Bicentennial

July 4, 1776. The day those ‘medicans’ signed the declaration of Independence and brought forth ta dis continent a new nation….

My family was in the Abruzzo and Campania at that time, but dreaming of America. South Philly was here in 1776, well some what. Do you think Tommy Jefferson and Johnny Adams went to Marra’s on Passyuink avenue and discussed breaking ties with Great Britain over a Pizza with Alligge (Dialect for Anchovy) … Did Bennie Frankie take the delegates for a Cheese stake at Genos, he could of cause they all spoke English, of course not sure the Vento family (owners of Geno’s) were speaking much English in 1776…

July 4, 1976. The bicentennial , the great celebration of the two hundredth anniversary of that revolutionary act.

1976, the blossom of the Disco age, which I always felt was like Swing revisited. We led a modern version of the lives of our parents. They swung with sharp clothes to the Big Bands. Our generation danced to upbeat music not so dissimilar from Swing, with suits and ties to match, mine custom made by Rocco Tarrelli on Broad Street. In 1976 the great clubs were Her Place and the Branch in South Jersey and the Library in Philly. Or was the Branch in Philly and the Library in Jersey?

I along with many others graduated from John Neumann High School that June. I remember that graduation from Neumann- the black and orange gowns ( why did Neumann pick Halloween colors?). Cardinal Krol pronouncing Neumann correctly. (Noy-mann not New-mann) , but to us this pronunciation was reminiscent of Curly in the 3 stooges- hey Noy-mann… I also remember the Graduation lunch with my friends and their families at the Monk’s Inn on Front street. Also my graduation party with pots of Roast Pork , baked ziti, Ricotta cream cakes and galleons of something red from California - we had at least 120 people in that 600 Sq foot area that comprised our first floor and back yard. I sported a great new suit made by Rocco Tarrelli and I took in like $550 is cash!

My generation of baby boomers was a hybrid between our inward thinking parents and our outward thinking children. We still had a sense of ethic and neighborhood identity, as well as ethnic sounding names. Unlike the youth in SP today that may be named Ashley or Tiffany Ann. Ashley Nunnziato - what an incongruity of nomenclature… But such is the curse of assimilation.

After graduation was senior week, which for us was spent , Dinah Shore. Well down the Shore- but SP pronunciation was always somewhat reminisce of this great songstress. Ohh I’m gon dinah shore…

Yes Wildwood June 1976 what a grand time we had. I had my first real taste of youth and freedom. I went with my friends the Gatto twins and Tom D’Acchille and a group of girls. I remember a rather strong fondness for Southern Comfort that week, even to the point that we added it as a secret ingredient to our macaroni gravy. Yes Italo American teens cooked, at least we did in my day.

But the real event of that summer was the Bicentennial. Philadelphia Mayor Frank (I know wats good for da people of dis city) Rizzo , Governor Shapp (remember him.. few do) , and President Gerald Ford at the Liberty Bell. I also remember visits by the king of Sweden Karl Gustaf pick a number as well as HRH Queen Elizabeth II. There was also the Eucharistic Congress at the Spectrum attended by a Polish cardinal named Karol Wojtyła.

South Philly took the Bicentennial seriously, wall and pavement paintings were created- some survived into the early 90’s. Many streets hung lights and banners, most houses had flags. I remember my dear friend Robert Giangordano hanging bunting between the houses on the 1000 block of Cross street, he did so like to decorate. There was the vast assortment of mementos being sold at the twin Shoppe, little liberty bells, commemorative plates, pewter objects, interesting additions to South Philly Kitsch. There was even some kind of carnival set up in the old prison lot. Annunciation Church had special Masses and Monsignor Di Giacomo extolled the virtues of American democracy as well as Mary our men-tor in heaven. It was a little Christmas in July, we even had a summer mini mummer’s parade. There were also the many barbeques in our postage stamp back yards, how ever did we fit so many people in that space??

July 4, 2006 Now American celebrates 230 years and you know what, Philadelphia with its Tammany Hall politicians, English only signs, and insular neighborhoods is still the cradle of our democracy, the Roma and Athens of America, and still the best place to be for the 4th of July.

February 11, 1941

Life in the ante bellium South.

South Philly that is and the bellium being WWII. The men working at their crafts, the women keeping house- life pulsated by holidays, births, deaths, weddings, and feast days. The young enjoying American culture. Jimmy Dorsey was the top band man of 1941 and had the big hits including Green Eyes, Maria Lena and Amapola (vocals by Bob Eberly and Helen O’Connor), The Maltese Falcon was the big hit at the movies that month- playing perhaps at the Straford at 7th and Dickinson or the Broadway at Broad and Snyder.

