves at the National Biscuit Company for a salary of $5 per week. Later, he sold strawberries in the streets of Chicago. He became injured when he was hit by a Chicago streetcar while riding his bicycle to work at a bakery. His recovery took four months. From then on he walked with a limp.

He held several different low-skilled jobs, working in hotels, bakeries, and saloons. In 1908 he moved to Highwood, where he took a room and board position at Lake Forest College. In 1918 he served in the U.S. Army. He went back and forth to Italy, often visiting its beautiful cities and their famous churches. At the age of 36 he proposed to Rosina from his village and they married shortly after.

In the late 1920s, he purchased a store at the corner of Highwood Avenue and Green Bay Road in Highwood. It had a soda fountain and he sold sundry items, Italian newspapers, magazines and books. At that time, there were already plenty of Italians living in Highwood, working in nearby Lake Forest and along Sheridan Road. Even though there was an economic depression, his little store prospered. In 1932, Aldo was returning from a trip to Italy and was faced with the notification that the Highwood Bank, where he maintained his accounts, had failed and Aldo had lost all his money. Aldo adorned his Ice Cream Parlour menu with his own original poem commemorating his catastrophe:

Uncertain and burdened by the hard events
Which keep taking place,
Showing very little sympathy for us.
The much-awaited Hoover recovery
Still has not arrived.
On an unusual earthly face,
With an empty wallet in our bosoms.
These bankers dealt with our money
Like garbage collectors.
The happiest are those who have drunk all the money away.

In 1937, with funds borrowed from the First National Bank of Lake Forest, approved by Vice President Philip Spaidell, he and Rosina purchased a home. They were able to rent out the upstairs apartment to meet most of the mortgage payment. In August 1944, Aldo paid off the mortgage. With the payment, he included a generous thank-you note to Mr. Spaidell and a photo of a “miniature copy model exacted in every detail” of the church and bell tower, his home and barn in Sant’Anna Pelago. He told Mr. Spaidell that the models were on display in front of his Highwood home. This 1944 entry was the first mention of Piacenza’s model building.

Ruth Horwich, a respected art collector and former chairwoman of the Hyde Park Art Center, had visited the Piacenzas often in the late 1960s. Mrs. Piacenza typically offered up a homemade luncheon and Aldo provided the best Italian wine. Ms. Horwich described Rosina as the stronger personality, taking charge with the organization of the household and Aldo as “shy, retiring in nature, but delighted in showing his workshop and his garden.”

Mr. Piacenza was known around town as being friendly and an extremely intelligent man, even though he had no formal education. His passion was building his intricate birdhouses. He also painted Italian inspired scenery, and according to Ermanno Amidei, who once rented an upstairs apartment from him, “every wall in his house was adorned with his artwork. Every wall had a painting. His yard was filled with birdhouses, which he gave away to friends and visitors. After his passing, his wife gave them away as well.”

Today Aldo is known nationally as a self-taught American folk artist. In 1971, the Hyde Park Art Center held an Aldo Piacenza exhibition. The curator recreated the Piacenza’s backyard, where the birdhouses were raised on poles above the picket-fenced garden. There were 55 birdhouses, which included cathedrals and churches and 55 paintings.

His birdhouses were created from inexpensive pine or fir wood, which he crafted in his basement workshop, then painted with simple paint colors. As Ermanno remembers, “he had many different wood crafting tools, all in miniature for his purposes.”

In 1979, after his death, Aldo was featured in an exhibition of “Outsider Art” at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago. Recently, the Highwood Public Library displayed Piacenza’s work. Italians within our community are proud to have one of our own achieve such honorable notoriety.

I would like to thank Ermanno Amidei, Joe Bernardi and Yvonne Pasquesi for their contributions in oral and written information. Much of the information included was obtained from the Dissertation of William F. Brooks Jr., in his candidacy of Master of Arts Degree at New York University, 1995.

The history of the game of bocce as described by the United States Bocce Federation recounts an elaborate evolution of the game since 5600 B.C., when a similar game was played in ancient Egypt with polished stones. Somehow the Ancient Greeks learned to play the game in approximately 800 B.C. It is purported that the Romans learned from the Greeks and spread the game throughout the Empire. Some claim that they played with coconuts brought from Africa, then later with balls carved from olive wood.

Emperor Augustus is credited with expanding the game as a pastime of the ruling class. Historical figures such as Greek physician Hippocrates as well as Galileo and DaVinci are believed to have played the game for enjoyment and its health benefits of relieving arthritis.

As the game spread throughout Europe, it began to get a bad rap. Apparently, the game was interfering with military exercises as well as the work the peasants were supposed to be accomplish because they were too busy playing bocce. King Carlos the IV and V prohibited the playing of bocce, and in 1576 the Republic of Venice publicly condemned the sport and issued fines and imprisoned players who were caught. The Catholic Church also officially prohibited its clergy and members from playing, claiming that bocce was a means of gambling. The game waned, but eventually experienced a resurgence when Garibaldi popularized it while he worked to unify and nationalize Italy in the late 1800s.

The history of the Highwood Bocce Club has more humble beginnings, but no less interesting. As I started interviewing some of the wiser members of our community, their oral history helped me learn the following.

