Closing the Circle: A Journey of Love

By Judy Giudice Tull

My grandparents had come to America from hard times of starvation and despair. Because of widespread poverty, thousands of Italians and Sicilians were emigrating from their homeland in the early 1900s. Certainly, things must have been dark in Sicily in 1910 when my grandfather was only seventeen. How did he determine at such a young age that he had to make it to America "on the boat" and alone? That is just one of the questions I wanted answered. Even with a sense of regret that there would be no answers to find, I viewed the opportunity to go to Italy and walk on Italian soil with Dad a closure, of sorts, to the mystery of my heritage that I was sure I would never solve.

With these thoughts, Judy Giudice Tull begins an adventure into her past. Like many modern-day genealogy seekers, she is willing to investigate any resource she can uncover. She is a never-say-die, sensitive person whose love for family is a constant driving force. She writes beautifully about family love throughout her search for something, anything to uncover her family history from the old country. The reader will enjoy visiting famous sites and tasting new cuisines as detective work ensues. You will participate firsthand in suspense of her characters' hopes, surprises, disappointments, and rewards as she takes you on an unexpected journey of love--an adventure story that happens only in the movies!

--Father Ilario Dichiera, Catholic priest

*****

Closing the Circle: a Journey of Love is an over-the-top, happy story shouting to be heard. It is the response to numerous folks from many walks of life who heard of the happenings and implored the author, "You have to write a book!" A truly beautiful story.

--Dewey Johnson, author of The Lord's Prayer: Hope for the Neighborhood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9781685706395

Book preview

cover.jpg

Closing the Circle

A Journey of Love

Judy Giudice Tull

ISBN 978-1-68570-638-8 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68570-639-5 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Judy Giudice Tull

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Part 1

Chapter 1

Dad Didn't Want to Go

Chapter 2

Dad, the Travel Agent

Chapter 3

Surprise!

Chapter 4

Do You Believe in Angels?

Chapter 5

Detective Work

Chapter 6

Somewhere Out There, There's a Farm

Chapter 7

In Honor of Dad

Chapter 8

God's Signature

Part 2

Chapter 9

This Time…

Chapter 10

A Promise Kept

Chapter 11

Closing the Circle

Chapter 12

The Feast of St. Michael

Part 3

Chapter 13

In the Beauty Shop

Chapter 14

Questions, Questions, Questions

Chapter 15

The Fab Fall Four

Chapter 16

Welcome Back!

Chapter 17

Reflection

Chapter 18

Food: The Ultimate Bond in Italian Living

Chapter 19

Sebastiano's Blessing

Chapter 20

Ultimate Hospitality

Chapter 21

The Pizza Piazza

Chapter 22

Viva Rutino!

Chapter 23

See You Later We Will Not Forget

Part 4

Chapter 24

Just One Hundred Yards

Chapter 25

First Meal Together

Chapter 26

Number 18

Chapter 27

The Barbershop Connection

Chapter 28

Ancestors' Homes

Chapter 29

Different Languages

Chapter 30

Scacce Ragusane

Chapter 31

Rosita

Chapter 32

Carmelo

Chapter 33

Somewhere Out There, There Is a Farm!

Chapter 34

All One Family

Chapter 35

Asking for the Impossible

Chapter 36

Alpha and Omega

Chapter 37

Table Conversations

Chapter 38

Do Looks Define a Person?

Chapter 39

Letdown

Chapter 40

Have I Got a Surprise for You!

