I Didn't Always Like Calamari: A NYC Italian-American Story

By Bob Farina

Bob Farina's life journey began in New York City in the 1940s. The grandson of Italian immigrants, Bob was raised in the burgeoning and fast-changing neighborhoods of the Brooklyn and Queens boroughs. America's post-war economic and societal transformations had a significant role in shaping the city, these neighborhoods, the people who lived in them, and on Bob's formative years and experiences.

Starting with his close relationship with his parents and grandparents as a child, I Didn't Always Like Calamari looks back on the poignant memories and touchstones of this time that were so significant and impressionable, Bob easily recalls them in vivid detail decades later.

Beginning with regular family dinners and gatherings, always featuring his grandmother's favorite Italian recipes that are described in mouth-watering detail, moving through his early school years, Bob re-counts the dedicated work ethic demonstrated by all of the adults in his life – another formative value he inherited. Moving up through middle school and then Catholic high school in Brooklyn, readers are taken through a mind's reel of unique, and often endearingly funny, coming-of-age experiences, but many of which may have a ring of familiarity to readers who grew up in a similar time and place.
Stickball in the city streets, a first dance party, running afoul of the teaching Franciscan brothers, and other vignettes at once both commonplace and profound, this is a vivid recollection of the times, the values, and the changes Bob lived through and up to his high school years.

The dawn of that most tumultuous decade, the '60s, brings more life-altering challenges and
experiences to Bob as well. Starting with his college years at St. John's University in Queens, NY, and there meeting his wife-to-be, Bob takes readers on a tour of a time in his life that is at once joyous and heart-wrenching. Faced with choices that will define the rest of his life, Bob opens his heart and his mind, parsing out what it means to understand and navigate the difference between living your own life while trying to understand and respect the feelings of those who have sacrificed a great deal to give you the opportunity to make that life. In the course of that struggle, drawing on the values instilled him by his family and upbringing, Bob shows how he came to terms with the evolving reality of altered relationships with his family and the joy he found daily in the promise of his own new family and professional career.

From there, Bob shares his family's growth, personal challenges, triumphs, tragedies, and joys all the way through the present day, including the wide network of friends whose company he and his wife have enjoyed for many years. I Didn't Always Like Calamari is one man's clear-eyed account of a life well-lived and a recollection of the experiences that shaped him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098333607

Bob Farina

As a native New Yorker, Bob Farina is a graduate of St. John's University who enjoyed a 30-year corporate executive career with Bloomingdales Department Store and a 10-year career as President and COO of Hart Systems. Bob relocated to Charleston, SC in 2006 and now is a real estate professional servicing the greater Charleston area. He has published three prior novels. Bob and his wife, Mary Ann, reside on Daniel Island in Charleston. Their daughters Allison and Carolyn, along with their grandchildren, live in the Carolinas as well. An avid golfer, Bob enjoys many of Charleston's great courses.

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1

She Was Not Going Back

1913

Shabby clothing and somber faces—men with mustaches and hats—women in long- sleeved blouses and floor-length skirts … these are images of immigrants from the archives of Ellis Island. What are not visible in these pictures are their thoughts and emotions, and a peek at what was in their hearts.

I lived with my maternal grandparents for most of my youth and spent countless hours with them at family dinners. We talked about what their life was like in Italy, why they left and what they faced when they first arrived in America.

What drives anyone to venture off into the unknown with no safety net and leave everything behind? For my grandparents, and for almost all of the immigrants, it was not the adventure and excitement that awaited them; it was the hopelessness of their situation and the desperation to do something about it. A life with no hope of improvement leads to either a grin-and-bear it acceptance, or an overpowering force to make a change.

* * *

During the period from 1820 to 1890, almost all of the immigrants to the United States came from Germany, Ireland, and England—with just a small number from Italy. The major wave of Italian immigrants came between 1900 and 1915 when about 3 million entered the United States and passed through Ellis Island. Some were skilled carpenters, brick layers, masons, and tailors, but most were peasant laborers and farmers. The majority came from the southern regions of Calabria, Campania, Abruzzi, and Sicily.

