Up the Alley: Third and final part boarders to grandmother. John the Hungarian.
He always wore a black leather cap, often unshaven and not very clean. Always had a cigarette in his hand. And he was friendly, though in a somewhat 'rude.
Leo German
He even spoke English very well. He was young, maybe early thirties. He had brown hair and was very nice. He smiled a lot. Ralph
German
I think that he and Leo were friends. It was the most beautiful of the band, tall, blond curls. He even spoke English.
Once Uncle Vincent was about to kill him. Ralph and Leo came home late and uncle Vincent was sleeping on the couch. To make it a joke made him take a scare, then my uncle jumped up and wanted to strangle Ralph. Grandma heard the moans of Ralph had to intervene to separate them. Uncle Vincent was better not let him take the scare!
Candy Factory Joe.
He always wore trousers and white shirts. It was the only one who spoke English, but spoke so fast and then was not so much the head, that you could not tell anyway.
Magooch
my absolute favorite. A plump little Italian who spoke no English. There you see any pattern in this? I think it was a prerequisite to live there. He wore trousers
blacks with suspenders over a white suit boots and blacks. And finally a black hat. It 's still in my heart!
worked for the municipality. Then one day he fell ill, I think of tuberculosis. The town refused to take care of him. They left him penniless. Grandma could not stand it. So he took a trams and went down to the office of Mayor, Tommy Delasandro. Heading straight for the lens without anything filarsi the secretary. Made him a nice scolding on the treatment that the municipality was reserving Magooch. Then the mayor got up the phone and before Grandma came home, Magooch had his disability pension. Good job Grandma!
(Baltimore Mayor Thomas LJD'Alesandro Democratic 1947-1959) Grandma's Kitchen When Grandma did not play cards, cook the most delicious, wonderful Italian food I've ever tasted. I already talked about the smells coming from the pantry, but in reality, the whole house smelled of Italian food to Granny. Every holiday we would gather all his house. We could smell the turkey stuffed with garlic and rosemary, roast pork, pasta with meatballs and if we were lucky, gnocchi, our favorite. At Easter there was a special surprise. A huge cake with anisette with wet above the eggs. At these parties there was a far cry from those tough times. At that time Grandma pour the polenta on the table. Under the polenta was hiding a quarter. The boys had to take the spoons and eat polenta directly from the table, hoping to be the first to find 25 cents. That was their party.
My father told us the story of how did they catch the birds for dinner. The boys brought the network down in the courtyard of the bed and create a circle of earth shoveling snow. Throw him into the circle of small pieces of bread and then tied the net on one side with a rope and the other leaning on a stick. Then went up the stairs and went to the window and wait. When there were 40 or 50 birds to eat the bread, then pulling rope making them fall into the trap. Then the birds were placed in a tub to wash and then one by one ended their suffering.
After putting them in hot water, clean the pens and torn, Grandma put them in the sauce or fry them. All the pasta was obviously homemade. Believe me, she taught all her children how to make pasta. My father Sam in turn taught my brother John and my husband Cal. All the other recipes you can not replicate because when Grandma asked how it was done a certain thing she replied, "we put a little 'of this, a bit' of that and stir it all together."
When I married my husband whose family is of Dutch origin, my mother-in-law I asked what was the traditional dish of our family. And I explained that during the holidays we went to my grandmother's house where there was always turkey, spaghetti, meatballs, roast pork, etc.. Not even a month later my sister told me that my mother-in-law had been fascinated by the food of our family. I could not understand why. Then I said, "but when did you stuff the turkey with spaghetti?".
I have reserved the best for the final.
The six small wild Hearing all the stories of how they grew up, the problems that have had is a miracle that Grandma was still sane.
Samuel, the oldest and most pestiferous. He fought
in World War II in Italy, and was wounded in the leg. It should be a sad thing, but for me it was just a life change. I had to be about to be born when he was repatriated. My mother had in mind to call Bermuda! Fortunately, when dad came would not hear me and put the name Sandra. It would have been much worse! Dad became a car mechanic and then went to work for the Pennsylvania Railroad Co., just like his father. Uncle Tony
He also served in the war, but I do not know where. After that he began his work as a plumber. Uncle Vince
I think it was in the Navy during the war. He worked for the state social security. Uncle Marion
I do not think he did the war. He had a gas station and bred racehorses. Later he went to work with Uncle Joe to the factory of refrigerators.
Uncle Joe has gone to war in Korea. Then he worked at the factory management in the coolers.
Uncle Junie was in the Navy and then in aviation during the war in Viet Nam. It was the first one we lost. He was so young!
There is still much work to do in putting together all the stories associated with these six children. I'll tell you when I know something more about their habits. A
history.
All the guys had nicknames. I really do not know them by their first names. At 18 I had my first date with my future husband, Cal. He came from a prominent Ohio family. It had an education very different from mine. He lived in Cleveland and came to Baltimore once a month for work. The day of our meeting was un'infarto Grandma and she was admitted to the hospital. There was no alternative, I could not go without an appointment to see her go. When we entered all his uncles were already sitting next to Grandma. I had a difficult time. I knew that if I had presented them with their real names, I would be teased out of the hospital soon. There was no way out, it was my only chance to impress.
I took a deep breath and began to browse. That is Dago
my uncle, Uncle Junnie, Uncle Mutt, even known as Bedd uncle, Uncle Blackie also known as Goat uncle, uncle and Vink. My father was there and saved me from uttering the nickname, saying "Fag Uncle !!...." just like the brand of cigarettes.
When Grandma returned from the hospital I was lucky enough to find time to go for help when I could.
One day I wanted to wash and brush your hair. As each head of loose braids I saw all the weird and wonderful pieces of her life in her hair braided. She used to take them with a tight braid collection into a ring above his head, no hair could block escape. He checked his hair the same way as how to control his life. By tweezers close to everything and everyone. Are you wild and hungry children without a father to help her get along, and everything on his shoulders. There were moments in which faltered under the strain, but never collapsed. As they were untying the braid releasing leaders began gently brushing her hair.
Whenever I had a heart attack I was praying that he could leave his life lived in extreme conditions and could finally get the rest that was immensely deserved.
END
(Grandmother Irene in a house in New Jersey)
