Giuseppe Stories # 11 - Boomers, ‘Burbs, and Goodbyes

                     Giuseppe Stories #11: Boomers, 'Burbs, and Goodbyes

George and Gloria married as the war ended. Note that George was still required to be in uniform.  Rose and Sam would also join the ranks of newlyweds. On ‘Pucci Street there were two or three weddings every Saturday. The neighborhood kids were in attendance outside the Church for every one of them!  Why? Because of the excitement and because the wedding guests would often toss coins or candy at the happy couple as they left the church. In the photo above, you can see the children in Camden, NJ doing exactly the same thing. 

                

         George and Gloria             Years later-Rose and Sam 

             (Sorry, no wedding photos.)

Life was finally getting back to normal, rationing was winding down, and weddings were celebrated.  Babies were not far behind!

I don’t know how common it was for women to keep notebooks that recorded facts about their families, but Caterina kept one (see Story #3) and so did my mother. She kept track of the birthdates of every “C” family child from Tessie in 1922 to Mickey in 1966.  The post-war baby boom was alive and well when “our boys came home.”  Ann Marie beat Elizabeth by two and a half months in 1946. Joe D arrived on the Fourth of July the next year. Mary Kay and Richard were eight days apart in 1948. Vincent G followed in September and Bobby D closed out the decade.  

Giuseppe’s dream had survived a world war. But he was no longer young. He was ill and keenly aware of his mortality as he began his search for a cemetery lot that would accommodate himself and Caterina, Teresa and Nick, Sam and Theresa, George and Jenny, and Frank and Helen. There would also be room for his sons and their wives.  His family would be together for all eternity. He found the perfect spot, on a corner at the side entrance to Mount Carmel. He bought it. 

Unfortunately, someone else had set his sights on the same plot. Giuseppe and his brothers were made an offer they didn’t refuse. (See Story #8) Tony Accardo wanted the corner lot.  In exchange he offered Giuseppe and his brothers an equally large spot two places down.  An accommodation was reached and everyone could rest in peace.  

Did you notice that, with the exception of Teresa who with husband Nick formed the fifth family, there were no lots set aside for Giuseppe’s daughters Mary and Rose.  Recall that in old country Italian culture, daughters were not highly regarded. This was mostly because it was expected that they would marry and be accountable to their husbands’ families. The daughters and husbands wanted plots that would be as close as possible to their family. One area was available, and for rather obvious reasons. They found four empty places together about a block away from the larger “C” family graves. It was, at first, curious that such an old and nearly full cemetery would have space nearby.  However, their lots were right next to Al Capone’s gravesite. Once in a while, floral arrangements that were intended for my aunts’ family graves were taken and placed next to Capone’s headstone, so visitors could take photographs. Sometimes people returned the flowers to the original graves.

   

Giuseppe was right to prepare.  In her notebook, my mother wrote: “Pa C taken ill on Monday, March 31, taken to hospital. Passed away April14, Monday morning at 1 am.”

She recorded the financial arrangements for the purchase of the gravesites in her notebook. The plan was that the sons share the cost for their parents' lots equally, and pay for themselves and their spouses in installments.  

I remember Giuseppe’s wake. I was about four and a half. The smell of hundreds and hundreds of flowers was overwhelming. The women of the family were wailing. Some would scream out once in a while. Everyone in Giuseppe’s family was expected to kiss him good-bye as he lay in the coffin. And I did. The room was so warm, so crowded. Perhaps my older cousin, Lisa, has similar memories. We are the only two who are still living. 

Second brother, Saverio (gUncle Sam) would die in July of the following year. 

But death is not only for the old. In June of 1952, Uncle George and Aunt Gloria gave birth to their third daughter, Gloria Ann. I believe that the infant was born with cerebral palsy. She died at the end of December that same year. Letty, Rita, Joan, Lisa and I served as her pallbearers, along with  New Jersey cousin, Gloria Ann, for whom she was named. We were given white gloves to wear when handling her tiny white coffin. It was very cold outside as we guided our treasured baby cousin to the gravesite that would shelter her forever. 