South Philly must have been a busy place then. The population was nearly double what it is now and each neighborhood was it’s own little village complete with church and businesses. Streets were fill of familes and many children.

Of course the world was not at peace in 1941, but most in South Philly went albout their lives with little concern of war in Asia and Europe. I would imagine however Mussolini’s antics gave some Italo Americans something to think about, especially the resident aliens.

But in the ante bellium south life went on. The Cumare looked forward to their diet of wakes and weddings so as to eat and discuss the qualities of corpses and brides. Men hung out at the corner discussing baseball or the old country. The kids went to James Wilson Elementary or South Philly High (one side for boys and an annex for girls). The 23 trolley slid along 11th and 12th street like a long rattling pendulum

This uniformity of existence was interrupted on February 11, 1941.

Greenwich Street , or Green Witch as they say in South Philly ( just for the record in the Anglo Saxon language known as English Greenwich is pronounced gren-itch so remember that when ordering a Cheese steak at Geno’s). Greenwich is a small side street that runs east
-west between Dickinson and Tasker. The 1100 block is chinked to accommodate the effect of Passyunk Avenue which vanquishes 11 street between Tasker/ Dickinson and throws the symmetry of the street into disarray.

Along this serpentine stretch of Greenwich on the evening of February 10, 1941 the main gas line beneath started to leak. By early morning the escaped gas ignited and caused a terrific explosion. Tearing through the basements of 8 row homes and resulting in a ferocious fire. Gas explosions were common enough at the time and often happened in the early morning when people were asleep and could not smell the gas. The fire soon engulfed the homes and leaped into the cold morning air- reaching above the squat row homes. Calling the neighbors to witness.

A police officer, 54 year old James J. Clarke was walking his beat ( yes in old South Philly Policemen walked a beat , evening at night) and was among the first to respond. He heroically rescued people but was crushed by a falling wall as he tried to free a women and her two daughters, all 4 died (+Requiescat in Pace). The fire and explosion leveled the houses but fortunately only Officer Clarke and the women and her two daughters died. South Philly had it own little Blitz that morning which left a ruin on Greenwich street. The homes were never rebuilt and the land was cleared and left as 8 empty lots. The lots bought by neighbors to store cars or grow vegetables.

I heard this story from my dad when ever we walked along that street devoid of houses (it still may be but with the property boom I would think homes have since been built there?). My dad lost a school mate in the fire, one of the two youths that officer Clarke tried to save, and I think it left an impression on him, for he never ceased to remind me of the story when we passed the street.

My dad is gone but Nick from 12th street sent me a great remembrance email of the event. I quote:

I recall them (my Parents) waking me to see the flames leaping high into
the early morning dark sky, which we could see from our back window!

.. I was a quite excited kid who could not wait to get on the
scene to get a first hand look! I got my chance later that evening after
supper, as no one was allowed near the street any earlier… the fire was
out, except for some sparking embers, which would reignite now and then. ….

For us kids Greenwich Street became an adventure! We'd play, climbing
among the ruins and at times exploring a couple of the partially exposed
cellars, pretending the playful, imaginative adventures which kids did then…

Thanks Nick.

The Greenwich explosion of 1941 brought the neighborhood death and destruction . I always felt a shudder walking along that street and those empty lots, but that was most likely my Southern Italian superstition taking hold….

A few months later on December 7 South Philly awoke to an even greater explosion.

The Cumare Denied

Cumare Nicollett’ denied a cheese steak at Geno’s

At times like this it is perhaps for the better that old Nicollete on 13th street is safely in the bosom of heaven. Nicolette came from Ortona in the Abruzzo and lived in South Philly from the 1920’s until her death in 1994 at the advanced age of 104. Over 70 years in the hood! She was a whiff of Abruzzese mountain air, a living relic of Il Regno del due Sicilie (The Kingdoms of the two Sicilians) on Moore Street. She spoke the most archaic Italian, a mixture of classic grammar and Abruzzese dialect. This language was akin to Shakespeare’s English. She used the Italian equivalents of thee and thou as well as classic Abruzzese pronunciation, Rigollucc’ for Verdi’s opera Rigoletto, Dunedd for Antonetta. She cooked and drank her anisette while offering interesting comments on the world around her for those who could understand her, and few could by 1980. She dressed in floor length skirts , her white hair in a bun, the emblematic old Italian lady, the kind that populated South Philly in great numbers at one time. I am happy I knew Nicollett for she was history enlivened , it was like getting to meet my Mazzola and Paglia ancestors from this picture. She represented a generation that was already mostly dead when I was born in 1958.

