The year is 195 something- the place- the Latin Casino –well maybe not but some bar joint frequented by Italo-Americans in either Philadelphia or its satellite South Jersey. The man on the left is my father Frank Braccia (1926-1988). Next to him was the Raunchy Night Club Entertainer Belle Barth- the female Lenny Bruce and one of the great Jewish red Hot Mamas, her famous line- "Hey, I'm 65, I'm fat and I can still take five guys a night. I pay them now, but that's okay," next to her is my mother Dolores Oratorio Braccia (1932-1992) on the far Right is my mother’s first cousin Michael (Micky) Mezzaroba (1937-2002). For years this picture was hung in our house like some icon of great power- Micky even had his own copy of it- The Power Working Icon of The Supper in Jersey.. ST. Belle Among the Gumbas.. . It must have been a hell of a night cause my parents and Micky often spoke of it. Missing from the picture is Rita -Micky’s wife whose father was Charlie of Cheap Charlie’s variety store at 12th and Wilder. Maybe this was before Micky married Rita? I should ask Rita…as I don’t why she was not in the picture?? These nights out were very important for my dad’s generation - trapped as they were in small row homes, bursting with family, neighbors , and oceans of Gravy- fortunately such large extended families did mean there was always a baby sitter about so you could take the odd Saturday night and swank it baby….. Of course they were always well dressed- not always with a lot of cash but well dressed. My grandfather Franceso was a tailor so clothes were important to my family. I guess that is true of all Italian families.
Hey by the way did anyone see the end ceremony of the Torino Olympics… Maddun’ I seen better shows at Palumbo’s… Ah what do you expect from NORTHERN Italians.. Anyway Micky was like an uncle to me and his life and times is the stuff of South Philly legend- he was born with little and never finished school- but built a multi million dollar construction company called MIRI as well as a bar and restaurant called Fresanco. Micky is gone and MIRI went with him and that’s the way it is down in South Philly. Many family businesses don’t outlive the founder. My mother was Micky’s secretary for years and they were like brother and sister- that too is the way it is in South Philly … There is a city in northern Borneo in Malaysia called Miri! Nothing to do with Micky but real coincidental if you think about it. I who lived but 2 blocks from the Miri office at 12th and Dickinson now live 2 hours from the city Miri in Malaysia…. Do the gods jest??
posted by Tantris | 2:22 AM
8 Comments:
Hi Frankie: It was so nice to see a picture of your mother, father and Mickey.....I miss them all....Someone saw it and sent it to me...How funny is that? I hope all is well with you. Mikey is getting so big....he graduates from grade school this June....He was accepted to Roman Catholic and hopefully Prep Charter for high school..we don't know where he is going yet though.... Hopefully we will see you soon. Take Care of yourself! Dawn Mezzaroba
Dear Dawn,
Ti Vogolio Tante bene!!
Email me fbraccia@yahoo.com
Francesco
Seeing this photo of your sweet mothers face makes me realize how much I miss her. She was my first cousin and was a special love of my mothers. At the time I did not get why my mother , who was only related by marriage and not blood was so close to my fathers family.
My mother was particularly close to your grandmother and her daughters. And being the cook and baker that she was, was responsible for the deserts used for their wedding showers and pre wedding parties. A labor of love for her.
I remember a time when my dad and I came over your house to borrow some opera records, that he himself did not possess, your mom
and dad gladly lent him many over the years . I was a teenager and I had made the decision to join a monastery "The Trinitarians" they were based in Maryland. My parents were sick with worry that I the only child would leave them to finish school, live there,finally taking vows and becoming a monk . The anguish that this calling caused for my mothers family lead to many interventions by her sisters and thier families trying to convince me that this is not what sons who love thier parents do to them, go away and leave them. I agonized over this decision, for what seemed like eternity to a teenager. But on the day we came to borrow Verdi, from the Braccias A weight was lifted from my shoulders.
Your father , a gentle soul if ever there was one, caught wind of the decision I had made to go away and dedicate my life to the poor , as that was what the order of monks I chose made their lifes work. And he sat me down in your dining room , and questioned me as to my intent, and with a look I cannot ever get out of my head he congratulated me on such a selfless decision for a young man. There were other people there in your house that day, it was a house that always buzzed with energy. And your father took me by the hand and lead me around to these people that I did not know , and he introduced me , and he proudly told them of my plans. he was the first person who acted as if this was something special that I was going to do, and not like a betrayal to my parents. He supported this decision and commended me on my choice of future life.
I left your house that day feeling so much better about myself.
But as you know I did not join a monastery. I chose a brotherhood of a different kind. And I do not regret that.
This photo also reminds me that in a box somewhere in my house I have folders, with the names of the establishments printed all over the cover. Inside these time capsules titled "Latin Casino", "Bookbinders", "Palumbos"
etc. are the faces of the people I loved , and all thier friends.