The immigrants were poor and lived in harsh conditions often residing in one-room houses with no plumbing or privacy. They learned from newspapers and the talk of friends and relatives that America was a bountiful country that offered higher wages for their efforts. They had dreams of earning money in order to return to Italy with enough of it to buy land. In their eyes, land was the secret to wealth.

* * *

My 26 year-old grandfather boarded a train leaving Catania, Sicily, on Saturday, June 14, 1913. It was a two-hour ride north along the east coast to Messina where he was going to marry his sweetheart, my grandmother, that day.

Following in the line of my great grandfather and his father, Grandpa was a gifted mason. He told me his apprenticeship started when he was 16 years old and by age 20, he was a mason on his own. He developed his skills and artistry working on many jobs for the local churches and the wealthy. Shortly after turning 24 years old, he earned the coveted master mason classification, maestro muratore. Grandpa was a short man but was incredibly strong from working daily with mortar, bricks and stones.

Similarly, by her mid-20s, my grandmother was a much sought-after seamstress in Messina who specialized in women’s clothing and wedding dresses. She was skilled at cutting patterns and then sewing the pieces together using a single and double needle sewing machine, which in 1913 was powered by pumping a foot pedal to drive the needles in a vertical direction. Grandma had a sharp eye for details, an ability to meet tight deadlines and was a magician with a needle and thread.

* * *

Grandpa always loved his espresso. Unlike tea, which goes back 5,000 years, coffee was first brewed in Ethiopia about 500 years ago. In 1884, the first espresso machine was invented in Turin, Italy, and in 1903 refined in Milan to a single-shot espresso brewed directly into a cup.

Grandpa told me about the occasion he first met Grandma at an outdoor espresso bar in Messina when he was visiting his cousin. Grandpa sat at a small bistro table with his espresso, looked up and there was Grandma at the next table. It was a two-hour train ride, but he came back every Sunday for a month just to have a cup of espresso with her. Finally, she invited him back to her home to meet her parents and two sisters.

Their courtship was a whirlwind of fun and romance. Despite his calloused hands, Grandpa was a talented guitarist and often brought his instrument with him on his weekly train trip to Messina on Sundays. He had a great ear for music and knew what chords to play to accompany the melodies. He never studied music, so he was unable to read sheet music. He had a natural gift to hear a song and replicate the melody and chords on the guitar.

Following the family Sunday afternoon dinner, Grandpa provided entertainment for all and told me he always ended it with a heartfelt rendition of O Sole Mio, a Neapolitan song written 15 years earlier.

It was during his trip there in March that Grandpa asked Grandma’s father for her hand in marriage. He received an immediate yes and then presented her with a simple gold band that Grandma wore the rest of her life. The wedding date was set for June 14, 1913.

Each week thereafter following the Sunday dinner, my grandparents went out for a two-hour stroll around the city of Messina. They shared their family struggles and meager living conditions as well as their dreams and aspirations. Grandpa and Grandma knew that since they did not own land, they would always be paying rent to someone and yearned to own a home with enough room for a large family!

After saving some money, Grandma and Grandpa decided to leave Italy and go to America. They told me when they shared their decision with her parents they did not receive an initial supportive response. Finally, Grandma said her mom had a smile on her face and without saying a word, welcomed her into open arms. They embraced each other for a long time and Grandma remembered promising her mother she would come back in a few years.

* * *

Grandpa arrived at the Messina Centrale train terminal and walked to the San Camillo Church carrying only one piece of luggage. He left his guitar with his mother. His cousin was his best man.

It was a very simple wedding ceremony. Just a handful of Grandma’s friends and neighbors were at the church. Grandpa told me none of his family came up from Catania. When I asked him why, he just said they were poor and couldn’t afford to spend money on the train ticket. A small celebration was held in the church hall. Prosciutto and provolone sandwiches and local wine were provided for everyone. His cousin played the accordion and sang several Italian songs. My grandparents danced for the first time to O Sole Mio.

The newlyweds said their goodbyes and left to catch the afternoon train to Palermo on the western side of Sicily. On the ride, Grandpa expressed confidence about the future and reassured her that things were going to be much better for them in America. Grandma remembered talking about how many children they would have and what names they liked. By the time they arrived at the Palermo Centrale train station, they were exhausted but looking forward to their first night together.