Since Italians settled in Highwood in the early 1900s, the game of bocce came with them. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, there were several groups of men playing bocce in large open spaces. One of our community’s favorite characters, Dr. Bernardi, helped to foster the sport. He and a group of men played on Sunday afternoons in the field behind his office building. Arturo Amidei hosted another group of guys. Bozo and Chick played with a group where the City Hall is now. Eventually, along with the help of Bruno Bertucci and Gabriel Viti, the men petitioned the mayor for a place to play. Mayor Fidel Ghini offered a nice piece of property along the tracks that the city had just acquired. If they wanted, the men could play there. So, in 1967, on an open field along the tracks, players began to create bocce courts.

In the early 1970s, the players, along with the blessing of the mayor, replaced their courts with a building they pretty much built themselves. “Within the community, we had every type of contractor,” Leo Ori explained, “every field from start to finish: concrete, masonry, bricklayers, plumbers, etc.” And so the Highwood Bocce Club began its existence. There have been several additions in the intervening decades to bring the building to its current state. Most recently, the roof of the court building was raised and the courts were refabricated with state-of-the-art synthetic court material. The contractor and the materials came from Italy, helping to create some of the best in the country.

Mario Massa has been instrumental in growing the sport, both in Highwood and in the United States. He is a past president of the U.S. Bocce Federation, and has been honored for organizing U.S. participation in the sport. He has even received a medal from Romolo Rizzoli, the president of World Bocce Federation in Rome, in honor of everything he accomplished. Mario was on the team in 1987 that first represented the United States during international play in Italy. Since then, has represented America at least a half a dozen times in international competitions. He was instrumental in bringing the Bocce World Cup to Highwood in 1996. Sixteen nations were represented, with the Highwood team coming in sixth overall. In his honor, the Highwood Bocce Club planned the first annual Mario Massa Open Bocce Tournament in April of this year.

Today, the Highwood Bocce Club is a meeting place for Italians and Americans alike. According to current president Paul Giannetti, membership exceeds more than 420, and the game draws men and women who play during open court hours or on leagues. Paul is working hard to promote the club, offering pertinent services to its members and continuing the great traditions of the bocce club. The facility offers banquet amenities as well as an Italian espresso bar. It can be rented out for parties, celebrations and fundraisers. Member dinner dances draw crowds. Recently Paul invited women members to prepare homemade specialties like tortellini and tortellaci to be served at these dinners. Among the events the club offers are an annual summer golf tournament, September wine tasting and member dinners. In collaboration with the Modenese Society, the two organizations offer Easter Coccetto and presents from Santa Claus for the children and grandchildren of members.

On my recent visit to the club, I spoke to Marzio Piagentini, an avid bocce player, to get an idea of what the club means to the members. Not only is it a great meeting place to enjoy a game of bocce or cards, or have a glass of wine with friends. To him, the club offers entertainment as well as a culture. Marzio would love to see the club draw a younger membership, perhaps offering events that enable our young Italians to stay in touch with their rich Italian culture. Who wouldn’t agree with Marzio? We have so many things to be proud of, being Italian, and continuing the tradition of the Highwood Bocce Club is just one of the many!

If you have a story to share about our North Shore Italians, please contact me at lizsfmc1@yahoo.com. I’d love to share it with others.

In those days, there was no healthcare system as we know today. Workman’s comp and paid sick leave were also non-existent. If a man was injured or sick, he just stayed home, losing pay until he was well enough to return to work. Just as the saying goes, “Necessity is the mother of invention,” so was the impetus to create a Mutual Aid Society, and hence the local Modenese Society was born. In Highwood, this self-insurance organization was created by Modenese men to care for one another in the event of an unforeseen disruption in employment. Dues was collected from members in order to have a fund to pay out benefits when necessary. A man might receive $20 week to help him get along. He could feed himself and his family and pay a few bills. Of course, in those days, $20 went a lot farther than it does today. There was even a death benefit established, with up to $750 being paid to his beneficiaries. And so the society existed and assisted its members for a century. Eventually, the organization opened membership to any Italian male, no matter what part of Italy he was from. Today our Modenese Society is the oldest continuous organization of its sort in the world!

Since its inception, the Society continued to grow and serve the Italian community in a variety of ways. Annual social events included a dinner dance, which was very popular, as was a summer picnic for members and their families. There was also a collaboration with the Highwood Bocce Ball Club to fly in Santa Claus from the North Pole to hand out gifts to children and grandchildren. On Easter Sunday, families from both organizations participate in the game of cocetto, an Easter egg cracking competition.

However, in the last decade, the original purpose of the Society became somewhat outdated and the membership began to wane as it aged. The society decided it needed to find ways to remain pertinent to the local Italian population, which was constantly changing and dispersing. Members debated how to bring in the younger generation, how to keep people involved and ultimately grow the organization for its own future viability. As we know, Italians have sometimes been known to have strong opinions, so it wasn’t surprising that the subject of opening up the membership to women was a heated debate. There were members in favor and plenty of members against. It is understandable. There were many issues to iron out. However, eventually, it was voted upon, and in the effort to increase membership and turn the club into a social organization from its previous Mutual Aid Society status, the majority voted to allow Italian women to join.

The talk among women in our community was unbelievable. They were excited and intrigued, most probably stemming from the previous “forbidden” status. Curiosity and the desire to belong to an organization with a long history and honorable reputation brought in women and more men to join. And with this new membership came new ideas for bringing our community together to augment the already existing traditions of the Modenese Society.

