famiglia

 

 

 

Proof that I have always loved a bold palette. Just discovered this masterpiece, from first grade, I think, saved by my mom.

A rare find - some very old photos from my father's side of the family. They must have belonged to my grandmother, as she made notations on one, and another was inscribed to her.

My Italian is admittedly a little rusty, but doesn’t this document mean that my Grandma wasn’t born on “Christmas in July” as we have always thought, but July 28? At least we had the year right...  

That brief period in time my parents owned and ran a 7-11. That’s my grandmother in the top photo. I didn't remember that she even went there. On our recent trip to N.J. I drove past the location and it was gone. Not even a building left. How does a 7-11 completely disappear from the face of the earth? Mom with employees, Elizabeth at the register with Grandma Periale Elizabeth at the register Dad at the slicer  

  My dad was born on 14th Street in New York City, and at least, c. 2000, the building was still standing. Here's a photo from a trip we made to the city from our home in N.J. (probably to see a Yankee game) in the 1970s. The building is the first brownstone, with Allen's Bar at the ground level. Here's a close-up shot, with my mom and me standing in front of Allen's Bar. The family had more than one apartment in the building. The family patriarch, my great grandfather Don Peppino, a retired chef, had an office in the front of the building, where he would see patients. After he retired from the restaurant he spent his time as a healer. The family lived in rooms at the back of the building. In summertime Don Peppino would sit out on the roof and dry tomatoes, which he would later use to make sauce. Apparently the building also once featured a stoop, and a shop that sold prosthetics and wheelchairs was the storefront in the 1930s. Here's a color polaroid from 1999 or ...

  Some more vintage family photos from the Jersey Shore. Getting myself in the mood for our upcoming vacation. My great grandmother Paola, second from the left, c. 1920a My dad striking a pose, second from right, with his brother Jim and cousins, c. 1935 My cousin Ann and brother John pose before a sand sculpture masterpiece, c. late '80s  The kid contributes to a sand castle's fortifications

Here's a caricature my mom did of my dad that would appear with his column, "The Political Aisle" in The Daily Observer.

  The old man passed away ... can it be ... twenty-one years ago today? Yikes. Still miss his laugh, his enthusiasms, his endless love of the New York Yankees, and even all his annoying old fart-ness-es. Here are a few shots of dad in action. The first one taken by my mom on their honeymoon in Nassau, Bahamas, and the rest while he was on the job, as a reporter. He could very often be found with a camera in hand, or a pencil or pen, in search of a story. Miss you, pop.

  I have been going through some drawers, trying to clear things out, and found a bunch of old tee shirts that I hadn't seen in ages. Most were saved by my mom, I think. And did they bring me back. It's amazing how something like an old tee shirt could tell a story. For instance, this shirt, from the mid-70s. I didn't know that any of these had survived. My dad was a newspaperman , who worked the political beat for New Jersey papers  The Newark News  and later,  The Daily Observer,  which operates out of Ocean County. In the '70s he decided he wanted to be his own boss and opened a local weekly paper called  The Hometown News . He did everything — wrote the stories, taught my mom and me how to do layout, took and developed the photos in the darkroom (which he taught my brother and me how to do, too), sold advertising (until he could hire someone else to do that),  even delivered the papers  to stores and to the homes of paper boys and girls. And h...

My father's mother was born in Marsala, Sicily and given the name Gaetana Marta. When she was five years old her mother sailed with Gaetana, her brothers Gioacchino (James), and Settimo (Seven, called Albert in the U.S.) on the   Napolitan Prince   to New York, to join their father, Giuseppe, a chef who a few years previously had left Sicily to establish his restaraunt on Elizabeth Street in New York City. A serious young lady, c. 1906 Sometime after young Gaetana was being processed at Ellis Island she went from being called Gaetana to Gertrude. There are varying accounts of how, when, or why this happened, but she went from having a very Italian name to having one that was easier for her and others to say in her new country. I used to feel bad, even resentful, about her losing such a musical name as Gaetana, until I found a love letter from my grandfather to her that started, "My darling Gertie ..." Gertrude at the piano, with her father, Don Peppino, in the background,...

My Aunt Rose was always proud that she shared her birthday with John Lennon. She was beautiful, brash and funny as hell. She wouldn't take crap from anyone. And even though her husband, my uncle John Massimo, was considered the family storyteller, Rose could tell a great story too. Some of my favorite memories are of sitting across her Long Island kitchen table and she telling me the "real dope" on some of our family history. My father adored her, and was probably always a bit jealous of his older brother and his good fortune. When I was in college at Parsons in New York City, so far away from my family in south Jersey I really got to know Aunt Rose, who insisted that I come visit any weekend that I didn't have something else to do or was going home to Jersey. And I did. Uncle John would pick me up at the L.I.R.R. station, and as soon as I crossed the threshold of their home a plate of food would come my way and the stories would start. "You look so thin! Want a ...

A father's day preview . . . my dad at two, on the loose in the big city . . . with a personal photographer close at hand.