Post war life was brimming with energy. Life was rapidly changing from the comfortable pace of pre-war America. Memories of the hardships of the Great Depression and War Time Restrictions were fading fast. It was now the time of Hope and Dreams, especially for Italian Americans. Because of their sacrifices, some of which were paid with the blood of sons, brothers, and husbands, Italian Americans were finally seen as Americans FIRST.  Too bad Giuseppe didn’t live to enjoy the fulfillment of his dream.

That is not to say that life wasn’t hard at times. AFCEA International lists a cost of living comparison for 1946. Prices only seem attractive by today’s standards.https://www.afcea.org/signal-media/price-life-united-states-1946-vs-2006 

Gallon of Milk - $0.67     Loaf of Bread - $0.10     Dozen Eggs - $0.59  

Gallon of Gas - $0.21     Postage Stamp - $0.03  Min. Hourly Wage $0.40

Movie Ticket - $0.55                                              Monthly Rent - $35.00

           Cost of a Computer (only ENIACs available) $486,804.00 

Even though wartime constraints were ending, we were still very poor.  There was seldom enough money to last until the next paycheck. My parents constantly fought over having enough for a gallon of milk or a loaf of bread. When I was three-years-old I recall an incident that made a lasting impression.  We had been downtown, entering a building with revolving doors. Few children have ever successfully managed a revolving door on their first try. I did not. I fell. No big deal, except to my father who treated me like a fragile Murano vase. My Irish mother was a rough and tumble tomboy with four brothers. When I fell, my father got upset, and made a scene. When we returned home, a battle ensued. My mother was angry about the scene, his protectiveness, and my clumsiness.  She was so angry that she threw a carton of milk at my father. The milk–so hard to afford–hit the wall and splashed down the front stairway.  I worried that I was responsible for the wasted milk. They always fought over money. So I decided to hide whatever change I could find. 

I took any dimes, nickels, or pennies laying on a table and deposited the coins into Sheila’s bank. Whenever my parents, or other family members needed spare change, my mother would take a butter knife and sweep the blade under the corner rounds in the living room. It was a family joke: Need money? Get out the knife and see how much you can find in the parlor!  Decades later, Uncle Joe renovated the flat. I wonder if he found any old coins under the baseboards?

My mother loved birthday parties. Aunt Gloria, was recruited for my third birthday party.   [Below:  Newlywed Aunt Gloria was pressed into action for serving the birthday cake.]

Below is a photo of my 5th birthday party with cousins from both sides of my family invited. This photo was taken in Giuseppe and Caterina’s living room. In the front row, left, are baby girls Ann Marie and Betty Jean. They were about 18 months old. I’m right behind Betty. Also in the front row, far left, is Joey who is holding cousin Joe D. Neighbors Jeanie R., Vincent G., and Tony S. were also invited. The more the merrier!

I loved to visit both Grandma Caterina’s and Nick and Teresa’s flats. To reach them you had to climb a long, narrow, fairly dark flight of stairs. Grandma was on the 2nd floor and Aunt Teresa on the 3rd. When at Grandma’s the player piano was a big draw. It was in the front of the building, just off the living room. The music rolls were made of heavy paper that had small rectangular holes distributed throughout. It always amazed me that those holes would produce such a variety of music at the flip of a switch.  And the piano keys would play themselves, as if a ghost was at the keyboard! 

Aunt Teresa’s flat had an upright piano in the living room, a really nice one. It was on this piano that Eugene pecked out Frankie Carle’s Sunrise (See Story #9). Besides the beautiful piano, they had a piano teacher who came once a week. Oh, how I wanted to take lessons on that piano! When I asked my parents, my father was insulted. He had started to give me violin lessons on a quarter sized violin when I was three years old. I hated it. I was awful at it, but my father persisted until I was ten. Years later, several of cousin Joe’s children took violin lessons with my father. It seemed to go well. 