Commonly, Highwood and Highland Park Italians have always felt separated from Chicago Italians, mainly by distance. There had previously never been an organized involvement with Chicago’s Columbus Day Parade until Toni Farioli suggested and organized it. She made it happen, and people participated. Edmea Ori wanted to bring the traditional La Befana celebration from her hometown of Sant’Anna Pelago to the North Shore, so she and her family organized and put it together. Families participated and now it’s a new Modenese Society tradition. Angelo Biondi organized speakers and presentations to expand the awareness of the membership regarding cultural and culinary matters. Plenty of women worked to bring culinary treasures to meetings. They have made pasta fritte (Fried Bread Dough), polenta, homemade taglitelle alla Bolognese and many more Italian food specialties for members to enjoy. There have been chestnuts and brulee for Christmas meetings and special cookies and cakes at Easter time and for St. Joseph’s Day. Men and women continue to work together to make meetings and events wonderful occasions to enjoy.

Previous to membership changes, I was told that meeting attendance had dwindled to sometimes as few as 20 members or less. Today, it isn’t unusual to host 40 to 60 members, often even more. In the last few years, the club turned into a gathering place for friends who rarely saw each other. Commonly, I hear women asking each other, “Are you going to the meeting Thursday?” They are excited and bring that excitement with them. Their energy has been contagious to everyone. I believe it’s a reflection of our common Italian personality. When one of us has an idea and needs a little help to make it happen, we don’t just help, we get others involved, too. It becomes a social gathering, with food, wine, music and celebration. Leave it to us Italians to make a gathering a gourmet indulgent celebration!

The Modenese Society has evolved and will continue to evolve with new and exciting projects and events to come. Most recently, they have partnered with the City of Highland Park’s Sister Cities organization to facilitate the fostering of a relationship with Highland Park’s sister city, Modena. Plans are being laid for cultural, musical and student exchanges.

Personally, I am very proud to be a member of the Modenese Society. I share the strong desire to help the club continue to grow, serving the membership community, fostering a sense of belonging for the Italian population of our area. While I am proud to be an American, in a different way, I am even prouder of my Italian heritage. I feel it makes us truly special as individuals to come from this bloodline. I am honored to belong to the Modenese Society and I honor the men who have been members for much longer than I. Let’s help keep up the good work and continue the viability of the organization for a long time so that future generations of Italians have a place to maintain their culture and traditions as well.

For more information on becoming a member of the Modenese Society, please contact President Carl Bernardi at 847-432-1155.

If you have a story to share about our North Shore Italians, please contact me at lizsfmc1@yahoo.com. I’d love to share it with others.

Since autumn is harvest time for chestnuts, winter always has been the perfect time to enjoy them. There are many ways to prepare these soft and tasty nuts. More like a fruit, they can be roasted, boiled, or dried and ground into a flour, opening up a flurry of culinary possibilities. Chestnuts and its flour sustained hundreds of thousands of Italians for centuries. It’s no wonder–they are loaded with protein, vitamins, minerals, phytonutrients, and antioxidants that include vitamins B and C, potassium, folates, fiber and more! So when we hear our elders say, “We lived on chestnuts and chestnut flour, the bread of the poor,” they actually were living on a near-perfect food source.

Recently, I had the pleasure of talking to my friend Dianne Di Vagno about her father and his chestnut memories growing up in a tiny Italian hamlet just outside of Pievepelago in Emilia-Romagna. There he maintains his family’s old stone building, a reminder of life as it used to be.

Here’s what she had to say:

“During World War II, my Dad lived in Fontanini–the village where his mother was born. They moved there from Pieve to get away from potentially being bombed. In Fontanini, his family owned a large grove of chestnut trees. It was these chestnuts that provided them with much of their nourishment during the war when food was scarce. Every October, all of his family members would work together to harvest the chestnuts. They would wear aprons with large pockets to gather the nuts. Some of the chestnuts were used to make chestnut flour. The rest were cooked by roasting or boiling.

“My dad’s real name is Erio. It was changed to Jimmy when he moved to America because no one could think of a similar name for Erio in English. Years later, he realized his name could have been changed to Eric–nobody thought of it at the time. For this reason, my sister named her son Eric.

“In Fontanini, there was a metato, the structure used to dry the chestnuts using indirect heat. It was the first step in the process of making the chestnuts into flour. After the chestnuts were dried in the metato, they were taken to the mill to be processed into flour. The chestnuts had to be dried first in order to make the hard outer shell crack easily, thus making the actual nut removable from its casing. Also, the chestnut itself had to be cooked in this way so it could dry out and be easily grinded into flour. Picture this: The floor of the metato stone structure was scattered with slowly burning wood. The freshly picked chestnuts were then spread out on top of wire screens that were placed high over the heat of the fire to cook and dry out–sort of like a smokehouse for meat, but for chestnuts!

“Once the chestnuts were dried in the metato, they were taken to the local mill to be ground into flour. It was a barter/trade/exchange relationship. My grandfather would pay the mill owner with chestnut flour that he had just ground. Back at home, my grandmother would use the flour to make a dish called ‘menni,’ which was similar to oatmeal. My father ate this often during the war, especially in the wintertime when food was scarce. He never grew tired of the menni and enjoyed the slightly sweet taste of it. My grandmother also would use the chestnut flour to make a dessert called ‘castagnaccio.’ He described it as having a brownie-like consistency.