But despite the fact that La Cumare Nicolett was a special person, a living relic of the Great Italo-America experience, she could not get a cheese steak at Geno’s at 9th and Passyunk.

Why? She never learned to speak English and I am also unsure if she ever actually became an American citizen. So in times like these perhaps it is better old Nicollete has shaken the mortal coil she wore so long, because she would NOT be able to get that cheese steak at Gino’s because they only except orders in ENGLISH- as there sign proclaims this is America order in English. It is academic because even if Nicky were not dead she had no taste for sliced meat fried in onions and vegetable oil with processed goo meant to be cheese, on what for her was soft bread. Perhaps this is why she lived to 104. But that is not the point, La Madonna Nicolette would be denied a right to the South Philly delight even if she wanted it, cause she would be deemed somehow un-American. I do wonder if the English only law would apply to them what stand behind the counter? I have brought friends to Geno’s from places as far away as Ohio and Britain and they thought the Geno employees were not speaking English.

Yo we tak inglish here wat u wan, wit or witaut ?

I had a British friend tell me that Geno’s should not hire people to work with the public if they cannot speak English!! Ma Figura vi..(imagine) try a stay in central London, does anyone speak English in the West End any longer??? The speaking of English is seems is growing everywhere in the world but is diminishing in English speaking nations.

Non English speaking Immigrants- just like Nicolette.

English and immigration elicits in South Philly a classic responses: Oh my granfather came here the right way and talked American.. des Mexicans… A few things are very wrong with this argument. First Immigration laws in 1900 were WAY more mild then they are now and most ( if not all) Illegal immigrants today would be legal in a moment were the pre WWI laws reinstated ,and second illegal entry into the US from Calabria in 1900 would require some very good swimming. I venture to say that were Calabria attached to Rhode Island then a good number of our ancestors would have spared themselves Ellis Island and jumped the fence.

For years I heard stories of my much admired paternal grand father Francesco (Frank) Braccia, a successful designer/tailor who immigrated in the 1890’s at the age of 12 and made a great name for himself in Philadelphia and loved America and made all his kids learn English as he did. A great American success story, and it was.

I am trained as an historian (I am , Temple University 1986) and through the years I have done some research including trips to our village in Italy , (Altino (Ch)) and reviews of census records. I discovered some fascinating things. My paternal great grand father Luigi , lived in South Philly from the 1890’s till 1930 and never spoke English or became a citizen. My grand father also never seemed to take the citizenship of the country he loved so much and was a registered alien in the 1920’s and into the 1940’s (he died in 47). Grand father also had Fascist tendencies, I have been told. Didn’t Mussolini declare WAR on the US??? I discovered a few other things but I am saving them for my ‘book’, which as my uncle Denny would say, will be a best seller or end up in the cellar.

I also know of many other families ( including my mother’s) in SP with similar stories, people staying in America for many years , never speaking English or speaking it very poorly and never bothering to become US citizens. My point is the argument My Grand Father came to this country, needs in my mind some justification with hard evidence. I would like to see the official records of the ancestors of many in South Philly who embrace such xenophobic views. If we could , I think we would see a lists of alien residents and an English spoken with less proficiency then most Vietnamese or Mexicans on 9 street do today.

I love the past- but see it for what it was. The main reason many Italians learned English and became US citizens by the 40’s was because the US government forced this course of action on the Immigrants.

Remember frattini how the Italo American suffered from xenophobia and discrimination- From Woodrow Wilson’s remarks about Southern European laziness to the KKK and lynching of Italians in New Orleans- largest lynching in US history!! Italians, in the popular 1900 view, were a superstitious and violent race bringing nothing but criminality and radical political philosophies while taking jobs away from real Americans. During WWII some Italian aliens were interned or treated suspiciously ( this even included the great singer Enzio Pinza!!!) . The one thing Hitler and Roosevelt agreed on is that Italy was a back stabbing nation . In my neighborhood lived old Philomena on 7th street who had 3 stars in her window during the 1940’s (the stars represent the fact she had three boys serving in the war) yet she had her radio confiscated by the FBI cause she was an alien- she told the FBI , through an interpreter , to take away the stars and give her back her boys.

I guess what upsets me is when Italo-Americas, themselves the descendents of immigrants who were victims of xenophobia and enforced assimilation, embrace anti immigrant stands and justify it with romantic views of the past.

