Philadelphia November 7, 2016

As dawn must soon be breaking  on my Native land , and I listen to the mournful prelude to Act III of Tristan I must lament as Tristan.

Wo ich erwacht weilt' ich nicht;  doch, wo ich weilte,  das kann ich dir nicht sagen.  Die Sonne sah ich nicht,  noch sah ich Land und Leute:  doch, was ich sah,  das kann ich dir nicht sagen.

Where I awoke there I was not, but where I was I cannot tell you. I did not see the sun nor did I see Land and people, but what I did see I cannot tell you.

That’s about how I see my native land from the distance in this most awful year of 2016. I have not lived in the US since 1991 and have in the last fifteen  years spend a total  9 weeks in America and  have not been to my native Philadelphia in ten years ,  so I limited  currency in this  to  judge the state of the nation and people’s minds. When I think of  America I think of her as I left her in 1991 , not as she is now , which I see  only through the portals of media.   Through this lens  I see a growing factionalism and polarization reminiscent  of France in the 1780s , Spain in the  1930s , or the US in the 1850s  and we know what these  led to .

We have fueled an age of me and my with no shared values except the agreement of others who think just like us.  No matter who wins this election I fear for the future. We shall either have a president that respects power over  Law ( Just like Lenin or Stalin) or a president  with an extremely hostile Congress bent on Impeaching her before she even takes office and insuring no legislation will be able to be passed. One leads to clear dictatorship and the other can lead to something like the Indian Emergency under Indira Gandhi, and  there are those that will not accept the outcome of the election and will continue to turn to the Dark Side. As a career expatriate American I can assure you the rest of  world sees the US as weak and divided and into this void is stepping  other powers and forces, neither Make American Great Again or Love Trumps Hate will be able to fix this any time soon.  

So I am pessimistic. I don’t understand the logic of voting for people  you don’t trust? Both Parties nominated people which when  polled  they say they don’t trust or don’t like ?? They then elect a progressive forward thinking president but a regressive dead in the water congress? This is madness and madness has a price. Is the great American republic on the  brink of  political, military and economic collapse  as Rome in the 3^rd century?

We don’t live in a cartoon so don’t put  your faith in princes, no one man  or woman can fix these things, Rome had plenty of hard working let’s make the empire great again emperors in the 3rd century and all they did was end up defeated and dead , and the collapse continued.

And bring us together again is equally as fantastical  and  difficult to happen when each side sees the other as an incarnation of evil, what is the middle ground in this scenario?  What each side has to understand is that the other sides sees their opponents as dead wrong and each thinks the other will lead to catastrophe. Paraphrasing Lincoln (with apologies) , A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure, permanently, half progressive  and half  regressive . I do not expect the Union to be dissolved — I do not expect the house to fall — but I do expect it will cease to be divided. It will become all one thing or all the other. Either the opponents of progressive thought  will arrest the further spread of it…or its advocates will push it forward, till it shall become accepted  in all the States red  as well as blue.

Well I have left out one thing, the fact that  man is a thinking and reasoning mammal  and that American is still by far greater than the rest and that the youth of today will pick up the shattered  mess and put it all together, that regressive leaders  will take a clue from Ayn Rand or Edmund Ruffin and American light will return to illuminate its  people and the world.

As an educator I  have  great faith in youth and hope I  live to see that day , if I can only get through the next few.

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?

SPDS

We live in a world of apprehension, a new age of uncertainty where terror and chaos sleek just around the corner. A world where someone might drop a plane on you or sneak in and take your job, where enemies peer at us in hate and envy through the gates of our democracy. … Well that at least is how Fox news makes it out.

But no one can deny we have security problems and concerns- terrorism , illegal immigration- we stand like Horatio at the bridge holding off the wild hordes. What can we do? How do we make the Republic safe from attack and illegal entry? What is the solution, more restrictions, martial law, cohorts of our Legions guarding airports and borders? The Lady in the Harbor holding up the sign CLOSED in place of her torch??