“My father also has many memories of eating ‘baluccis.’ A balucci was a fresh chestnut–not dried in the metato–that was boiled in water over the fireplace. The boiling process would soften both the nuts’ outer shell and the chestnut meat inside. The family would gather around the fireplace during the colder months to cook and eat baluccis while the elders would tell stories about spirits to entertain the kids. The balucci was eaten in the following manner: After being removed from the boiling water, it was placed directly into your mouth and hand-squeezed. The soft puree-like interior would ooze out and be eaten. Another way his family would use chestnuts was to make a filling for ‘zabadone’ cookies by mixing chestnut puree and preserves into a filling. My grandmother also made a soup that was milk-based as well as thin crepes called ‘necci.’ These days they still make necci, but they often fill them with Nutella, which, of course, wasn’t available during World War II!

“My dad remembers stockings by the fireplace filled with edible goodies that included roasted chestnuts. Erio and his three brothers would each receive an orange, an apple, some ‘caramelle’ hard candies, walnuts and roasted chestnuts on Epiphany morning. Back then, gifts were very simple, usually knitted gloves, hats and scarves that came from La Befana on Jan. 6, not on Christmas. My dad passed on his love of chestnuts to us, and we still enjoy them today as a special treat.”

Mille grazie to Dianne and Jimmy for sharing these amazing memories with me. While our younger generation might not think of a chestnut as a yummy snack food, they might be healthier if they did. Perhaps if they see us reach for them, we might succeed in turning them on to this hearty health food. I know my first experience as a youngster eating a chestnut didn’t match my favorite chunky chocolate snack, but I’m glad I learned to love them. Traditions truly do pass the test of time. We just have to give them a chance and continue to share them. So the next time you get the opportunity, have fun teaching future generations of Italians how to crack a warm toasted chestnut in their palm!

Buone Feste!

If you have a story to share about our North Shore Italians, please contact me at lizsfmc1@yahoo.com. I’d love to share it with others.

My daughter, you see, has just moved to Modena for a new job. We are all very proud of her perseverance in searching for a position in Italy, even if it means she is far away from us. After four torturous months of her absence, consisting of a major transfer for a North Shore girl with way too many clothes, shoes and toiletries, three strong earthquakes and a Fiat Panda purchase, I decided to bite the bullet and go to visit my 24-year-old baby daughter who wants to act like an Italian, just to see how she’s getting along in this very typical Italian city.

You see, it isn’t that I was disappointed in her leaving us. (Well of course a part of me was disappointed in her leaving.) But this has been a dream of hers for at least five years. “I want to live and work in Italy,” she would say. “Yeah, right, me too!” I would respond. And there we’d leave it. Who wouldn’t want to live in an Italian Disneyland? The land of castle towns, cappuccino, fabulous food, great wine, beautiful people, high fashion, historical and artistic cities like Rome, Venice, Florence? Heck, if I had the chance, I might move there as well!

I got myself on a plane and headed on over to check up on her. Under the guise of visiting my mother’s mountain town and my daughter, I sojourned to Modena by way of Bologna. I rented an eggplant colored Lancia Musa and stick-shifted my way up the mountain to my mother’s quaint little village, where I waited until my princess came back from Southern Italy, where she was spending her “Ferie,” her August vacation, near the Amalfi Coast.

When I finally met her in Modena, she took me out to her favorite bar for an aperitivo — appetizers and before-dinner cocktail. I soon learned that this was how she ate inexpensively, because skinny people don’t need more than appetizers as a meal. I, on the other hand, went to bed a little light in the stomach that night.

The roads in Modena Centro are not square cobblestones like they are in Rome. Here, they are round stones, more like river rocks, that stick up and make it very difficult to walk. Cars rolling over them echo with an alarming flat tire rumble that reverberates between the all-too-close buildings on the narrow streets. I can only imagine emergency rooms filled with thin women with sprained ankles due to these high-heel danger zones.

Like most Italian metropolitan cities of the 21st century, Modena bustles with businesses run by foreigners: including Pakistanis, Indians, North Africans, Middle Easterners, and Chinese. Even in Venice, where I followed my daughter on a three-day work assignment, the touristy leather shops were primarily owned and run by Chinese. My goodness! What on earth has happened to my mother’s Italy of the 1950s? I guess globalization has hit Italy just like it hit the United States. Pazienza!

While in Modena, I took the time to visit a balsamic vinegar loft. At Acetaia Fabbi, I learned that the Fabbi family has been making balsamic for centuries, in pretty much the exact same way. Elisa Fabbi gave me a personalized tour of the family’s facility. One significant feature was clear: families prepare and care for vinegars in a beautiful tradition that benefits future family members. What an amazing gift, that a family could begin making balsamic vinegar which will financially benefit unborn generations! Elisa’s great-grandfather moved their Acetaia to this property just outside of Modena Centro, on the Via Emilia, at the turn of the last century. Besides planting and caring for the white Trebbiano vineyard, he commissioned multitudes of handcrafted barrels in descending sizes which are stored on the highest level of the family’s manufacturing plant, a beautiful palazzo in the outskirts of Modena.

When you enter the plant, you know you are encountering time-honored tradition. This is not a commercial “fake balsamic factory. This is the real deal, a DOP balsamic loft which I was honored to be a brief part of, like peeking into a window of a family’s past. The crisp aroma of sweet vinegar, accented by the scent of fermentation in aged wooden barrels that have served for five generations hangs in the air. The family’s pride reveals itself on the edges of their smiles. How many family businesses can say their ancestors had them in mind when they cooked the must that started these barrels over a century ago?

