Giuseppe Stories #3:
La Famiglia, Naming Conventions, and Contranome
Pietragrande and the Smile of an Old Woman
Pietragrande and its famous Staletti beach were introduced in Story 2. Both are located on the Gulf of Squillace in the Ionian Sea. It was here that our family began. Giuseppe and Caterina grew up in Gasperina. They flirted, met “accidentally,” touched hands in quick passes. As their love grew bolder, they would steal away to the sea. Giuseppe would demonstrate his vigor as a swimmer while Caterina admired from the shore.
They fell in love and wanted to marry. They dreamt of a life together in America. Many friends had already begun new lives in that new country. In America, there was opportunity and promise; in Italy, only c’e miseria. The lovers were determined to build a life together where their children would have hope and freedom. Giuseppe asked Caterina’s father for permission to marry. He said “no.”
Caterina pleaded with her father, but Giuseppe was not the son-in-law he planned for his daughter. Giuseppe would take his beloved daughter away forever. His grandchildren would never know their grandfather. They would never experience “Papa’s” influence, generosity, or love. Despite constant appeals, he forbade the marriage.
Caterina insisted that she would wed Giuseppe and no other. She was defiant, recalcitrant; Giuseppe determined, resolute; Papa immovable. Their solution, scandalous and brazen. Caterina became pregnant. Still, her father refused the marriage. I can only imagine the arguments, shouts, beatings, and castigation. If he could have, he would have made Giuseppe disappear forever!
But the young lovers would not desist. Four months before the birth of his first grandchild, “Papa” Vito grudgingly gave his consent. Their Certification Di Matrimonio is dated November 8, 1902. Having consented, his only hope was that Caterina would become a “grass widow”-–the wife forever left behind to eke out a life alone. “Papa” Vito’s first granddaughter was born on March 4, 1903.
An agreement was struck: Caterina and the baby would remain in Italy for a few years while Giuseppe became established in America, wife and child to follow as soon as possible. Giuseppe arrived in Boston July 13, 1903. Caterina did not become a “grass widow.” She joined her husband in October 1907. First born Teresa met her brothers and sister in May of 1913.
Teresa always resented her father because she had to wait so long to emigrate. She felt that Giuseppe did not want her, but the truth was that her caretaker grandfather would not release the child because he, mistakenly, believed that Caterina could be lured back to Gasperina to be with her child. He was wrong.
La Famiglia. One of my most treasured finds is this handwritten list by my grandmother, Caterina, noting the details of the birth of all her children. I will list each child in the order of their birth with a quick thumbnail description of each. As the Stories progress, you will get to know them better.
Teresa, born in Italy in 1903. She would marry Nick, a second cousin. The couple would head the 5th Family when they wed in 1921.
Domenico, born in 1908. This eldest son would suffer from a devastating accident which he overcame. He married and raised a loving family.
Marianna, born in 1909, displayed an anxious personality, probably caused by a childhood trauma. She never seemed to be happy.
Vito, born in 1910, was my father. The most generous description I can make about his youth is that he was unsupervised.
Gregorio - the first - was born in 1912 and died when he was about seven months old in 1913.
Gregorio - the second - better known as George, was born in 1914. With younger brother Joe, these two sons fulfilled Giuseppe’s dream of operating a trucking company with “and Sons” in the name.
Rosa, born in 1916, was a great cook like her mother. I always remember her smiling.
Asantine, was born in 1917 and died in her first year of birth. (Often called Susie, or Susanna)
MoDestino Giuseppe, was born in 1920. “Morris” was always recalled lovingly by his older siblings. I was told that “he died of bad milk” in 1922. I think this meant that, because cows were not tuberculin tested at the time, he died after acquiring TB in cows’ milk.
Giuseppe Benedetto, (Joe) was born in 1922. He became an uncle before he was born! As the youngest he hungered for the family stories that he had missed out on. Uncle Joe’s questions prompted one of his daughters, Kathy, to record oral history sessions with his older siblings. In my mind’s eye, I see a madman atop a speeding sit-down mower, making short work of the grass surrounding the family cottage!
Did you ever wonder why more than half of the family’s men answered when 3 or 4 names were called? Old-world Italian Naming Conventions. These conventions were closely followed in “the old country.” It was a sign of respect, a way to honor their family history, and an orderly way to prevent hurt feelings. This is my understanding of how it worked.
Sons’ Names Daughters’ Names
1st son: Paternal Grandpa 1st daughter:Maternal Grandma
2nd son: Maternal Grandpa 2nd daughter:Paternal Grandma
3rd son: Paternal GreatGrandpa 3rd daughter:Maternal GreatGr’ma
4th son: Maternal GreatGrandpa 4th daughter: Paternal GreatGr’ma
Recently, I found a similar pattern described on the podcast: “The serious business of your Italian name,” by Dolores Salfiere, dated 9/11/2016. See: The serious business of your Italian name
Here’s their take. “...the Italian custom is respectful of a hierarchy:
Your first son is named after his paternal grandfather; your first daughter after her paternal grandmother.
Your second son is named after his maternal grandfather; your second daughter after her maternal grandmother.
Then, if you’re blessed (or crazy) enough to have more children, you can–after all four grandparents have had their names passed down–start picking names of siblings, aunts, uncles, and patron saints.”
This is not exactly like my version, but close. What it really comes down to is that you must have four sons before you can name #5 after yourself–hence, Giuseppe Benedetto. As the family became more “Americanized,” later generations jumped the gun and went directly to “Jr.”
Even though Giuseppe had to wait for his “Joe” the name still echoes through family gatherings. Only six Joes here, but rest assured, there are more…
Contranome: In his book, Douglas* introduces the reader to an alternative Calabrian naming system, the contranome. “It is a nickname which,...,takes the place of a Christian and surname together. A man will tell you: “My name is Luigi, but they call me, by my contranome, O’Canzirro. I don’t know my surname… Nearly every man and boy has his contranome by which, and by which alone, he is known in his village.” Women seldom have such names.
If a stranger asks for Giancarlo Fulgintti he is likely to be answered with a shrug. The villagers might ask, O’Pigro or O’Calzolaio? (Lazy Giancarlo or Giancarlo the shoemaker) If it’s neither, the stranger is in for a long, long day because he is about to meet many Giancarlos–O’Simplice? O’Ceco? O’Muratore? O’Affamato? O’Droghiere? O’Gapone? With a great deal of hilarity, the villagers will present the town idiot, a blind man, a bricklayer, the always hungry Giancarlo, the grocer, and “no soap,” the one who doesn’t bathe. The stranger will finally throw up his hands, shake his head, and stumble out of the village.
As Shakespeare didn’t write: “A rose by any other name needs its controme.”
*Douglas, p. 52 (See Story #2 for complete citation.)
A final note about the Smile of an Old Woman - I was reluctant to include the photo of Caterina at Pietragrande for two reasons. First, I was a bit embarrassed by my aged grandmother’s seeming lack of decorum. But the chief reason came from what I read into her smile. Yes, she showed spirit, but also a self-satisfied superiority, the glorified look of the victor who had overcome people who had mistreated her, denied the marriage, and denigrated her love. There is a chill in her smile that says, “Ha, you tried to stop me! But I won. I’m still alive, and I had a good life with the man I loved. We did well. You? Still c’e miseria. I’ll always hate you.” Fanciful on my part? Maybe, but I did crop her photograph.
Next time: The Early Years, 1903 through 1914
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