But back to Grandma Caterina’s flat.  It was very hard to converse with my grandmother. She never learned English. Mostly she would try to create a bond through food. When my mother was expecting my brother, I sometimes went to Grandma’s when the-mother-to-be had a doctor’s appointment. Grandma had a large pantry with a door that closed. Amongst many other foods, she had a large wedge of Italian cheese in an even larger grater attached on a shelf I could just reach. Somehow I would manage to get into the pantry, close the door, grate the delicious cheese into my hand, and lick my hand until the cheese was gone.  I’m sure that Grandma knew what I was up to but she never said a word. To her,

          I was just The Little Mouse in the pantry. 

When Ann Marie was about four years old, Aunt Gloria, who with Uncle George lived with Grandma, asked me if I would like to come over after school and teach Ann how to read. I was happy to do so, she was a quick learner and an adept student! Aunt Gloria and Uncle George, who was my godfather, were very kind to me when I was a child and throughout my life. She was always very fair and looked for the up side of life. Uncle George called me on my birthday every year until he died. 

I believe she and Uncle George were trying to compensate for the treatment that cousins Joan, Lisa, and Rita doled out to me. Whenever the family was gathered at Grandma’s the men would seek the privacy of the living room and the women gossiped as they sat in chairs that lined the large dining room. Letty, Rita, Joan and Lisa took over one of the bedrooms just off the dining room. My mother urged me to “go in with the girls.”  But the girls would not let me in. I can still hear their voices as they shouted, “You can’t come in. We don’t like you!” They would slam the door and roar with laughter. 

There was nowhere for me but on a lone dining room chair, unoccupied by the ladies. No one acknowledged my existence, no one spoke to me. No one spoke to their daughters/nieces on my behalf either. My aunts and my mother continued to gossip about people they knew, food, health, and the neighbors. But Aunt Gloria noticed.

Several years later, Uncle George, also understood. When their family, along with Grandma, moved to the suburbs, they would host Thanksgiving dinner. After dinner, the ladies would line the kitchen and talk. The younger kids would play in the basement, the older ones upstairs. The men–most of them–stayed at the large table, dipping tangerine segments into homemade wine. They spoke of business, Chicago politics, and government. My father was not among them but I stayed nearby while the men conversed. I was as quiet as that cheese-eating mouse. Sometimes, an uncle would glance my way, but Uncle George gave a subtle signal to “leave her be.” He knew the other children would not play with me.  I stayed near the table, enjoying their conversation as well as their silent indulgence. And I learned a great deal about the problems of running a business, unions, politics, and how government works. I also learned that the men in the family were sensitive, accepting, decent, and fair–despite their very different world experiences. 

Assimilation is a process. It can’t be rushed. Its progress is uneven, seeking a delicate balance between embracing the new and unfamiliar while reassessing the traditional and comfortable. “Assimilation as never meant a ‘melting pot’ where everyone ‘melted’ into a homogenous ‘American’ stew… (it) has typically meant that immigrants have adapted and changed in disparate domains, rejecting their immigrant past in some ways (forgetting their parents’ tongue and speaking English, or learning to tolerate individuals with sharply different values) and holding on to other aspects of their heritage (ethnic cuisine, specific religious holidays, family traditions from the homeland).*

Many Italian customs and practices were losing their importance. The Italian language was heard less and less as the first generation died. The four brothers, Giuseppe, Sam, George, and Frank learned to speak English because it was a necessity. Caterina and gAunt Theresa did not speak English. gAunt Jennie spoke a mixture of the two and gAunt Helen spoke English fairly well. Aunt Teresa, because she spent her childhood in Italy, could speak both languages fluently. She often translated for her mother.  Rose spoke a bit, too. Some of the second generation spoke Italian to their parents, but it was never their first language. Their parents insisted that they speak “American.” My father never spoke, or understood, more than a very few words of Italian! My generation did not speak the language and I imagine you didn’t capiche either!  It’s time you learned the Italian language of the hands, “The Top 11 Italian Hand Gestures”:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WwZ6NTV1nRc 

The comfort and safety of living in an Italian neighborhood, close to relatives ceased to be important after the war. Homes for GIs and their families were being built in the suburbs. New roads and the affordability of automobiles helped shrink the distance between the suburban home with good schools, and the “old neighborhood.”  My mother wrote in her notebook: “”Marie “C” bought home September 1947, moved from (‘Pucci’) Street October 18, 1947.”  

