L'Italo-Americano

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2017 www.italoamericano.org 32 L'Italo-Americano HERITAGE MEMORIA IDENTITÀ STORIA G eneva, Illinois was a long way from the city, and there was much work for men with strong arms and tough backs out where the Chicago sub- urbs were growing. Here, where the air had yet to be spoiled by factory smoke, Michele Rotolo was surrounded by paesans like himself who still depended on their versions of Italian to speak their mind. The old timers had a saying, "Il contadino ha le scarpe rozze e il cervello fino." "The peasant has rough shoes and a sharp mind," and this was true for Michele Rotolo. His brain had been shaped and sharpened over the years he worked the land of Castellana. He could read signs on and in the earth that others would miss; he could read the skies and even smell up a weather forecast. Michele could read anything nature wrote, but nothing written by humans. Back in Italy he had no need to read words, but all that changed in this new country. When a letter came to Don Demetrio's boarding house, he had to track someone down to read it to him and write a response. Demetrio gave Michele a break on his boarding fee for the work he did in the huge garden that helped feed the ten men he lead to work each day. Michele was finishing up the fall harvest one Sunday when Demetrio's nephew Vincenzo came running from the house, calling to him. "Ay, goombah. Goombah ay!" Michele shook his head and readied the hoe. His eye caught a white flag flapping in Vincenzo's hand. Paolina stood behind the hanging laundry and watched as Jimmy, (Vincenzo's new American name), jumped into the garden, landing right on Michele's hoe, breaking it in two. Michele threw the broken handle down and grabbed Jimmy by his suspenders. "What's a wrong with you? Look what you do. You tell him what you did. I'mma no pay for your foolishness." Jimmy ignored him and waved the enve- lope in front of Michele's face. "Mike, it's for you. Maybe there is some news from Castellana." Michele snatched the letter from Vince and stared at it. Paolina moved closer. Michele stuffed it into his pocket. "Open it. Open it! What you wait for!" yelled Jimmy. "I read later; now I finish my work," he said turning away from Jimmy. Michele bowed his head. Jimmy recalled the time Michele had received his notice to report for the military. "Oh, my friend, give it to me. I will read it for you." Michele grabbed the pieces of the hoe and walked away. Jimmy danced around him and grabbed the letter from his pock- et. Michele turned quickly, anger reddening his face. "Via! Leave me alone," he yelled in Italian. Then he noticed that Paolina was watching them from a crack in the drying sheets and calmed down. "Ok, you read to me." Jimmy opened the letter and FRED GARDAPHE A generation removed: the first letter began. "Nineteenth of September 1920. Dearest son, I am answer- ing your dear letter that we were expecting with so much pleasure. We rejoiced in hearing that you had a good trip and that you immediately found work. We hope you are well and successful. We were also happy that you wrote to us with your own hands and so you always will." Vince stopped reading and looked to Michele. "Eh, Mike what is this? You can write but no read?" "Vito wrote the first letter for me. I promised them I would go to school in America and learn to write them in Italian. I told my mother there was a school in the church. But who has time for such things? Keep reading." "Dear son, let me know about those papers that you had when you left the military. If you still have them you can receive a sum of money from the government. I have forgotten how much it is. We can put the money toward the land and it will do good for you. "I sent you jasmine seeds in this letter and for fear of them not reaching you I also put some in Vito Nicoli's letter. Your father wants you to plant the seeds when it is the right time. It will bring to you the smell of our land, so that you will never forget us. "Vito tells us that you work harder than anyone else and that soon you will be making thirty dollars a week. I'm told that is more than your fathers and broth- ers make in one month. What a wonderful land that America must be. We hope that soon you can send us more money so that we can continue to pay for the land. "So we by the grace of God are well as we always hope for you. Receive the greetings of your brothers, sisters and all your friends. Give our greetings to Vito and his family. "Your brother Michelangelo took your place in the fields. He is young, but with you gone, everyone must work, even little Michelangelo. Your father says to pay Don Demetrio on time. He is no man to be in debt to." Vince stopped. "So he also doesn't trust my Uncle, eh?" "No, no. He just wants to make sure I'm never in anyone's debt. It is nothing. Just an old man's worry. Go on." "God bless you and Mother Mary watch you. We wait patiently for your response. We are your dear parents, Lattore Anna and Rotolo Francesco." "Finito," punctuated Jimmy. Michele took the letter from Jimmy and moved his eyes over the writing until he reached his mother's signature. He kissed it, folded the letter and placed in into his shirt pocket and the jas- mine seeds in his coat. He would find a nice place to plant these later. With Jimmy's help, Michele returned each letter. The quick- ness of his replies made his fami- ly happy. His mother would wave the letters in the air as she carried them home from the post office. The whole family would gather around the kitchen table and listen as her neighbor read them aloud. His letters contained increasingly larger amounts of money. When she brought these postal orders to the bank she was treated with respect. She had risked sending a son to America and money came back. That, to those in Castellana, was success; the pain of breaking up the family was soothed some with each pay- ment for the land. But all this would change, and the winter of 1923 was to prove a real test of Michele's strength. "I sent you jasmine seeds in this letter...Your father wants you to plant the seeds when it is the right time. It will bring to you the smell of our land, so that you will never forget us."

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