We have many concerns with immigration today, but can not sort it by exhuming 1920’s xenophobia. America was founded by a bunch or WASPs looking down on Irish Catholics and holding the Black man below contempt not to mention the savage Indians. They felt America was threaten by the Irish Immigration in the 1830’s then black migration and freedom after the civil war, America to them was threatened even more as non English speaking immigrants poured into America in the late 1800’s, and it continues- now with Hispanics. America is changing- it has ALWAYS BEEN CHANGING- since 1781 it has been a nation in change. Were John Adams and Alexander Hamilton or Woodrow Wilson to have a look at America today they would be shocked- it has become a non American polyglot decadent land, fill of non Whites and Catholics and Jews, hardly anyone with the proper language or education ( read the Education of Henry Adams to get a view of the OLD WASP way of thinking) …. My point , immigration made America it did not destroy it dispite the dire predictions. America’s future is her future not the past- and anyway if we go back to the pasts , who’s pasts? The good old WASP past (sorry everybody else) ? The White Ethnic 1930’s pasts ( sorry WASPs and everybody else) ?

It is all nonsense, solve our problems the good old fashion American way, by changing adapting and respecting individual differences.

I believe Immigrants MUST learn English and be assimilated as a matter of course- not force. Our ancestors did assimilate and learn English ,but over a 40-60 year period!!! I am sure by 2050 all the Mexicans in South Philly will be speaking English and assimilated- it did not happen in 10-20 years when our people came so don’t expect the new immigrants to do it much faster. And damn you Geno’s but La Cumare Nicolette has a right to her cheese steak .. as she would say

Ma che fate voi (But what does thou) ?

Do You Hear The Rumble?

The 23
In America the center of the city is referred to as downtown, remember Petula Clark Downtown… But we in South Philly never go downtown we go Uptown, hence the south Philly phrase- Ohh I’m gon Uptown.. or where you get dat, uptown? We get it right in South Philly cause for us center city Philadelphia is a trip NORTH and so UP, if you live in a Northocentric world. Perhaps in Australia going north would be going down as they have inverted world maps down under. But South Philly is not Oz.

So let’s go uptown…

As a kid in South Philly it seemed like another world, another city so different from the streets I lived on, from my little village, my piece of paese at 10th and Dickinson.

A trip uptown was a big event for me as a kid. It was reserved for Saturdays with my father. Dad would take my sister Theresa and I out every Saturday for a trip uptown including lunch and a toy at Kiddy City on 12th and Market.

Uptown was always fun, so big so different and so far away. Until dad got a car our trip uptown was via the old PTC route 23 trolley, PTC (Philadelphia Transportation Company the predecessor of SEPTA) taunted the 23 trolley as the longest trolley /tram route in the world. Perhaps it was, it went from South Philly to Chestnut Hill and back. Chestnut Hill , I was 25 the first time I every saw Chestnut Hill, can you believe that, well at least I have been there…

The 23 trolley, was the preferred means of transport. Heaven forbid we walk the 2 miles to center city. When I was a kid I thought center city was so far away, when I actually started to walk uptown in my 20s I realized - it is actually VERY close. I think the view of uptown as being far away was more a psychological then a physical thing. In our South Philly time and space continuum, Uptown was a different galaxy- a different dimension . Uptown was our little taste of Anglo America. The America that wore bow ties and Brooks Brother tweed, the America that used mayonnaise. Mayonnaise, I don’t understand Italo South Philly’s aversion to mayonnaise? I can assure you it is and has always been used in Italy. Well mostly north of the Naples and Dixon line but go to Firenze, Roma, Bolognia. Milano you’ll get it and they use it. In the Northern Marches (le Marche) many put mayonnaise on their Pizza! Even in Naples they use it in the summer salade del Riso (rice salad). But in South Philly we believe it is some kind of Anglo ‘merigan thing, well gumbas- it ain’t. Still I would NEVER put mayonnaise on my Pizza , and Italian mayonnaise is WAY better then Hellman’s

The 23 trolley , build circa 1947. Just like Carlo’s sister preserving a bit of the 40’s in our every day life. A great idea for a ghost story- a ghost 23 trolley haunting 11th and 12 streets- take a ride and meet Eleanor Roosevelt.

The 23 trolley, I will always remember the rumble. Living a few feet from the trolley stop my early life was pulsated by that rumble. I had relatives that lived on 12th street and had the trolley rumble in front of their house every day, year after year-their own 5.1 earthquake. But they got their revenge- On New Year’s they would toss fire crackers at the raging 1940’s beast, it did no good. Now the old 23 is gone and many are trying to resurrect it, for in the scheme of things we loved the rumble, loved that 40’s style.