Elisa explains that her family uses five different types of wooden barrels. She showed me where one of the barrels was leaking, because occasionally they require repair of their metal holding strips. “Many of these barrels are from my great-grandfather’s time.” Elisa explained. But we don’t just throw them away when they occasionally go bad, the “barrelista” creates a new one around the old one if it can no longer be repaired, thus maintaining the integrity of the original barrel interior and its ability to season and ferment the vinegar. On occasion, barrels are refreshed with a wash of fresh must and salt. But it is important to retain the integrity of the interior of the barrel.

Elisa explained how the final, smallest barrel in a descending line of five barrels, in the twelve-year section of the loft, will be emptied of 1.5 liters of vinegar next March or April. Each previous barrel, larger and younger, will transfer 1.5 liters until the first and largest barrel of the line is filled with 1.5 liters of new grape juice that has been cooked at least 16 hours. The new addition thereby dilutes the barrel’s existing contents of several liters of fermented vinegar. If we recall our high school science classes, this process of dilution means that there is still a quantity of very old vinegar in each barrel that contributes to the developing flavor. In each barrel, there exists a “mother” similar to the “mother” sour dough starter, a live yeast, fermenting and developing its contents over time.

Acetaia Fabbi participates in the Modena DOP certification, whereby vinegar is sent to the certification facility for testing in five different categories. If the vinegar passes the certification process, it is determined to qualify as DOP and is bottled in the appropriate DOP bottles. This vinegar is of course more expensive than the same vinegar that has not undergone the certification process. Acetaia Fabbi sells both DOP and non-DOP products. The company is proud to have once won an award for the finest vinegar in all of Modena.

Visits to the Acetaia can be scheduled by calling Elisa at 39059469105, or emailing her at info@acetofabbi.com. She will give you a personalized tour, and let you taste 5, 8, 12 and 25 year vinegars, and explain the various uses for the different vinegars, and even shares some of her family’s recipes using balsamic vinegar. Expect to buy some vinegar while you are visiting. Prices start at 17 euro for a small bottle of the youngest non-DOP and go up from there as the age and quality increase. I assure you though, you will experience nothing like this anywhere else in the world, which in and of itself is simply priceless!

My combination vacation, touring, and visit with my daughter revealed a lot about the both of us. I found out that we both love Italy tremendously. She however, has made a smooth transition in her decision to experience Italy at a much deeper, richer level. She reprimands me for acting like a tourist, talking loud and wearing big white gym shoes like the Americans wear. She on the other hand, blends right in, walks in heels, drinks tiny demitasse cups of strong black syrupy espresso and an orange sparkling aperitivo. She eats dry biscotti for breakfast and buys her fruit from a fruit vendor that hand picks it for her. At dinner, she orders “un quartino di vino rosso,” which is just enough for one person. She looks and acts like an Italian. She orders me not to speak English loudly, like a tourist, because she doesn’t want to attract attention or to be obnoxious. All these things prove to me that she has figured out how to be Italian quite well, and I could try to learn a few things from her myself.

As I finished up my travels with my daughter, visiting extended family, my mother’s hometown, a fabulous hike up the mountains, a trip to Castelnuovo Garfagnana for Thursday’s market, and numerous fabulous Italian meals, I couldn’t help but realize that my daughter was just fine as she was. She may stay for good, or she may not. It isn’t for me to decide. It is her life, I need to let her live it, and live it she is. May God bless her and all the people before her that had the courage to move someplace different in their lives. And may God let me go visit as often as possible … unless or until I decide to move there myself someday!

If you have a story to share about our North Shore Italians, please contact me at lizsfmc1@yahoo.com. I’d love to share it with others.

Recently, Fr. Tom Baldonieri shared some of St. James’ history with the community:

“In 1907, Reverend James D. O’Neill, pastor of Immaculate Conception in Highland Park, celebrated Mass for Catholics in the old Highwood City Hall on Waukegan Avenue. Earlier, Catholic settlers attended religious services at Fort Sheridan. But in 1912, ground was broken for a new church. St. James was constructed as a frame church at the corner of Funston and North Avenues. It was dedicated by Archbishop James E. Quigley of Chicago on September 8, 1912.

“The church was originally built as a mission of the Immaculate Conception church of Highland Park, with Reverend O’Neill serving as both the pastor of the IC Church and the new mission church. Italians had moved to Highwood in the early 1900s, and were active parish members. As the parish grew, a school was opened in 1925, led by the Sisters of Loretto. By 1938, the Parish had grown to 350 families; many if not most at the time were Italian. After WWII, Highwood and St. James continued to grow, necessitating additions to the classrooms of St. James, along with a convent and a chapel on North Avenue. Costs of these improvements were estimated at $150,000. Over the years there continued to be improvements to keep up with the increased demands of the parish membership. In the 1980s, Spanish Mass was added on Sundays for the new immigrant population.”

But a church of course is not made up of its building and amenities. A church is made up of people who then make the church what it was and is today. In Italian culture, for centuries the church was at the center of the lives of its constituents. From birth to death, and all the sacraments in between, a family celebrates their joys and shares their grief in the community that is our church.