But fear not oh troubled citizens, the solution is just down the street, we have had it in South Philly all along. I call it the South Philly Defense System or SPDS. How does it work- the SPDS employs unseen forces and imaginary boundaries that keep people and things outside a neighborhood. It is the system that allows us to build with confidence a $400,000 home a street away from crack houses and criminal gangs, yes they don’t come around our way. Yes our way, not my way, our way, that collective phases that we in South Philly know to be pregnant with meaning, pregnant with the solutions to our problems. It keeps the wild hordes in their wild enclosures and allows us to make a happy life in the shadow of chaos.

What do I mean? let me draw your attention to a recent conversation I had with a much loved cousin, a women of some culture and great style, a women who understands her neighborhood. In a recent telephonic exchange. I mentioned that I would like to purchase an investment property in South Philadelphia as property values are very good. I was considering purchasing a shell in an upcoming area and restore it. I had identified a 3 bedroom row home at 15th and Reed for 5 figures. Capital, I thought ,15th and Reed just two blocks from 13th and Reed where the property rates for a 3 bedroom row home are 6 figures and climbing. Feeling bright and happy about my impending coup I spoke with my cousin. “What!” my cousin shouted at me- “15th and Reed are you Crazy (one always doubts sanity in SP when confronted with innovative behavior) It is SO bad you can’t go there.” “But..” I responded, “it is 15th and Reed you are at 12th and Reed 3 blocks and 350 meters away.” “Yes,” my cousin responded “but I don’t go around there, it’s so bad they have all kinds of drug addicts and criminals.” “But it is 2 blocks away from the great South Philly revival, as properties become scarcer and prices drive upward the house at 15th and Reed must increase in value.”
“Absolutely not” I was told “that neighborhood is terrible and hopeless.” Yes like Dante’s Hell Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate (abandon every hope, you who enter). As we say in South Philly.. I remained… I was stupefied, incredulity flooded my thoughts, “it can not be” I protested, “my investment vision is clear and based on hard facts and basic laws of physics and economics.” Still my cousin insisted, I asked her to go check it out, to cross the 2 blocks and see- “I’m not going there she said!” Never into that land , to quote more Dante, la città dolente… l'etterno dolore…la perduta gente ( the city of suffering, eternal sorrow and the lost people) . She spoke Ex cathedra- The neighborhood was very bad and she would never move the 300m meters to her left and set foot there, under any circumstances. My cousin then suggested we get together in Singapore or Rome in the future.. Yes we can not even remotely consider visiting 15th street from 12th street but I will come to the other side of the world and see you…….

If defies logic- How can such a thing be? For after all, were I an inhabitant of la città dolente on 15th street and knew that just 1 or 2 blocks away lived people in relative comfort and wealth with 6 figure homes and cars, I would simple walk the few steps to enhance my crime among a more affluent clientele. But alas, and here is the point, they don’t! Yes somehow in South Philly there exist a defense system that keeps the lost inhabitants (la perduta gente) away from those blessed occupants of the city of enhanced priced homes. I took additional council from real estate agents and other friends and relatives in South Philly, and was told the same thing, no 15th street ---very bad.

That’s the way it is in South Philly… That’s the SPDS.

While my idea of a home at 15th and Reed remains on hold I do reflect upon this story. And in an epiphany realize that between 13th and 15th street lies the answer to the Nation’s security problems. Were I president of the United States (it could happen) the second thing I would do after lifting the Cuban Embargo ( light ‘em up) would be to send a team to South Philly to study this phenomenon and find a way to adapt it for the nation. Just imagine , in southern California and Texas we wouldn’t need cohorts of troops or fences or even border guards. The forces that hold chaos in check along Reed street would function to stop illegal border crossing. Our airports would be safe for terrorist would be paralyzed by the same force that keeps the gangsters on 15th street off 13th street.. Condoleezza Rice can declare the nation safe and like some Connie from 12th street say with certainty- they don’t come around our way.