The 23 trolley gliding over the cobblestone, many laid by my maternal great Grandfather Geraldo Mazzola. Yes my Great Grandfather was a master cobblestone layer, he died in 1930 as asphalt was emerging triumphantly as the road covering of choice in Philadelphia, so he did not live to see his mastery become redundant.

The 23 was not the only trolley uptown- there was the 47 on 8th/9th street, but as the 23 stopped on my corner we only reserved the 47 for return trips, if we happened to be at 8th and Chestnut.

The trolley ride allowed for the careful observation of people and personalities. I found especially interesting those suffering from what I called Trolley Anxiety Syndrome (TAS). This malady was normally suffered by Italo America women and resulted in a nervousness and fear of missing their stop. In its manifestation it would cause the sufferer to continually ask what street they were on and then rise at least 2 blocks from their stop and pull the cord, signifying that they wished the trolley to stop. Of course the conductor would stop, the women would not get off ,as this was not her corner, and the conductor would raise his hands in frustration and utter comments I would rather not post on this Blog site. What was especially strange about TAS is that in Philadelphia the bus stops on every street corner, so if you missed your stop for heavens sake just get out at the next corner. But as we all know, South Philly has it’s imaginary boundaries, the next corner may be in a different world or dimension then your corner, and you may never find your way back.

Obviously the 23 trolley ride was half the fun. But what did we do when Uptown?

I remember my walks along Market and Chestnut street and the great flagship stores Gimbels at 8th and Chestnut, Lit’s and Strawbridge & Clothier at 8th and Market-and of course John Wannamaker’s at 12th and Chestnut. These stores are now all gone all except for the buildings. Well Gimbles was torn down but mercifully historical preservation has saved the others. I recently heard that the last of the great shops- Strawbridge’s- has closed. I don’t understand why in Philadelphia we must destroy our traditions? In London you can visit Harrods or Fortnum and Mason and they have changed owners many times ( for heavens sake Harrods’s is owned by an Egyptian!) yet the traditions stay the same! Sadly Urban America has become infected with big mega stores and name shops, a set for shopping sprees envisioned in an Orwellian nightmare.

Sometimes we would stop at St. John’s church at 12 and Chestnut to light candles in the chapel. This chapel was particularly dear to my family for my maternal Grandmother Teresa Antonucci Braccia (Mama) claimed miraculous intervention from the saints of this chapel in saving her from a hysterectomy, and allowing her to produce her brood of children that became the Braccia’s.

All trips uptown also meant lunch ,and my dad was partial toward the Horn and Hardart automat at 9th and Chestnut. You would glide a tray alone a row of little compartments all with something to eat, place your change in the slot, open the door and take your food. A novel assembly line way of food selection. I was very fond of the Baloney sandwich with butter. I have only encounter this culinary delight at a Horn and Hardart, but must say I do not think I would want one now. At H & H clients shared tables, my best memories were of the old men with beards eating soup and my father telling me not to stare… well let me draw a veil over this particular vision.


Sometimes we would visit Rittenhouse square- the seat of WASP Philadelphia. Dad would tell me stories of his father Frank Braccia I , who ran a successful ladies tailoring shop at 18th and Walnut- catering to the mayonnaise crowd. Indeed one of these WASP women, a Margaret Bloomal was enamored of my Grandfather, but realizing she would never get him settled on the son and married my uncle Joe. My uncle Joe is an interesting personality as he has managed to maintain the understanding, maturity and personality of a spoilt adolescent even as an octogenarian. He has long ago buried Aunt Margaret but still uses mayonnaises. His greatest achievement has been in wealth distribution , for he distributed his wife’s inheritance via the racing tracks of South Jersey.

Off Rittenhouse square stood a small luncheonette, the name of which I have long forgotten. I remember after feeding the pigeons in the park dad took me there for an ice cream Sunday. I remember especially the counter man who would amuse us as he wiped the counter, prepared the food and juggled the glasses. All with great skill and in a demonstration of another lost art- the entertaining lunch counter juggler.

After a day uptown we boarded the 23 trolley to return home to the comforts of planet 10th and Dickinson, turning our back on the Anglo world and its mayonnaise , yet happy and anxiously waiting next week’s outing.

I sometimes hear the rumble of the 23 trolley, the trace memory has become sensory. That ghost trolley passing the Moyamensing prison and Billy Pinto’s house and taking my grandmother to St. John’s and myself my sister and my dad to Horn and Hardart for Boloney and butter sandwiches.

Do you hear the rumble?