Chapter 41

Thanks for Being a Iudice

Chapter 42

Finishing Where It All Began

Epilogue

Genealogy

Pizza Genealogy in Rutino, Italy

Iudice Genealogy in Ragusa, Sicily

Sebastiano (Giudice) Iudice (1893–1967): wife, Maddalena PizzaSee genealogy of Sebastiano Iudice and Maddalena Pizza in Giudice Genealogy in the United States.Giudice Genealogy in the United StatesSebastiano (Iudice) Giudice (1893–1967): wife, Maddalena Pizza (1900–1964)Joseph Emanuel Giudice (March 16, 1921–December 6, 2012): wife, Viola Judy Giudice Tull: husband, Bob Krista Rippons: husband, CT; children, Julia and Matthew Brian Long: wife, Heather; children, Ethan Joseph and Avery Stepdaughters: Linda Tull Revol: husband, Stephane; children, Antoine, Laura, and Camille Paula Tull Ricca: husband, David; children, Andrew and Nathan Stepchildren: Louise Johnston: husband, Vincent Giudice (see below) Douglas Johnston: wife, Lynda Richard Angela: husband, Bud; children, Jeremy and Markie; four grandchildrenRose Giudice (September 26, 1922–December 3, 1997): husband, Melvin Sherri Springer Bentch: husband, Lee Amanda; child, Paige Nina: children, Shyanne, Brayden, Keira, Eva Grace, and EverleeLucy Anna Giudice (May 23, 1924–December 30, 1982): husband, John Patricia Russell: husband, Robert Albie Elaine Russell: husband, Mark Darrell Eileen Russell Stepchildren: Gary Russell: wife, Pat; children, Stephen and Jonathan; three grandchildren Jeannine Russell: husband, TedVirginia Rosaria Giudice (September 24, 1925–July 13, 2013): husband, Harold Bonnie Hayes Budine: husband, Dennis Jeffrey Gardner: wife, Amy; children, Amethyst, Brandon, and Tiffany Madeline HayesFrank Giudice (March 28, 1927–April 7, 2016): wife, Connie Robert Giudice: wife, Julie; child, Matthew: wife, Erica Elizabeth GiudiceAlbert Giudice (July 24, 1930–March 24, 2012): wife, Betty Jo Anne Giudice Nero Anthony Sebastian Mary James: wife, Ashley; children, Reese and Ryder John Giudice Anthony Giudice (deceased in childhood) David Giudice: wife, Susan; stepchildren, Sherry and Brandon; child, Reece Susan GiudiceViola Madeline (Odie) Giudice (June 16, 1932): husband, Wilfred Paul Jurjens: partner, Marge Gina Jurjens Bell: husband, Richard Nathan: wife, Melanie; children, Cassidy and Violet Madalena Ryan James Jurjens: partner, JoanVincent John Giudice (March 3, 1934–January 6, 2017): wife, Louise Deborah Giudice Stephanie: husband, Marlon; child, Corrine Gianna Donna Giudice Lazeski: husband, Tom Matthew: wife, Alicia Phillip: wife, Danielle; child, Piper Sandra Giudice Emily: husband, Caleb; children, Ansley and Cameron Elizabeth: child, PaisleyPaul Giudice (May 13, 1935–June 23, 1936)Nicholas Roman Giudice (November 18, 1936–February 6, 2021): wife, Mary Michael Giudice Linda Giudice: husband, Allen Mark: children, Logan and Jaxson Stephanie: child, KayleighMap: The Journey of LoveAbout the AuthorPhoto by Gina BellJudy Giudice Tull is a multifaceted woman. She is a graduate of the University of Texas and enjoys music, art, sculpting, travel, football, and chocolate. She is a retired legal assistant and participates in volunteer organizations, serving in many leadership roles. Her greatest passions are her faith and her family, which are the inspiration for writing Closing the Circle. Judy presents her book because when you have an experience that overwhelms you, you are compelled to write about it. She believes that everyone needs to know the kinds of events revealed in the book really do happen. Mentored by author and playwright Fred Welsh, she takes her readers on an adventure into the impossible where family and faith prevail. She is a mother of four and a grandmother of nine and lives with her husband in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Dedicated to

Joseph E. Giudice

Best Dad ever

With God, there is no such thing as coincidence.

Acknowledgments

From the very first thought of what became the story of Closing the Circle, I was filled with excitement. Thanks to everyone—family, friends, and casual acquaintances—who caught the contagious bug and encouraged my writing.

My parents, Joseph and Viola Giudice, inspired me with the deep sacrificial love of family in which the all-important aspect is togetherness. I am grateful to them for instilling that certainty in me. Dad gave Closing the Circle its title.

I especially am thankful to my husband, Bob, for always allowing me to be who I am and for doing the laundry while I ignored the household to write. He gave Closing the Circle: a Journey of Love its subtitle.