Of course I am unsure what forces come into play to allow this? A Spatial differentiation where matter is limited in its dimensional habitation? Perhaps it is some residue magic left over by the Delaware tribes that lived along the Passyung and Moremensing creeks in bygone days? Perhaps it is something to do with the soft clay beneath the city streets? Or the sprit of Frank Rizzo protecting the old neighborhood, a new Michael with a flaming sword over South Philly, or rather certain parts of it.

But it is there believe- why else would a person pay $400,000 for a house down the street from murderer’s row.

Of course the whole thing could be a mirage and based on false misguided interpretations and unsubstantiated fears, perhaps the bad neighborhoods are not so bad and la perduta gente not so lost, perhaps people in south Philly live there own version of the TV show LOST and are unaware of the true forces that control their universe? I know of people that immigrated to South Philly from Italy and after 40-70 years still could not speak English.. I know of people in South Philly that after 60 years have still never seen Allegany Avenue or Germantown or Chestnut Hill…. Could perhaps the SPDS be nothing more then the reflection of people’s own parochialism and insularism- we never go there -so they never come here.

Well after I am president and after the Cubans are smoking again, I shall send the brighest minds in the nation to investigate for I know we can harness the power of the South Philly Defense system..

The SPDS , defense for a new age of uncertainty.

Robert, rimembri ancora Quel tempo della tua vita mortale

I always think of him in May, the month that saw his birth and death. The sweet May that gave and took, as in the life of the Buddha.

We lived a half block apart and saw each other regularly from birth. My first strong memory of him was in the Capitolo Playground at 9th and Reed in 1963 when he was 6 and I but 5. He was 6 months older, which in that youthful time seemed a great difference. I remember that afternoon in the playground swinging with him while he told me his first plans for the future, the future that bekons to youth, his plan was to be a priest, or a firemen.

We bagain our education at the same time, in school his 6 months advance was nullified. We spent 8 years together at the Annunciation BVM Elementary school at 12th and Reed and an additional 4 years together in Bishop Neumann High School, both of us celebrating our graduation into the world in 1976.

By 1976 we were fast friends. We knew each other’s dreams, likes, and interests. As he worked at the Twin shop at 10th and Tasker, where I spent most of my free time in the 70’s, we seemed always together. My friend had a great gift for design and decoration and turned the Twin Shoppe windows into works of arts. His skills were appreciated and had he tried I believe he could have had a career in design.

My friend’s name was Robert, and he was my oldest friend as I turned to adulthood.

We had many memories and shared experiences from Kindergarten to 12th grade, not to mention birthdays, weddings, parties, for we were our own cumpare- or rather a 1970’s teenage version of it. Robert and I shared the harrowing number 40 trackless trolley ride to Bishop Neumann High School. We shared nights out , days off during snow storms, and evenings at the Twin shop with Tony Comatose and the brotherhood of the guys who hung at 10th and Tasker. I became friendly with his family and spent part of every holiday season at his house. He came from a very close knit clan and they had the greatest of family parties and food.

When adulthood came and snatched us from our south Philly safety nets- I to university and marriage and Robert to a career as a hairdresser, we still shared ideas and discoveries, nights out and at times a mutual waywardness.

During the summer of 1985 while I was on an historical tour of Italy for 3 months, Robert kept my wife company and free from boredom.

I even worked for Robert selling Easter flowers at 13th and Synder and 10th and Tasker, putting myself up as an expert on flora. We did good business and perhaps should have opened a flower and plant shop.

As the 80’s progressed we both became more involved with our personal lives and did not see each other with the frequency of older times.

Then came 1987 and Robert became ill, ill in a terrible progress of sickness; and it dawned upon me that Robert would not survive. Robert took his illness well, as did his family , and his last months while somber , were fill of friends and love.

During those last few months I spend as much time with Robert as I did when we were children at the Annunciation school or teenagers at Bishop Neumann High School.

I told him of my trips to Europe and the people I met, of things I was up to, we talked of our past, of the swing at the Capitolo play yard, and even of the future, as if talking of the future would erase the reality of the present.

The last time I saw him alive was a few days after his 29th birthday in May 1987, he was by then in the very arms of death and left us soon after (+Requiescat in Pace).