My parents wanted to move too. Their first step was to purchase a lot in a western suburb–a couple of hundred dollars. Twice a month we would drive out to visit our lot. Then, money needed to be earned to pay for the house. My father took on extra work that went into the family’s savings account. Here’s a sample of what he did for extra money:

 

He earned extra money in a variety of ways:  helped build his boss’s new home, wallpapered people’s walls, painted, took on extra drawing projects, begged more overtime, and performed a variety of “handyman” tasks.  In order to afford the down payment on a new home, my parents borrowed money from one of Caterina’s relatives who had recently moved to the United States. Angelo operated a landscaping business. My father worked for Angelo every weekend and vacation until the loan (about $2000) was paid back.  It took several years. Construction was started on May 26, 1951. Ceil wrote, “moved into new home June 28, 1952.” 

Our move was not without difficulties.  When my parents purchased the empty lot for our house it was in the middle of three available. Soon afterward the other lots were sold and homes built on the land. When it was learned by one of our future neighbors that we were going to begin construction, the neighbor called my parents and wanted to make them an offer on the land. The gentleman, Harry B., came to our ‘Pucci Street home one evening. I was in my bedroom right next to the living room so I could hear everything said. Harry stated that he and the neighbor to the north did not want anyone from “the Chesapeake Exchange” living next to them. The Chesapeake Exchange referred to the prefix of our phone number. It was an exchange that encompassed a racially mixed area with a poor economic profile.  Harry was appalled–such a danger to his family!  He and the neighbor to the north made a “good will” offer to purchase our lot…”please sign here…”

If this story sounds familiar, Lorraine Hansberry told a similar story in her play, A Raisin in the Sun, which exposed “redlining,” a strategy to keep undesirables from purchasing homes in white neighborhoods. In our case, it was not so much for race as for poverty.  The neighbor to the north was a wealthy Italian. Harry was a Notre Dame Law School grad. They did not want “our kind” on their block. But as my mother wrote, “we moved into new home in June of 1952”. Harry and his debutant wife made our lives miserable until they moved years later. The neighbor to the north gave us some of his tomato crop every summer. 

Before the end of the 1950s most of the second and third generation family members left the city and moved to suburbia. Nick and Teresa found a home in Dom’s suburban town. Caterina, George and Gloria’s family, Joe and Thelma’s dozen, and Katie and Dom’s family chose Vito and Ceil’s home town. gUncle Sam’s sons, Frank and Joseph moved there too. [NOTE: Joe’s wife, Sylvia, died young. He wrote a beautiful book about her and their love. I found it in their hometown library.]  The big winner was southwestern suburbia. Rose and Sam’s family, Cousin Joan moved with husband Don and the kids, Cousin Art with Terry and their kids, and, eventually, Joe and Anita moved families to this hometown.  Eugene, Mary and their children went everyone one better and headed for California! 

Even though families were leaving ‘Pucci Street, they remained loyal to established community groups. Gloria and Ceil joined Marian for the 1955 Rosary Society Bowling Dinner. See photo below ↓

Uncle Joe and Aunt Marion stayed true to Chicago, as did Aunt Mary and Uncle Joe D. gUncle Frank opened a tuxedo shop in northwestern Chicago. He moved his family closer to the business.  Question for you: Uncle Frank’s next door neighbor would become an international celebrity. Who was the neighbor? (The answer will be given at the end of this story.)

