Giuseppe Stories #1 - 

                  One Man’s Dream  

The “Giuseppe’s Stories” begin with the dream of one man. His name was Giuseppe. He was a force of nature. He was my grandfather. Giuseppe came to the United states seeking opportunities not available in his native Italy, but the stories that follow reveal the dreams and disappointments, the struggles and successes, not only of Giuseppe, but also those of his family–brothers, cousins, wives, children, and subsequent generations, each proud to claim a common family history. These are their stories.  They are my stories.  They are your stories. 

Why now? I am in my 80s, the daughter of a second generation son.  The early stories will eventually die if they’re not written. It has been the custom of our family to preserve whatever “C” history we could in the annual family picnic publication, “The Rose.”  Most who now read “The Rose” never knew the actual people, or they came to know them as old, uninteresting relatives. I hope this series will help to re-animate them.

In her engaging book Black Sheep and Kissing Cousins,* Elizabeth Stone, whose grandparents came from Italy, writes of family legends, humorous events, and sometimes scandals. Stories that were told–and oft repeated–over dinner tables, bonfires, and myriad celebrations. These were stories told with love, wonder, and heartbreak. The family’s stories entertained (and subtly educated) while children wiggled and giggled as the old talked about their childhoods in Italy and their lives in America. The stories wove a web of identity at weddings, at wakes. In her book, Stone examines the power of family tales and their formative influence. Those stories are so much more than entertainment; they are the cement that fortifies our souls. 

I am one of two people alive today who remember Giuseppe’s angry roar. We were delighted when he shook with laughter, and kissed him goodbye as he lay within his casket while mournful women screamed and cried at his passing.

For years his lifeless body atop the bier haunted me. Imagine my shock, after seventy-five years had passed, to find that once again, Giuseppe haunted my mind.

How did the “Giuseppe Stories” evolve?  A week before the twentieth anniversary of the establishment of our family park Cousin Greg called. He asked if I would give a short speech at the park’s re-dedication. I declined, certain that he could find someone who could do a better job. But that night I could not sleep. “Giuseppe’s Dream” was writing itself. I tossed and turned as memories self-selected and entire sentences demanded attention. Once again, Giuseppe’s memory was haunting me. I would have no sleep until the words were written. 

It was June 2017. The “C” family would soon celebrate the 20th anniversary of our family’s park with a rededication ceremony. The park is situated on the near west side of the city, on the street so many of us grew up on. It occupies the small triangular corner on Vespucci (‘Pucci) Street, a short distance from the University of Illinois Medical Campus. (Note: Like the family’s name, the actual street name has been changed for privacy.)  The park honors the “The Five Founding Families.” A later addition acknowledged those of our family who served in the United States’ armed services. 

       The "C" Family Park looking down ‘Pucci, towards the Church    

                                        ↓ The Park rededication ceremony ↓   

   

Our founding members emigrated from Italy to the United States at the beginning of the 20th Century. The memorial park recognizes their struggles and losses as well as their expectations and successes. It celebrates our veterans who honorably served this country. Family members’ bricks display the names of the living and the long dead. 

Becoming an American was Giuseppe’s dream. He was our family’s first, but certainly not the last. The “Giuseppe Stories” stories begin as his story, but they blossomed into the stories of his beloved wife Caterina, of his brothers, cousins, children, all those who inherited his dream. Everyday we add to Giuseppe’s stories. My grandfather came to the United States more than a hundred years ago. Every August there is a huge family picnic at Giuseppe’s summer cottage in honor of that dream.  The bonds remain strong.

Many of the entries in this series are based on oral history recordings of my father and his siblings. (Thank you, Cousin Kathy.) Some stories have been conjured from memories formed around the table, campfire, and celebrations. Some directly from my personal memories. Several were published in “The Rose,” our family’s picnic newsletter.  They are our shared history. Add to them–whether Black Sheep or Kissing Cousin. Update Guiseppe’s stories with your own family’s stories.  I will be the first to admit that the blog will be unintentionally flawed and incomplete, but the core remains true. Keep it close.

It is time to introduce you to the scion of the “C” Family. Born in 1877, Giuseppe lived in a small Calabrian town called Gasperina.  Giuseppe was poor but not uneducated. He could read and work hard. He dreamed of better. He dreamed big. He fell in love with Caterina, well above his station. Caterina’s family was prosperous, important. The last thing her father wanted was a common laborer for a son-in-law. Even worse, one who wanted to take his daughter away to America–but that’s a later story. In the long run dreams, faith, and undying love won out.

The important thing to remember is that there would be no Giuseppe without his beloved Caterina. He dreamed, she believed, they loved. This was their dream.

Giuseppe’s Dream, revised©

In 1903 Giuseppe “C” left his wife, infant child, parents, siblings, friends and country—everything he knew. He dreamed of a new home, a new way of life: Freedom, Opportunity, and self-determined Identity. With his hard, hard head, powerful arms, and generous heart he searched for AMERICA.

Giuseppe settled in Chicago where his dream would reach fruition. Nothing would stop him. And with his hard, hard head, his powerful arms, and an enormous heart he set to work. It wasn’t easy but soon he would be joined by his beautiful wife and his brothers. Every waking moment was centered on fulfilling his dream, every spare penny put aside to bring his wife and his daughter to make a life in America.