My most special thanks go to Father Ilario Dichiera whose love for family is the driving force which allowed God to use him so richly in my family's story. Without him, I would not have this wonderful account to tell.

Sharing this journey of love with my daughter Krista made the entire experience all the richer. Thank you, Krista, for cheerleading my writing efforts and, especially, for making it possible to experience this wild ride together.

To my daughter Linda: thank you for your experienced editing skills, which you lent through multiple reads to give the book the care it deserves.

One of the first people to read the book, author and playwright Fred Welsh, was so enthusiastic about it that he became my mentor. My deepest thanks go to him for his instruction and guidance. I wish he had lived long enough to see our efforts go to print.

*****

Genealogy lists of characters can be found on the last pages—a scorecard to keep track of the players. Names appearing most often are underlined for quick reference.

A map of this journey of love is this story's last page.

Part 1

Chapter 1

Dad Didn't Want to Go

Dad didn't want to go.

He knew it, as sure as he knew his name: Joseph Emanuel Giudice. He did not want to go!

Dad had begun living with my husband, Bob, and me six years earlier. He had been alone for three years after the death of my mother when an ugly cancer came to pay him an unwelcome visit. Since he had no one to take care of him, his doctors in Houston, Texas, convinced him to come to Albuquerque, New Mexico, to stay with us while undergoing his cancer treatment. After a year of rigorous treatments, he was blessed with remission. By then, Bob and I were enjoying him so much we did not want him to return home. He was reluctant to stay, though, because he did not want to change our lives. We were convinced, however, that it would enrich all our lives if he stayed to live with us permanently. Ultimately, we won him over, and he became part of our household and circle of friends.

Dad then quickly won over all our friends. Demonstratively kind, always thinking of others, genuinely interested in everyone and everything, with love in his eyes, he caused them all to fall in love with him. In fact, outside my front door, there was a line of infatuated friends who all wanted him as their dad!

Dad easily assimilated into our lifestyle. We made him a social butterfly. He adopted for himself a bumper sticker slogan displayed on an 18-wheeler during one of our many adventures: I go where I am towed! So he was accustomed to picking up and tagging along everywhere we went.

But not this time. This new idea of taking him to Europe was not going to happen. Always cautious and extremely conservative, he put his foot down!

This, of course, did not make sense to me. Here I was, offering him a chance to trace his roots in Italy. Everybody is doing it these days. Second only to a devout love of God, family was Dad's greatest love and focus. A trip to the homeland would be one of discovery, of satisfaction, and of love. He could see where his…our…family originated.

I suppose I could have accepted his refusal to travel to Italy. After all, in his mind, he had already lived eighty-five years comfortably without touching the soil of his heritage. While curiosity ate at my bones all my life to see Italy, Dad had never expressed a passion to see his parents' native country. He certainly had the means to travel. If he had wanted to, surely he already would have gone. It annoyed him somewhat that I would be so insistent that he go now. To him, too much time had passed, and he was too old for it to really matter.

Dad's parents were both born in the old country—my grandmother Maude Pizza, in 1900 in Rutino, Italy; and my grandfather Sebastian Giudice, in 1893 in Ragusa, Sicily. In 1902, at the age of two, Maude immigrated when her mother took her, her twin sister, and their two older brothers to join their father who was already established in Upstate New York. However, Dad's father, Sebastian, did not make his decision to leave for America until 1910 at the age of seventeen. Once in America, each melded into the new culture in different circumstances. Maude attended American schools, growing up with English as her first language and scant Italian communication. Sebastian worked in New York City as a street sweeper, learning English from the children at play around him outside throughout the day. He was opposed to the Mafia influence he saw around him and moved to the country.

The Giudice name may seem difficult to pronounce from the written word. It is actually pronounced Jah DICE, though often misspelled Guidice. This pronunciation is an Americanization of the common surname in Italy, which means judge. Additionally, Pizza Americanized is pronounced with short vowels PIHZ zah, not to be confused with the popular circular cheesy meal!

