There is only one photo I ever saw of my grandpa Joe. It sat on a wall of my grandmother's cellar where she canned tomato sauce, eggplants and made wine. Dressed in a tuxedo, with a finely trimmed pencil mustache and a look of severity, it was his wedding day!
Today is his birthday he would have been about 132-years-old if he had taken better care of himself. What makes his birthday notable to me is not the age he would have been but the date. November 6 is his birthday, April 6 is my son Joseph's birthday, and July 6 is my birthday! Grandpa was a crusty guy who fought in WWI, started a business that he left for my grandmother to prosper from and truly loved his children. But in his short time in America when he arrived in 1915, he married had two kids started a business and fought for his adopted country. Too bad he didn't live longer, God knows what he could have accomplished.
One day in sunny Naples, some Fascista said or did something to old Joe that kind of upset him, and rather than go through the formalities of asking for an apology, he almost killed the man with his bare hands! OK, maybe he was a little touchy, but then had his antagonist spoken to him in some other political language he wouldn’t have had such an outcome.
Of course, this did not sit well with the Dipartimento di Polizia locale di Neopolitan, so he booked a passage to America on the Madonna and sailed from Genoa. I guess that all he packed for his voyage was a long salami and cheese, with maybe a flask of vino to soothe his sadness from leaving his home for a strange new place. He suffered what many Italian immigrants suffered from, ‘corragio’ coming to this strange place!
In the early 1900s, things were not as well recorded as they are today. Grandpa met my grandmother, who was maybe 15 or 16 and they married. Grandpa was a friend of Zio Felice, Grandma Frances’ older brother and so they met. After the initial handshake, they had three children, starting with my father.
Then the First World War started and grandpa, although he didn’t cause it, joined the fray in the U.S. Army, where he joined with his best friend Raffielo. Grandpa had a need to serve his country, and since there were no waiter jobs in restaurants in those days, he joined up with the Rainbow Division and went ‘Over there’, where he took out his anger on a few German lads, and then returned to the USA.
When he did, the breakout of Spanish influenza occurred and Grandpa was put in the hospital. Yearning to see his wife and children, grandpa jumped out of a third-story window and into the snow and took off for Grandma, kids, and pasta, and maybe not in that order!
And it is there that we leave Grandpa, for he died from his escape from the hospital, leaving Grandma Frances with three little kids and all that pasta!
Thank you, and don’t tell anybody I told you all this, they are still looking for him in Naples as I write!
Today is his birthday he would have been about 132-years-old if he had taken better care of himself. What makes his birthday notable to me is not the age he would have been but the date. November 6 is his birthday, April 6 is my son Joseph's birthday, and July 6 is my birthday! Grandpa was a crusty guy who fought in WWI, started a business that he left for my grandmother to prosper from and truly loved his children. But in his short time in America when he arrived in 1915, he married had two kids started a business and fought for his adopted country. Too bad he didn't live longer, God knows what he could have accomplished.
One day in sunny Naples, some Fascista said or did something to old Joe that kind of upset him, and rather than go through the formalities of asking for an apology, he almost killed the man with his bare hands! OK, maybe he was a little touchy, but then had his antagonist spoken to him in some other political language he wouldn’t have had such an outcome.
Of course, this did not sit well with the Dipartimento di Polizia locale di Neopolitan, so he booked a passage to America on the Madonna and sailed from Genoa. I guess that all he packed for his voyage was a long salami and cheese, with maybe a flask of vino to soothe his sadness from leaving his home for a strange new place. He suffered what many Italian immigrants suffered from, ‘corragio’ coming to this strange place!
In the early 1900s, things were not as well recorded as they are today. Grandpa met my grandmother, who was maybe 15 or 16 and they married. Grandpa was a friend of Zio Felice, Grandma Frances’ older brother and so they met. After the initial handshake, they had three children, starting with my father.
Then the First World War started and grandpa, although he didn’t cause it, joined the fray in the U.S. Army, where he joined with his best friend Raffielo. Grandpa had a need to serve his country, and since there were no waiter jobs in restaurants in those days, he joined up with the Rainbow Division and went ‘Over there’, where he took out his anger on a few German lads, and then returned to the USA.
When he did, the breakout of Spanish influenza occurred and Grandpa was put in the hospital. Yearning to see his wife and children, grandpa jumped out of a third-story window and into the snow and took off for Grandma, kids, and pasta, and maybe not in that order!
And it is there that we leave Grandpa, for he died from his escape from the hospital, leaving Grandma Frances with three little kids and all that pasta!
Thank you, and don’t tell anybody I told you all this, they are still looking for him in Naples as I write!
No comments:
Post a Comment