Approximately a hundred years ago Giuseppe and Caterina established their home here, on 'Pucci Street.  “C” family members have lived and/or worked here ever since. He bought a two-flat with room for a grocery store on the first floor, and a fish store in the basement. The second floor flat became home for his growing family. The neighborhood was an American microcosm. It was in the Near West section of Chicago.  If the wind was blowing from the right direction you would get a healthy whiff of the stockyards—not a scent you’ll ever forget. Later he bought a three flat two doors away which accommodated a grocery as well as two flats for his growing family. 

Giuseppe’s family prospered. ‘Pucci Street was replete with uncles, aunts, nieces and nephews.  Children blessed the family. Life was hard but also good, rewarding strong values: hard work, faith, family, community, education, respect and responsibility. Giuseppe and Caterina worked hard so their family would prosper. In the 1920s he established a trucking company that proudly displayed “and Sons” in its name. The entire family worked to achieve Giuseppe’s American dream. They had Grandpa’s hard, hard head, strong arms, and enormous heart to guide them.

Here, from this block, “C” men went off to war to defend their country in World War II.  We rejoiced when all came home, safe again. Here, on this block, sons and daughters were educated. Grandchildren would discover new opportunities; great grandchildren could dream the impossible.

‘Pucci Street was formative; it is where values were learned and lived. Almost all of Giuseppe’s family lived on the block. I lived on ‘Pucci as a kid. Grandpa liked to keep his family close.  Join me as I stroll down the street to revisit the past. We pass the former home of Uncle George and Aunt Jennie. He had a tailor shop in the house. Uncle Frank, the youngest brother, also a tailor, lived with them until he married. Frank would own a successful tuxedo rental business.  Across the street you’ll find Uncle Sam and Aunt Theresa. Their trucking company has prospered for decades.   

Our old school and church are at the far end of this short street. The church is  gone; the school co-opted as a private charter academy. There once was a private park across the street from the school.  That park is open now, but it used to be surrounded by a secure fence that was locked 363 days a year. But on one day each year the community came together, children dressed in their best, processed around the park where Mary was crowned Queen of Heaven. The American May Crowning Procession recaptured memories of Italian Saints’ Day festivals like those in Gasperina where devout men carried statues of patron saints and hymns resounded through the town. Everyone in the neighborhood turned out for the Crowning. 

The church and school were the center of the community. How many of us learned to read and write at that school? Families visited the church to view the annual Nativity display, aglow with candlelight and devotion. On post-war Saturdays throngs of children waited for newlywed couples to emerge from their nuptials, greeted with showers of rice and confetti. If you were lucky, maybe you found a penny. We children even had weddings of our own. With the loan of a cousin Letty’s Holy Communion veil, I was spirited off on the back of Cousin Joey’s tricycle. We married several times. Cousins and neighbors formed the bridal party.  

(Photo above: Cousin Joan and a neighbor do the honors for Joey and Sheila.)                                                             

                      Good memories, good times. Near the Church’s Rectory is the settlement house where Brownie Scouts learned to sew on buttons, repair seams, and cook simple foods. These were important skills to be learned. The building housed a little library too.

If it’s summertime, you must step quickly from under Mr. Bartucci’s shade tree. Sometimes he sits there and, of course, you must speak to him, but I warn you, you’ll risk having a fat, fuzzy, colorful, and terrifying caterpillar drop onto your head if you tarry too long.

Ah, we’re coming to my house, the one with the former fish market in the basement. Later the basement became a great place to make wine, especially during Prohibition.  We lived here, on the second floor with Uncle Dom’s family below us. Sometimes you can hear the most awful banging. Don’t worry.  It’s only Aunt Marie, ironing. No wrinkle would escape her! Outside in the parkway are the dirt circles where children played mibs. Cousin Joey was not above switching his chipped cats-eye for one of my shooters.  

On hot summer nights, older cousins play four-square outside the family’s corner flats. On hot summer nights, if life has been very good to you this week, you might get to share the most delicious Italian ice made in a small shop across the street. On hot summer nights, old men’s shouts of “due! and cinque!” resound late into the night.

It all happened on this block—chosen by Giuseppe—a very special place. In my mind there remains one last but fading image. Look! Standing on the corner, I can see the very barrel of a man with a huge mustache and a very loud roar. His whole body shakes as he laughs. He waits for his grandchildren to run to him and tell him tales of their day’s adventures.

If you open your hard, modern minds and extend your welcoming arms; if you look and listen with your great big hearts, maybe you’ll see him glance your way. Is that a hint of a smile beneath the gray mustache? Do you see him nod his head, sigh contentedly? Can you hear the whisper on the wind when he softly speaks, “Si, Americans.”

                Next time: Story #2: Calabria, Gasperina, and “23 and WE”

*Stone, Elizabeth. Black Sheep and Kissing Cousins: How Our Family Stories Shape Us. Times Books, c. 1988.

Immigrant statue: “Indicando la Via al Futuro” or “Pointing the way to the future” is a new sculpture by Marc-Anthony Massaro, the grandson of immigrants. The statue was dedicated in an Italian-American neighborhood of New Haven, CT. Since many Columbus statues have been removed from cities across America, Mr. Massaro’s representation of the many immigrants of Italian origin who chose the United States of America as a land of freedom and opportunity is a fresh expression of the contributions of Italian immigrants and their American families. (See The Wall Street Journal, “Connecticut: Monument Honors Immigrants” June 8/9, 2024, p. A2)

Did you get the “hard headed” reference? The word “Calabrese” means hard headed, or stubborn! It was often used as an adjective to describe someone who was headstrong or obdurate. It is a descriptive word that refers to people from Calabria. Know anyone like that?