Immigrants stuck together as ex-patriots from their native countries. As with other nationalities, Italian community clusters formed, keeping immigrants closely in touch with each other. The communities provided a sense of security for those who had not exactly discovered the streets of gold they had anticipated when they boarded ships in Italy, full of hopes for a bright future in America.

Italians sought each other out, and God brought the Sicilian granary worker and Italian grocery cashier together in Oneonta, New York. They married there in 1920 and raised Dad (the oldest) and his nine brothers and sisters on a dairy farm outside Oneonta in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains in the 1920s and '30s. The siblings learned honesty, morals, hard work, and a love of God, family, and country, but not the Italian language.

Sebastian and Maude still deeply loved their native Italy, their homeland. By osmosis, their children learned that affection for Italy also. However, Sebastian and Maude were not going back. They were making a new life in America.

On the Farm

1960 Pizza-Giudice Reunion

First generation: Sebastian and Maude seated in center front

Second generation: Back row: Frank, Viola (Odie), Vincent, and Nicholas

Middle row: Virginia, Lucy, and Rose

Front row: Joseph and Albert

First generation Pizza family:

Angelo, Frank, Maude, Joseph, and Michael

Sebastian (called Sam or Sammy) and Maude raised their children with an ingrained deep love and affection for family the Italian way, always together and supporting each other. The enticing smell of homemade bread from Maude's kitchen drew children and neighbors from miles around. Vegetables came fresh from her expansive garden. Her recipe for homemade spaghetti will be remembered in perpetuity. Old-country traditional cuisine lived on in holiday feast recipes handed down from her mother. The children had to grow up a little before they were allowed any of their homemade beverages, Maude's dandelion wine or Sammy's licorice-flavored anisette (what he called Eye Open Up to start the day).

Maude's bread

Most important was a sense of where home was. The forty-four-acre dairy farm that my grandfather bought for $3,000 and a year's supply of potatoes was, and is, home. Ask any Giudice generation family member today where home is and the response still will be The Farm, where everyone was always welcome, met by the loving smile of mild-mannered, gentle Maude with love in her eyes and the subtle sense of humor of mischievous Sammy with a twinkle in his.

My grandfather was always trying to tease someone into teaching him to dance. He would not allow his son Vincent to leave on his honeymoon until Vint's new wife taught him the bunny hop on the front lawn!

Judy and Sebastian

The cha-cha was his choice for me.

Though he was full of a little mischief, my grandfather was known for his big heart. He often provided shelter in the barn for hobos and wayward travelers. On the Farm, we would often hear Sammy strolling from the barn after a few hours of milking chores and singing Santa Lucia or O Sole Mio. He would use Italian for a few slang expressions and for some of his children's names at times, like Giuseppe for my dad, Joseph. With exceedingly rare exception, that was the extent of the Italian language anyone would hear.

My grandparents had come to America from hard times of starvation and despair. Because of widespread poverty, thousands of Italians and Sicilians were emigrating from their homeland in the early 1900s. Certainly, things must have been dark in Sicily in 1910 when my grandfather was only seventeen. How did he determine at such a young age that he had to make it to America on the boat and alone? That is just one of the questions I wanted answered. Even with a sense of regret that there would be no answers to find, I viewed the opportunity to go to Italy and walk on Italian soil with Dad a closure, of sorts, to the mystery of my heritage that I was sure I would never solve.

My Italian heritage has always seemed a mystery because as my dad and his brothers and sisters were growing up, they were told extremely few old country family stories by my grandparents. The story of my grandparents is told through feeling the intense love of their presence. But it begins and ends with them. There is a blank space in understanding why they were who they were. They were naturalized Americans. None of the family has ever heard my grandparents express any regrets. We just know our roots are in Italy.

As I was growing up, I was two thousand miles away from my Giudice grandparents, aunts, uncles, and twenty-one cousins. The army had taken Dad to Texas, where he met the love of his life, Viola Barker. They settled in Midland, and I was raised there in the Methodist church with all those Italian life values and passionate love of God. My intense longing to be with Dad's family was an ache inside of me. All Dad's siblings had remained close to the Farm in New York. Scribbling their names was my pastime activity that soothed the pain of the separation. I would idly doodle, writing their names over and over again, in order of birth, under their parents' names, following the critical order of oldest to youngest.