On Monday morning, they left the hotel and walked to the Port of Palermo terminal two miles away. They were very fortunate that their ship, Canada, was already at the pier.

A few hundred people were waiting on line in front of them. It took two more hours to purchase tickets and navigate through the passport review station. The ship was scheduled to depart later that day.

Grandma and Grandpa finally boarded the ship and were directed to the steerage area on the lowest level. They passed first-class and second-class levels on their way down. Only steerage passengers were rigorously processed at Ellis Island.

The conditions at their level were unhealthy. It was crowded and dark. The ventilation was almost non-existent. The toilets were inadequate and their sleeping berths offered no privacy; however, the ship surprisingly had a dining room for the steerage group. In spite of these conditions, my grandparents told me they had faith in the future. To pass the time, they played cards, sang, and danced. Everyone shared their dreams of finding employment in New York City.

The first week of crossing the Atlantic was uneventful. The waters were relatively calm and Grandma and Grandpa were able to acclimate to the conditions, but the real challenge was dealing with the offensive odor. The only relief was ascending the staircase to the top deck for fresh air, but their assigned standing area was directly behind the smokestacks coughing up soot and the steerage level vents emitting foul air.

By the second week of the journey, dark and gloomy clouds and howling winds followed the ship, which was navigating five to eight-foot waves for three consecutive days. Going up to the top deck was not an option. They were surrounded by many seasick passengers. No one was in the mood for singing and dancing.

The last three days of the trip were calm. Finally, on July 1, 1913, my grandparents and the others all saw land on the horizon and were yelling and screaming, despite being in a state of physical and emotional exhaustion.

As the ship sailed into New York harbor, the Statue of Liberty loomed ahead with her welcoming arm holding a torch. The yelling and screaming began to subside and a prayerful hush fell over the crowd. My grandparents were mesmerized, and along with everyone else on the ship, they were overwhelmed with gratitude and filled with hope for the future. It was precisely as the ship passed directly in front of the famous robed Lady that Grandma sighed and realized that she was not going to keep her promise to her mother … she was not going back to Italy.

2

Men Sometimes Hesitate

1913-1944

A tag number was pinned on their front shirts that matched the information on the ship’s registry. They passed an inspection in the Great Hall, where doctors briefly scanned every immigrant for obvious physical ailments. During their final inspection, the newlyweds were cross-examined to determine if their verbal answers matched the ship’s manifest log that was filled out back at the port of embarkation— Palermo, Sicily. Finally, after four hours, my grandparents cleared the Ellis Island immigration process.

They studied English for a few months before they left Italy. They told me they were very lucky to have met a man who returned to Italy after working in America for three years and was now coming back with his wife and two sons. He spent the last three days on the ship working with Grandma and Grandpa on key Italian-to-English translation words and phrases.

Before departing Italy, Grandpa’s cousin had given them a connection for housing in lower Manhattan, so they departed Ellis Island on a ferryboat and somehow managed to arrive at the apartment building located on the corner of 2nd Avenue and 9th Street. Their unit was directly above O’Malley’s Tavern. Right outside the building was the elevated train line that ran along 2nd Avenue from City Hall up to Harlem. It was built in 1875 and would eventually be taken down in 1942.

Grandma and Grandpa met another Italian man, Alfredo Grasso, who immigrated to America four years earlier. He now was in the process of buying an existing poultry farm in Summit, New Jersey. The farm had two homes on the property as well. Alfredo was searching for a partner.

When they returned home that evening, Grandpa was very excited because he worked for three years on a poultry farm outside of his hometown before he was a mason apprentice. They both liked Alfredo and concluded that using about half of their $1,200 in savings, which included $200 provided by Grandma’s mother, would be worth the risk in possibly providing them an opportunity to accumulate money. My grandparents were scared but nonetheless were prepared to work hard for many years to be successful.

Alfredo and Grandpa became equal partners in their new business venture under the name of Friends Poultry Farm. Both men moved into their homes on the farm in the Fall of 1913, but two years later Alfredo died of a heart attack and Grandpa became the sole owner of the farm. For the next 14 years, the farm flourished and Grandma gave birth to four boys and three girls.

Grandpa told me that their farm was established for the