Intermarriage, in this case Italian and not-Italian. I was the first “melting pot” American child born into the “C” family. Make no mistake, it was tough–on both sides of my family.  My Irish cousins called me nasty names. I’ve already spoken of the reception my Italian cousins offered me. gUncle George took the cake though. I was nearly four years old, when he began to quiz me, “So, Sheila, are you Irish or are you Italian?” I figured out the answer to that without any help. I innocently said, “When I’m at Grandma C’s I’m Italian, when I’m at Grandma B’s I’m Irish.”  After a few more tries he stopped asking but it wasn’t until the mid-1950s that the Pizza Ceiling was well and truly smashed. 

 gUncle Frank’s Frankie married Lois. Not only was she not Italian (she was Irish, Northern Irish) but she was a Protestant!!!  And I will be happy to add that Lois was one of the loveliest, brightest, happy, welcoming, and talented women I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. No one could resist Lois. After they started their family, I was no longer the sole half breed! Other marriages to non-Italians abounded. These included Joe & Thelma, Art & Terri, Joseph & Sylvia, Frank & Martha, and Dom (the dentist) & Kay. [FYI: Wikipedia reports that after 1970, 70% of the children born into families of Italian descent were the children of intermarriage.] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italian_Americans#Demographics 

Frank and Lois weren’t the only lovebirds in the family. Marriages abounded after the war. In 1950 Uncle Joe married the love of his life, Marian D. See Letty at far right, front row and Joe, far left back row) →

        

   

← Teresa and Nick’s Catherine (Katie) married Dom B. I was her flowergirl. Their first home was on 'Pucci Street. Son, Joe, married Thelma whom he met while pursuing an advanced degree in Bangor, Maine. 

Joe was one of the family’s mathematicians. You can readily see that he was very good at multiplication.  ↓  

      Photo of Joe, Thelma and all their children from a local newspaper.

There is an interesting anecdote about Joe that took place in the 1950s. They already had a few children and money was tight. Thelma asked Joe to stop on his way home from work and pick up some bread, milk, and a couple of other items. Joe went to the store, but he didn’t have much money and didn’t know how he was going to pay for the groceries. He was in the check-out lane and looked down onto the floor. There was a $20 bill on the floor. Thanks to “chance” he had enough to pay for food that night.

Marian, like Lois, was friendly and tolerant of differences. See the NOTE at the end of this story for an example of her thoughtfulness.

I will finish this segment of Giuseppe’s Stories with the story of one of gUncle George’s daughters, Marianna.  She married Ralph Pope before the war. Ralph was a member of a famous Chicago culinary family, the Antoinette and Francois Pope School of Fancy Cookery. See https://swedishbaker.blogspot.com/2008/07/early-days-of-television-antoinette-and.html 

Marianna was a wonderful cook. (She learned from her mother, Aunt Jennie!) Ralph’s family not only had a cooking school, but they were on television. The Pope School of Fancy Cookery had a weekly spot on TV and Marianna was one of the cooks who appeared on the show. She also contributed to their cookbook, The Antoinette Pope School Cookbook.

The Popes were no strangers to TV in the ‘50s.  Son, Ralph Jr., better known as Skippy, would tap dance on TV in local talent show contests. We would tune in to see Skip perform and viewers would be urged to  “send your postcards to vote for your favorite performer.”   Many penny postcards were sent by family members to register our votes for Skippy, but he never won. But Skip and Marianna were plenty famous with us!

gUncle Frank was on the airwaves too with a commercial for his tuxedo store. DJ (his grandson) told me that he would gather all the grandchildren and rehearse them over and over to sing the “jingle” he had written for radio. (Family name has been removed.  You know who you are. Fill in the XXXs yourself!  The commercial’s musical score and lyrics are below.)

Next time:  Summation. The rest is on YOU. 

* Cannuto. See story # 10

Quiz Answer:  Uncle Frank lived next door to the teenage Hugh Hefner, the founder of Playboy Enterprizes.

FINAL NOTE: Aunt Marian celebrated my mother’s Irish background with a gift one Christmas. I treasure that book, her acceptance, and my memories of her laugh and warm welcome.