Looking back at the charming hilltop villages that dot the Italian landscape, at their center is always a church and its bell tower calling to prayer its parishioners. In many ways, Italian Catholics have long seemed connected to their faith as part of their culture, in fact, the two are intricately entwined. Think of the rosaries murmured by young girls modestly dressed, their heads covered with lace. Solemn altar boys, processions, men, women and children who demonstrated their honor to their Roman Catholic religion in consistent ways throughout the centuries.

As these Italian immigrants came to Highwood, they continued their reverence, devotion and commitment by participating in choirs, holiday celebrations, rosaries, women’s clubs and the St. James Sacred Heart Guild. And while not everyone in Highwood was Italian, Italians placed their mark on this parish over the last 100 years. We wish them well on their continued journey of faith, and celebrate the joyous occasion of their 100-year anniversary!

Thank you to Fr. Tom Baldonieri for his historical contribution.

If you have a story to share about our North Shore Italians, please contact me at lizsfmc1@yahoo.com. I’d love to share it with others.

I suppose I first began to notice Italian-on-Italian discrimination as a youngster in Highland Park. It wasn’t the type of discrimination from without that older Italians were accustomed to. The discrimination I noticed related to differences between the families I knew. It was even more prevalent with my parents’ and grandparents’ generations. As a child, I only understood that I was Italian. Later, I began to understand that the Northerners and the Southerners looked at each other differently. I wasn’t quite sure why, but later I noticed this was not only evident in how the people treated each other based on where they were from, but even in how they thought of other’s food.

For example: You might know that in Emilia-Romagna, lasagna is traditionally made with both béchamel and Bolognese sauces. I loved lasagna. We had it so infrequently at home that, when it did appear on the table, it was a really special treat. I remember being about 12, in a beautiful Italian restaurant, and when my turn to order came, I chose lasagna. Oh my Gosh! You would have thought I had just ordered rocky mountain oysters or something! “No, no, you can’t have the lasagna!” “But why?” I whined. “Because,” my mother said. “But why?” “Well, it’s just not the same as ours,” was my mother’s answer. Ok, innocent and confused, I ordered chicken Parmesan. I waited for the car ride home to ask what was so bad about the lasagna at this restaurant. My mother went on and on about how it was made with ricotta! “So?” I asked. “Isn’t it good?” “Well,” she responded, “ours is better!”

From marinara to lasagna, I soon began to understand that Italians tend to think “theirs” is always better. From my mother’s little village to the neighboring commune, each believes their community does it best. Heck, you still hear people say “Didn’t you know that Santanesi and Pievaroli hate each other?” Actually, no, I didn’t. I thought that we all came from the same mountains, so we pretty much were the same. Well don’t tell the Fiumalbini that. They think they’re better than both the Santanesi and the Pievaroli. I could go on and on. On the other side of our mountain is Tuscany. … Oh dear, don’t ever trust a Tuscan!

A few years back, while on vacation in Italy, I spoke with a historian of our mountains to get a little better picture of where my ancestry originates and what I might learn about my people and the history of these mountains. She asked me where I came from in the United States and I explained that she probably heard of Highwood or Highland Park. “Oh, of course,” she said. “I-Wood and Island Park! Of course, so many of our people settled there.” Somehow during the conversation I touched upon the subject that, even though so many of us really come from the same mountain area that called the “Alto Frignano,” all the Italian Americans I know seems to associate themselves with their own village back here in Italy. It’s almost ridiculous. After half a century, some emigrants maintain what I call an “angry pride” over why their village is better than the next one just over the hill. After 50 or 60 years of being away from their hometown, living in America, it can still be sensed, the slight discrimination against others not from their own village.

She smiled and explained that this is called “campanilismo,” or the preference for one’s own bell tower. Of course, every community has a bell tower and naturally everyone prefers theirs. Well just then, as my Nonna would say, “Mi si è aperto il cervello”: My brain opened wide! It was common with everybody and there is a name for it! It almost qualifies as a disease!

I still remember that my Nonna always said that in the 1930s, her father would never have considered allowing her to marry a young man from Fiumalbo. He just had to be from Sant’Anna. I assume there was a comfort in knowing that a person came from your own village. Just like there was comfort in knowing the lasagna was made exactly like your mother made it. And all of a sudden, I understood so many of my people. They were just acting out what they learned from their parents. Maybe they’ve never heard of campanilismo.

Hey, guess what? We are also called “Frignati” or people from the Alto Frignano, whether you are on the Emilia side or the Tuscan side, we are all connected in a brotherhood. Just like the brotherhood between Italians everywhere, whether you use ricotta or béchamel, isn’t it all delicious?

If you have a story to share about our North Shore Italians, please contact me at lizsfmc1@yahoo.com. I’d love to share it with others.

Above all he was a great diagnostician, unlike today’s doctors who commonly require thousands of dollars in diagnostic tests to tell us if our problem is actually serious. His bedside manner was friendlier than most, and he quite often asking about the relatives he knew while he was inspecting our ears. “How’s Mom? And your Nonna?” He knew them by name. When your long wait was up and your name was called, it wasn’t unusual for him to spend an entire hour with you if he felt like it. He was just that kind of doctor: Every patient had his undivided attention. Recently, I sat down with his daughter, Rosemary Bernardi, to get an inside look at his life, and how he came to be our community’s cherished, old-fashioned doctor.