They smile out at me from the long tables they are sitting at . Tables with number cards assigned to them , tables covered in white cloths, napkins in disarray, glasses of various sizes, and ash trays always the ashtrays...everyone with a cigarette in hand. My parents went out alot, I did not realized how much until I started to pour over these photos when they were no longer here to look at them with me , and explain who all these people were sitting there with them and enjoying, Lou Marks, or Sergio Valente, or Jerry Vail.
My mother was always perfectly coiffed and dressed and my father looked very natty in his suits.
Not something I saw too often as they were hard working people.
I recall one evening when they got back home after one of these outings, and my mother let the babysitter go, and she woke me at 3am to show me the autograph of Jimmy Durate that she got for me , written on a small white paper doily, the kind that comes under a pastry on a plate I think it still had some rum flavored cream on it. I held onto that lacy piece of paper for many years but alas like the people in the photos it is long gone.
As to my mothers fascination with my fathers family , well I did finally get it . Her family was loving but they werent fun, not like my fathers family was. Her family's idea of a great night was arguing about politics or finance , or the state of the world, then playing cards till all hours of the night . Sourrounded by food of course , always the food.
Most of my fathers family probably did not even know who the current president of the United States was
, but man were they fun. They had life and passion they were good looking people , they liked clothes and shoes and nice things. They laughed , all the time , houses filled with laughter, and food of course there was the food. No wonder my mother loved them so much and they loved her back.
She used to call them Zingada, I don't even know if I am spelling that correctly , but its Italian for Gypsy. And she looked forward to visiting the "gypsies".Always with a tray of home made cookies and cakes, because the gypsies were fun but they couldnt bake.
And so It was that she came to make your mothers shower cake , and your aunt Geraldine's shower cake , and so on.
On gray rainy days I open that box of grainy black and white photos and look into the faces of these ghosts. They smile back at me looking happy and timeless. Sitting at a table in Palumbos in South Philly all dressed up. My mother eyeing up the pastry cart, getting ideas for the next time she visits the gypsies.
hi uncle frank. i have a large picture of mom-mom . pop-pop. and micky hanging in my living room. it makes me feel good to see them everyday. mikey.
Hi!
I have no idea how I came across your site but my father was good friends with Mickey. His name is Bobby Morgano. He was raised right around the corner on Camac Street. My husband is from 13th & Dickinson. His mane is Jackie Cipolla. My name is Susan. I also have a daughter named Gia and another named Alexa. They are 7 and 4. Small world!
Hi Mr. Braccia,
I have absolutely no idea how i came across your site but i believe you were one of my teachers at Southwark. I saw the picture of your father and thought that it looked just like you.
Congrats on being in the Cayman Islands.
Heather
Salve, i'm an italian girl and my name is Alessandra Braccia. I am doing a search on "Braccia" in the world and I found this site.
I live in Puglia, near Abruzzo and Basilicata so probably our families over the last name will have something more in common. I love the history and when I see old photos (as yours) i'm very fascinated. Also I think of all those who abandoned the land of origin to find work elsewhere and that after a few generations will also lose contact with their origins and relatives left.
I apologise for my English and I greet all Italians in the world. Bye Bye
Hi there,
My father, Joseph, came from Foggia. His last name was Braccia. He's deceased many years now, but he & my
mother Maria Migalle aka Maggie Braccia, had 10 kids.
I'm the youngest. I believe my father had some family in Abruzzo as well.
I live in souther MA. I have one brother still living, Ralph and a sister
Dolores. But there were,
starting with the oldest:
John,Carmella, Josephine, Anna, Mary, Mike, Joe.
My father came from Italy in 1916 or there abouts. He loved this country, and could play the accordian &
the harmonica. My mother was
born in Weymouth, MA & came from a family of 11. It was
really nice to see the comments posted. We must be
related even tho' we live
in different towns/cities.
My family loved music..& my
father loved dancin'. Most
of my sisters, including me
loved/love dancin' too.
Italian music was ever playing in our home--whether
it was on the radio or on a
phonograph.
When my father came here,
landing in N.Y., he headed
to Missouri--looking for work as a carpenter. He had
a skill in making cabinets
but he became an exterior/
interior carpenter. Eventually, he came to MASS.
My grandfather, through
paisanos, felt he would be
someone nice for my mother,
her oldest daughter--Maria.
In school, she was called
Margaret & eventually, the
name Maggie stayed wit her all her life. She was a fabulous cook & awesome baker! She could read, write
and speak Italian fluently--
the dialect from where my
father came & other provinces.
I am glad I came to find your blog, Frank..
May God bless us all...
Love ya', Maggie jr
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