So what's Italian about not wanting to put your feet on Italian soil and walk the streets your ancestors walked? Once he finally had the chance, even after eighty-five years, surely Dad could be convinced to go.

*****

When Bob and I married, we merged our families. My children, Krista and Brian, are proud beneficiaries of that great Italian heritage. Bob's daughters are Linda and Paula and therein lies the link to travel to Italy. Linda had the good fortune to fall in love with and marry a Frenchman. About every two years, there are enough frequent-flyer miles built up from credit card charges to allow Bob and me a trip from the USA to France to visit our daughter. What if, my husband and I thought, for his semi-milestone eighty-fifth birthday, we take Dad with us, stop off in Italy on the way, and let him walk in the footsteps of his ancestors?

Okay, there is no history for us to build upon to believe that we would find any footprints. But it would be Italian soil! Living totally in the emotional moment, we took a chance and booked three tickets, ten months down the road for October 2006, with the stipulation that Dad could cancel right up to the day of departure if he chose.

When he applied for a passport, we knew we had him mostly convinced—still reluctant but acquiescent. After all, in his mind, he had worked on enough airplanes in his military service to believe that the chances of safely flying completely across the ocean were slim to none. He knew just how many things could go wrong with an airplane, and the fear of an overseas flight was intense.

Dad also argued that too much time had passed since his parents had immigrated. There would be nothing to find once we got there. He was sure of it. Besides, to him, the language barrier made it pointless. There would be no way to communicate with anyone. To top it all off, overseas travel is a huge unknown and, quite honestly, very physically taxing. He felt it could not possibly matter whether he went or not.

But it really does matter! Family matters, parents matter, brothers and sisters matter, uncles and aunts matter, cousins matter, who you are and where you came from matter, and love matters—even love of one's heritage. They all matter.

Experiencing my history was critical to me. This trip would mean just as much for me also. In fact, we would be going on this journey for our whole Giudice family.

Romanticizing the anticipated joy of walking through the streets of those ancestral towns, I was still firmly convinced it was worthwhile. Besides, we would throw in a tour of Rome and a trek through Tuscany, see our daughter in the Dijon area of France, and finish in Paris, providing a wonderful once-in-a-lifetime experience for Dad and for us.

Our excitement of planning such an adventure grew contagious. I believe our mounting enthusiasm was too much for him.

Was I sensing that—just maybe—he did not want to be left behind?

Once he bought a new suitcase, we knew he was going with us!

Chapter 2

Dad, the Travel Agent

Initially, we convinced Dad to sign up for the trip by planning simply to go only to Rutino, Italy, his mother's birthplace. Her two brothers, Angelo and Frank Pizza, who immigrated with her as children in 1902, made several trips to Rutino in the 1950s. However, all contact had been lost after the deaths of that generation. None of the Pizza family would still be living in Rutino. However, we could go there for a day's visit just to see the town.

We felt that our trip would be simpler and easier if our only goal was to visit Rutino and not attempt to track Dad's father's origins on the island of Sicily. Rutino is a small village in Italy near the Amalfi Coast (world-famous for its fast-paced, death-defying, mountain-hugging, winding highway) on the western side of Italy.

We would fly into Rome, rent a car, and drive four hours south to Rutino. We would search for a cemetery and hope to find gravestones of Pizza family members. Our itinerary would take us back to Rome for an overnight stay then on north to Florence to tour the Tuscany region for a few days.

Truthfully, Tuscany was my original goal for this year's trip before we had the idea for Dad to join us. I was anxious to be in what I consider the fantasyland of Italy, center of European art nestled in green-and-yellow patchwork fields between rolling hills. We would drop the car in Florence and board a train heading further north to Turin. There we would be met by our daughter Linda to drive us to her home and three waiting grandchildren near Dijon, France.

However, once on the bandwagon, in typical Dad fashion, there was no holding him back! Well, Dad said after a few days, if we're going to be that close, we ought to go to Sicily too.

I know my dad. His love for his mother was deep and affectionate. For as