Oh, Beautiful: An American Family in the 20th Century by John Paul Godges Page A
Book: Oh, Beautiful: An American Family in the 20th Century by John Paul Godges
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Authors: John Paul Godges
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in those clothes, imitating his daughters, trying to make them laugh. He tried hardest to make Mafalda laugh, because she was so unhappy that she was still working for the county attorney for nothing. Serafino paraded around the living room, modeling the frilly female fashions while twitching his prodigious handlebar moustache.
The family laughed so hard they cried. Even Mafalda laughed.
Those were also the days when Serafino serenaded Maria with his love songs, just as he had done in their youth in the fields of Farindola. Maria shook her head and shooed him away, dismissing his courtship as nothing but a momentary and worrisome intoxication. But the more she tried to ignore his entreaties, the louder he sang:
Ah, Marie! Ah, Marie!
Oh, what slumber I’m losing for thee!
Could I but rest
For a moment asleep on thy breast.
Ah, Marie! Ah, Marie!
All the sleep I am losing for thee!
Now let me rest.
Ah, Marie. Ah, Marie!
Those were also the days when Serafino told his children that the laughter and song never had to end. He never wanted his kids to move far away, but he knew that some of them probably would. They would probably leave home, start families of their own, and perhaps not see each other for years. After all, he and Maria had left Farindola and never returned, having never seen their own parents since. Yet he told his kids, “No matter how far from home you ever roam, we’ll always be together. Always together.”
His words were put to their ultimate test when he received word from Farindola that his mother, Angelade Mergiota Di Gregorio, had died there on August 16, 1936. She was 76. When Serafino read the letter on the porch steps, he cried so hard it scared Ida.
The 11-year-old girl had come upon the scene while foraging through the gooseberry bushes. She saw her father’s shoulders collapsed over in anguish. She froze. She could only imagine the pain of losing her own mother or father. She began to have nightmares of seeing her father in a coffin.
But Serafino continued to reassure his family that they would always be together. Even if some of them were to leave home and to move far, far away, they would never really be far from each other. Ever.
“ Some-a day,” he promised in his undulating English, “we will all have a bigga party upastairs!”
Mafalda was the first to go. She moved to California in 1936 in search of better health and a paying job. The Midwestern winters had battered her. The double pneumonia had nearly killed her. And the perpetually unpaid work at the county courthouse had demoralized her. Serafino and Maria had agreed that the diligent but delicate young woman should go west to the land of those brilliant tangerines.
So she rode the train to Los Angeles at the age of 20. Her bilingual skills helped her find a paying job downtown as an executive secretary at Amerigo Bozzani Motor Car Company, Inc., near what was then Little Italy. She established a beachhead for the Di Gregorios beyond the assembly line at the packinghouse.
Ida was still 11. She had always found Mafalda to be supportive and encouraging despite her own travails and tribulations. But suddenly, Mafalda was gone. Ida had to fend for herself. She wanted to follow her big sister to California as soon as possible but first had to navigate her way through junior high and high school. Mafalda wouldn’t be there to point her in the right direction.
Over the next three years, Ida watched her big sister Bessie follow their bigger sister Leola to the packinghouse, and then Ida watched her next big sister Elsie develop every intention of following Bessie and Leola in turn. Ida would be next in line, but she promised herself to buck that trend. She just wasn’t sure how.
As far as the 14-year-old Ida could see, she could work at the packinghouse for the rest of her life, or she could marry and become a housewife. “There just weren’t many options open to women in those days,” she
The family laughed so hard they cried. Even Mafalda laughed.
Those were also the days when Serafino serenaded Maria with his love songs, just as he had done in their youth in the fields of Farindola. Maria shook her head and shooed him away, dismissing his courtship as nothing but a momentary and worrisome intoxication. But the more she tried to ignore his entreaties, the louder he sang:
Ah, Marie! Ah, Marie!
Oh, what slumber I’m losing for thee!
Could I but rest
For a moment asleep on thy breast.
Ah, Marie! Ah, Marie!
All the sleep I am losing for thee!
Now let me rest.
Ah, Marie. Ah, Marie!
Those were also the days when Serafino told his children that the laughter and song never had to end. He never wanted his kids to move far away, but he knew that some of them probably would. They would probably leave home, start families of their own, and perhaps not see each other for years. After all, he and Maria had left Farindola and never returned, having never seen their own parents since. Yet he told his kids, “No matter how far from home you ever roam, we’ll always be together. Always together.”
His words were put to their ultimate test when he received word from Farindola that his mother, Angelade Mergiota Di Gregorio, had died there on August 16, 1936. She was 76. When Serafino read the letter on the porch steps, he cried so hard it scared Ida.
The 11-year-old girl had come upon the scene while foraging through the gooseberry bushes. She saw her father’s shoulders collapsed over in anguish. She froze. She could only imagine the pain of losing her own mother or father. She began to have nightmares of seeing her father in a coffin.
But Serafino continued to reassure his family that they would always be together. Even if some of them were to leave home and to move far, far away, they would never really be far from each other. Ever.
“ Some-a day,” he promised in his undulating English, “we will all have a bigga party upastairs!”
Mafalda was the first to go. She moved to California in 1936 in search of better health and a paying job. The Midwestern winters had battered her. The double pneumonia had nearly killed her. And the perpetually unpaid work at the county courthouse had demoralized her. Serafino and Maria had agreed that the diligent but delicate young woman should go west to the land of those brilliant tangerines.
So she rode the train to Los Angeles at the age of 20. Her bilingual skills helped her find a paying job downtown as an executive secretary at Amerigo Bozzani Motor Car Company, Inc., near what was then Little Italy. She established a beachhead for the Di Gregorios beyond the assembly line at the packinghouse.
Ida was still 11. She had always found Mafalda to be supportive and encouraging despite her own travails and tribulations. But suddenly, Mafalda was gone. Ida had to fend for herself. She wanted to follow her big sister to California as soon as possible but first had to navigate her way through junior high and high school. Mafalda wouldn’t be there to point her in the right direction.
Over the next three years, Ida watched her big sister Bessie follow their bigger sister Leola to the packinghouse, and then Ida watched her next big sister Elsie develop every intention of following Bessie and Leola in turn. Ida would be next in line, but she promised herself to buck that trend. She just wasn’t sure how.
As far as the 14-year-old Ida could see, she could work at the packinghouse for the rest of her life, or she could marry and become a housewife. “There just weren’t many options open to women in those days,” she
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