My Own Private Byzantium

There existed in my youth things that exits no more. Places of a one time significance, strong with a one time substance , but now gone, along with the people that occupied them. Vanished but for the memories. These memories form my own private Byzantium. My own ghosts of a fallen empire. My personal Constantinople existing under the golden dome of remembrance, where each old picture, each recollection, serves as an icon.

I like, with your indulgence, to place one of these Icons before you , to share my devotion.

The Sister of Carlo

On the north side of Dickinson street at Wilder, between 12th and 13th street, there once stood what was called a variety store. What was a variety store? Well it was not a grocery store, or a book store (scant few of these in South Philly), or a clothing store , it sold nothing particular - but it sold variety. That meant it sold bits and pieces of things- like cigarettes, news papers, candy, milk, pimple balls (remember them), cheap things, you know - variety.

The proprietor of this shop was named Carlo and hence his shop was known as Carlo’s, I don’t believe it actually had a sign or anything giving its name however. Carlo was a very nice man, what in Italian we would call simpatico. He followed what must have been good business practices of the 30’s as he was a most obliging shopkeeper who peddled his merchandise anyway his customers wanted, or could afford. He sold pimple balls by the half and cigarettes by the piece. Carlo was a soft spoken man with a faint smile who never left his house and shop, as I never saw him walking along Dickinson street. Carlo never married and lived his life in the rooms above his shop. Rooms he shared with his Sister.

Carlo’s Sister was always known to us as just that- Carlo’s Sister. She never had her own identity but lived her life as an extension of her brother. Like her brother she never married and the two lived in fraternal bliss, enjoying a sibling affection of which I could only dream. Carlo’s Sister was a looker in her youth and still kept the shadow of these looks when I knew her. The 1940’s must have been a golden era for her as she remained true to its memory for the rest of her life. I say this because she always looked as if she walked out of a 1940’s film noir- Laura of 12th street, Barbra Stanwick of the Dickinson. Her hair, makeup, and dress were always perfectly preserved in the style of the 1940’s, right down to the padded shoulders. Not that I am criticizing, the look became her very well and it was astounding that she kept, and could still get into, her outdated wardrobe thirty years later. She preserved the 40’s pure in her look, and despite the anachronism of her dress, was a happy bubbling personality. Nevertheless she must have had her own private Byzantium of which she could never let go.

My grandmother Mary Mazzola Oratorio enjoyed a friendship with Carlo and his sister , a friendship sustained over many years. My grandmother would often take me to Carlo’s for a treat, some silly candy cigarettes or cheap toy, gifts I enjoyed with great relish. When visiting her sister Anna Mazzola Postiglione, who lived on 13th and Dickinson , Grandmother often brought me along. Since this journey caused us to pass Carlo’s variety store, I was promised a treat at Carlo’s if I behaved at my great Aunt Anna’s. Of course no matter how incorrigible I was, and I was very incorrigible, I received the treat after every visit.

My grandmother, whom we called Ma, lived with us on a small widow’s pension. She was a generous person which was a hardship for her as she had no tangible assets. She never owned property, or a car, or stocks and with the exception of one short period in her life, always lived with a relative- her parents, then her in-laws, then each of her daughters my mother Dolores and my Aunt Geraldine. It always seemed natural to have my grandmother around as she was truly one of the most natural people I have ever come across. Born in South Philly in 1911 of immigrant parents ( Geraldo Mazzola and Serafina Paglia from San Donato near Caserta) she had only an 8th grade education. I won’t say she was intelligent, she was not that, she was just good , honest, and caring. Qualities perhaps worth more then intellect and discriminating tastes. She was a child of the depression and could control money as only a person who went through that hardship could. Even as late as 1994 (the year before she died) she could feed about 6 people a great dinner with clams and macaroni for about $20 in total!!

I remember my Grandmother would talk with Carlo and his sister at great length and with great delight about all kinds of things, always cheerful and laughing. When speaking to my grandmother Carlo was animated and loquacious, contrary to his normal reserved self. I don’t know what was the reason for Ma’s friendship with Carlo and his Sister. Perhaps they shared many experiences as my grandmother lived in the neighborhood since 1930. I would also assume Carlo’s Sister and my Grandmother shared make up and clothing secrets while listening to a fireside chat or the Baby Snucks show on the radio. While this trip to the store became a social visit , I played with all the silly things Carlo sold and always got a good bit of candy, some of which was given to me by Carlo and his Sister. I enjoyed my trips to Carlo’s.

Unfortunately these trips became fewer as I grew older and spent more time in school and had less time to go about with Ma. Carlo also became older and his store less stocked, soon he closed 2 days a week, then 4, and soon closed his doors forever in the late 60’s . His sister made no attempt to run the shop after he died and during her walks around the neighborhood, while still smiling, looked forlorn and lost without her brother. But she lived along and alone in her 1940’s memory play, until I stopped seeing her altogether in the late 70’s.

After her death the shop was sold and became a home. Now it is another overpriced row home on Dickinson Street with owners who may or may not know about the nondescript little variety story and the owner and his sister who augmented each other and lived by permission of the 40’s.

I can still see in my mind’s eye the layout of this shop with the afternoon sun illuminating the dark corner and warming the stacks of Philadelphia Bulletins. I remember the chatter of my Grandmother with her particular speech pattern, she always seemed so happy when talking to Carlo and his Sister as they must have reminded her of a freer more open time in her life. And I remember Carlo’s Sister with her padded shoulders and wave of roll curls looking like the lost Andrew Sister.

Carlo’s little variety store was just one of many shops along Dickinson Street between 11th and Broad, before the strip malls and mega stores upset our little village.

This icon – my Grandmother, Carlo, Carlo's Sister, the afternoon sun and the happy conversation.

My own private Byzantium