Hugh Bernardi was born in Gramolazzo, a small village in the province of Lucca, right in the shadow of the mountain they call “il Pizannino.” The Doctor’s father was a mechanic. His grandfather had descended from further up in the mountains to Gramolazzo to find work. Hugh’s father had a third grade education, but knew the importance of a higher education for his son. When Hugh was young, his father went to work in the mines in Cherry, Ill., then eventually, he found his way to Highwood, working as a mechanic for Borden Dairy on Green Bay Road in Highland Park.

His father sent money home to Gramolazzo regularly and made it clear to his wife that Hugh was to be educated in La Spezia under the watchful eye of the friars. There he learned the classics, Latin and Greek, and it was there he learned to think and to analyze.

As Mussolini was beefing up his military, Hugh’s father became concerned. Mussolini was creating an alliance with Hitler and began enlisting Italy’s young men. He was getting ready for the Spanish Revolution and World War II. Hugh’s father quickly sent for him to come to America when he was 17 to avoid being drafted for war. It was 1935, and before he knew it, Hugh found himself attending English classes, listening to American radio and attending Highland Park High School as a senior.

Upon graduation, Hugh attended Loyola University for his undergraduate degree, while boarding with a family. He was then was accepted to Illinois Research Medical School (now the University of Illinois). During Hugh’s sophomore year in college, he exhibited symptoms of tuberculosis. Hugh’s doctor wanted to put him into a sanitarium for patients with TB. But Hugh’s father wouldn’t have it. He knew that if he allowed his son to be admitted, he would surely acquire the disease if he didn’t already have it. So Hugh’s father brought him to the Mayo clinic in Minnesota for thorough testing. As it turned out, Hugh did not have the disease and even luckier for him, his college professors still passed him with flying colors, waiving his final exam requirements because he was such a bright student!

Doctor Bernardi graduated from med school in December 1943. He was married the same year and immediately served in the Army treating soldiers injured in WWII. After the war ended, he wanted to return to Italy to see his mother and sisters, but it wasn’t yet meant to be. The army sent him to Asia instead to continue his service to his new country, caring for soldiers.

The Doctor had an unbelievable reverence for older people. In Gramolazzo, he was raised by his father’s father, sharing a bedroom with him. There, he had also watched his mother as she went around the village taking care of people. Rosemary shares that, “This must be where he picked up the love of caring for the elderly.” Rosemary also recalls going on house calls with her father. “God forbid, if there was something on the stove, no problem, he’d walk up to the stove and taste it, and they’d say, “Dottore, please sit down and have some.” He made it easy for the old people by making house calls to them rather than have them make the trip into the office. “And if it was lunchtime and he had three house calls, then he had three lunches, he loved to eat!” He loved his patients’ tortellini, tortellacci and polenta.

Rosemary continued, “I was told that there were plenty of people who couldn’t pay. He told me once, ‘You don’t deny medical service if someone doesn’t have the money. It doesn’t say in the Hippocratic Oath, above all, do no harm if they have money, but if they don’t then go ahead. There is no shame in being poor,’ he once told me, ‘It is just too damn hard.'”

The Doctor didn’t always get paid in cash for his services. “We had a number of improvements done to our house as payment for services: a gorgeous stone fireplace, a beautifully remodeled basement, a custom bar,” Rosemary recalls. “And there in the basement he kept a work room/studio. It was his creative room, where he worked on projects and stored his collections from garage sales and resale shops.”

Saturdays were garage sale days. “I remember him bringing home all sorts of interesting things, candlesticks, furniture,” Rosemary recounts. He knew all the employees at Ort and the Hadassah House by first name. Once, at Ort, he found a fine suit that seemed to fit him perfectly. One day, this one doc said to him, ‘I had a suit just like that.’ His son in law was with him that day and just about crawled under the couch. The other doctor continued, ‘Hey where’d you get that?’ My father said, ‘At Ort.’ The doctor said, ‘Hey that was MY suit!’ And my dad said, ‘Yeah, I know, it’s got your initials in it.’ He would never be embarrassed by that, because that was the kind of person he was. He was not impressed by wealth and fancy things. He was not pretentious at all. My father believed the quality of a person is on the inside, not the outside.”

I guess you could say that his hobby was tinkering with mechanical things. He loved working on old cars. He had one in the back, at his office. He “fixed” the wiring so that if you turned on the lights, the windshield wipers would turn on. He had a few more cars at home to work on for fun. Rosemary remembered that once, when they went for a Sunday drive to Wisconsin, it stated to rain. The family was in their 1960 red convertible with checkered interior, and the top was down. They just couldn’t get the top up, no matter how hard they tried. They were driving down the road, in the rain, getting completely wet. “People were just staring at us!” Rosemary recalled.

There were other cars the Doctor would try to fix under the hood. If he changed something, it never worked again. He even fixed Rosemary’s car once and then it would only go backward. He loved working on all sorts of mechanical things. “As soon as he’d try to fix something, we all knew we had to call the repair man. Just like the time he fixed the toaster, it caught on fire the next time we used it!”

Doctor Bernardi had a bypass at 66, but continued working his usual long hours. He just loved the Italian people. He loved the interaction with them. It was like he was revisiting his homeland every time he visited with his patients. He especially loved the old people, and loved making house calls. He would pinch their cheek, and then say “Ayyyye, what are you doing in bed?” Well, they would say, I have this and I have that, and he would say, “Yeah, same story as last time!” He would get them laughing. It was like he was their son, who had come to take care of them. He joked with them because he believed that the mind controlled everything. He would say, “Even if you are ill, if you have a good attitude, the body usually heals itself.”