His funeral was majestic, with people from near and far , new friends and old family, and 6 strong men to carry his wooden coffin upon their shoulders - like that of a fallen prince. His older brother spoke an eulogy which used the song Moon River to illustrate aspects of Robert and his personality. An effective tribute, so effective that when I hear the song I think of Robert as if Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Audrey Hepburn never existed. A fitting testament, Robert loved good things and had style and would have approved of it all.

His treasured mother, to whom he was so close, carried herself with a profound dignity that was to me a source of great comfort.

Being from South Philly I have been to lots of funerals and wakes, but Robert’s was the most touching. Perhaps because he was so close in friendship and age, for in taking Robert Death’s angel brushed me with his wings.

I reflect on Robert every May. It has been 19 years since he died and nearly 43 years since the swings at the Capitolo playground. I can not say I still mourn for Robert, for so many years have come ,and so much has happened since he left. But I still think of him and try to remember as he was. This recalls a favorite poem- A Silvia by the poet Giacomo Leopardi. The poem reflects on the memories of the past through a remembrance of a girl Silvia who died many years ago. It is not a poem of lost love but of a lost age. I quote parts with my own comment.

A Silvia
by Giacomo Leopardi (note: my translation is more literal then poetic)

Silvia, rimembri ancora (Silvia, remembering again)
Quel tempo della tua vita mortale, (the time of your mortal life,)
Quando beltà splendea (when beauty still shone)
Negli occhi tuoi ridenti e fuggitivi,( in your sidelong, laughing eyes,)
E tu, lieta e pensosa, il limitare (and you, light and thoughtful,)
Di gioventù salivi? (went beyond youth’s limits)

Robert had beautiful green eyes , and remains in my memories always young, as he never grew old.

Allor che all'opre intenta (you sat, happily content,)
Sedevi, assai contenta (intent, on that work.)
Di quel vago avvenir che in mente avevi. (the vague future, arriving alive in your mind)
Era il maggio odoroso: e tu solevi (It was the scented May, and that’s how)
Così menare il giorno. (you spent your day.)

Robert was always content in what he did, with that vague future arriving in his mind in a scanted May. The scented May that gave and took.

Che pensieri soavi, (What sweet thoughts,)
Che speranze, che cori, o Silvia mia! (what hopes, what hearts, O Silvia mia!)
Quale allor ci apparia (How it appeared to us then,)
La vita umana e il fato! (all human life and fate!)
Quando sovviemmi di cotanta speme, (When I recall that hope)
Un affetto mi preme (such feelings pain me,)
Acerbo e sconsolato, ( harsh, disconsolate,)
E tornami a doler di mia sventura. ( I brood on my own destiny)
O natura, o natura, (Oh Nature, Nature)
Perché non rendi poi (why do you not give now)
Quel che prometti allor? perché di tanto (what you promised then? Why)
Inganni i figli tuoi? (do you so deceive your children?)

Why does Nature not give what it promises? Or are these promises our deceptions?

Tu pria che l'erbe inaridisse il verno, (Attacked, and conquered, by secret disease,)
Da chiuso morbo combattuta e vinta, ( the closed death fought and won)…
Anche negaro i fati (Fate has denied those years.),
La giovanezza. Ahi come, ( the youth ah how)
Come passata sei, ( you have passed from me)
Cara compagna dell'età mia nova, ( dear companion of my first age)
Mia lacrimata speme! (my tearful hope)
Questo è quel mondo? (Is this the world, the dreams)
questi I diletti, l'amor, l'opre, gli eventi (the loves, events, delights,)
Onde cotanto ragionammo insieme? (we spoke about so much together?)
Questa la sorte dell'umane genti? (Is this the fate of humanity?)
All'apparir del vero (At the advance of Truth)
Tu, misera, cadesti: e con la mano (you,unhappy one, fell, and with the hand )
La fredda morte ed una tomba ignuda (the cold death and the silent grave)
Mostravi di lontano (you show us from the distance)

This is my tribute to Robert Giangiordano (1958-1987).

Sleep peaceful Robert and dream of swings.