The good doctor retired in 1991 at 73 years old. He passed away peacefully in 1997 at 79 years old. He will be remembered fondly by all those whose lives he touched.

If you have a story to share about our North Shore Italians, please contact me at lizsfmc1@yahoo.com. I’d love to share it with others.

Like many men in the late 1800s and early 1900s, my great-grandfather Vincenzo Bernardi came to America to work in the coalmines. It was torturous and dangerous work. He contracted a pneumonia-like disease and returned to Italy to spend his last days with his young wife and my grandfather, just a boy at the time. Italians who had come to work in coalmines were thrilled that jobs were plentiful on the North Shore. In fact, some of the natural skills from their hometowns were highly valued here. Construction and gardening were clean and safe and the salaries they earned could support a family.

 Vincenzo’s uncle Iuffa came to work in Highwood several times. As a youngster visiting him in Italy, I remember him talking about a tall tower helped to build in Highland Park, which of course would be the water tower (Above). It is a beautiful red brick structure that complements the stone, brick and slate-roof downtown Highland Park architecture. Zio Iuffa also spoke about the stone bridges along a long and winding road that leads from Highland Park to Chicago, which of course is Sheridan Road. Whenever my mother and I traveled that road, we wondered which of these low bridges, crossing over ravines, carried the handiwork of our Zio Iuffa.

Giuse Bernardi Merucci once told me a story about being a little girl back in Italy, when her grandfather had spoken about a very busy man they called “Griffa” from Lake Forest, who had plenty of work and not enough trained men. Her grandfather went back to Italy to recruit stone masons, bricklayers and laborers. Many of Lake Forest’s beautiful commercial buildings, including Market Square (above) and many grand mansions were built by the real estate firm of John Griffith & Co in the early 1900s. Striking stone and brick work is a trademark of the Lake Forest building style. And while his company gets the credit for their construction, we know that it was our ancestors who broke their backs doing the heavy lifting, leaving their talent and artistry as a seal. As I listened to Giuse, I wondered how the conversations might have sounded as her grandfather tried to convince his paesani to get on a ship and come to America for work. I suppose today’s recession reminds us how people picked up and left for new worlds, leaving their homes and their families for jobs and new lives that lied ahead.

In the 1950s when the quotas were re-opened for immigrants, Italians who were already here were able to make requests on behalf of their relatives. Attorney Nello Ori was instrumental in assisting his paesani. His brother Bruno once told me that Nello had a friend in Washington who informed him in advance that the quotas would soon be re-opening. Nello put the word out to his fellow Italians and they began the required paperwork before the law had even been passed by congress! The Pasquesi Travel Agency in Highwood was experienced in arranging travel for these immigrants. And so the story repeated itself, freshly immigrated Italians looking for work, trained as tradesmen were back working for “rich people” as carpenters, stone masons, brick layers, gardeners and many more. Today we still have plenty of descendents of Italian immigrants working in the construction and landscaping fields that they learned from their fathers and grandfathers. The Italian pride in construction and landscaping lives on.

If you have a story to share about our North Shore Italians, please contact me at lizsfmc1@yahoo.com. I’d love to share it with others.

For thousands of years, shepherds have traveled from the peaks to the plains, following their flocks from one pasture to another. On the agricultural front, Abruzzo is an abundant source of fruits, vegetables, olives, capers and nuts.

The kitchens of Abruzzo yield a Cucina Rustica that employ ingredients that are as unadulterated as they are fresh. From lamb to seafood, the gastronomy of Abruzzo is a simple yet delicious.

Just as Abruzzo is one of Italy’s least known treasures, so too are the fabulous Chicago-area restaurants owned by Guido Oliverii.

Guido left Teramo, Abruzzo, for the northern suburbs of Chicago more than 25 years ago, and has earned a reputation for serving high-quality dishes, made from the finest ingredients, that reflect the flavors of his homeland.

As his business grew, Guido saw the need for more restaurants, and today he owns four from Antioch in the north to Libertyville, Deerfield and Northbrook. Each restaurant is operated by a relative who keeps a close eye on details and upholds Guido’s exacting standards.

Featuring typical Abruzzese fare as well as popular Italian dishes, Oliverii’s eateries offer choices that will tantalize the palate, including homemade pastas, fresh seafood and plenty of traditional and non-traditional menu choices.

Crespelle are a type of crepe found in Abruzzo, Timballo is a layered pasta dish, and spaghetti alla chitarra features a meat-based sauce. And available Tuesday through Saturday is Tavolo Rustico Abruzzese, an antipasto buffet that features salamini, prosciutto di Parma, mixed grilled vegetables, imported olives, aged Parmigiano, sweet Gorgonzola, sun-dried tomatoes, artichokes and other surprises.

From antipasto to dessert, Ristorante Abruzzo and its culinary cousins deliver a spectacular dining experience! To find out more, visitwww.oliverii.com.

Ristorante Abruzzo
483 Lake Cook Road
Deerfield, Illinois 60015
847-205-0990

Ristorante Bottaio
946 North Milwaukee
Libertyville, IL 60048
847-573-1800

Trattoria Oliverii
1358 Shermer Road
Northbook, IL 60062
847-559-8785

Oliverii North
384 Lake Street
Antioch, IL 60002
847-395-9999