Hometown memories in Rome (NY)

Now that time is running out and I have been granted one sliver of written immortality, I'll take the path of least resistance and let this week's author write about himself, his experiences and growing up in an ethnic neighborhood in a relatively small upstate New York community. I am a frequent visitor to Minonk Talk and I enjoy the commentary and stories of years gone by. The history of Minonk, its citizens and its trials and tribulations is always enjoyable and entertaining. Therefore, I hope I can shed some light on what life was like growing up in Rome, New York during the 50s and 60s.

Rome, New York unlike Minonk, Illinois was more the size of Urbana, Illinois during the '60s, about 45,000. To residents of Minonk, that's a lot like comparing your town to Kankakee. However, where the differences end the similarities begin. Let me explain. As I see it, Minonk is a relatively homogenous town. Similar nationalities, similar tastes, similar church-going people with a strong family orientation. That's not exactly the same comparison to Rome, New York, the town of my youth, or Urbana, Illinois, until you peak below the surface and look more closely at the demographics.

While Minonk appears to be of a similar ethnic make-up, Rome, New York had similar ethnic locales, four to be exact. Mostly Italians lived in east Rome, south Rome Polish, north and west lived persons of English and German extraction. Oddly enough, we Italians referred to non-Italians as "Americans". And as a matter-of-fact, the ethnic neighborhoods were equally divided by what was commonly referred to as the American Corner, the juncture of East and West Dominick Streets and North and South James Street. Go figure?

Our schools, too, were largely representative of the neighborhoods in which we grew up. My local elementary school was a neighborhood school similar in size to Elementary South in Minonk. The cafeteria employees and teachers were mostly of Italian origin, all having lived in east Rome. Our grade school principal's name was Mr. Pizzano, our librarian, Mrs. Mendozza, and so on. One exception, was Mr. Fossey, a red faced-beer bellied Irishman, the one and only janitor who did not take any guff from anyone, teacher or pupil. He was fondly called "Pies", short for Piason or friend in Italian. I recall with a chuckle the day Pauly Vacarro scribbled in white chalk on the front of the red brick building in bold 12 inch letters: "Pies is a savage beast." It didn't take long for Pies to find out who wrote the words and to have the culprit sponge the front of the building off while Pies sat on an upright soda case and watched until the wall was clean!

Aside from picnics and other family functions, I enjoyed a fairly normal childhood, very similar to what our children and the children of Minonk enjoy today. However, one thing is different. Today's extended families tend not to live under one roof. Grandma and Grandpa of today usually live across town or in another city. In my youth my mother, father, sister, aunts, grandmother and grandfather lived under the same roof and shared the good times and not so good times together. For instance, how would this comment from Grandma go over with today's modern wives (who still cook): "You have to prepare it (food) this way for my son, not the way you are doing it." Also, on many occasions a friend of non-Italian origin was invited to have dinner with us on a Sunday, one of the traditionally larger meals of the week. I remember my friend asking me the next day at school why everyone at our home appeared angry and raised their voices at each other? At first, I was puzzled until I recalled that mealtimes at our home were festive and vocal occasions. Time to make your point, make your peace, and hash out the news of the day. To me it was normal; to my friend it boarded on civil disobedience.

My friend was also puzzled by what I referred to as American bread. No one ever made a sandwich with white sliced bread. It was too soft and too thin. My sandwiches were made with Italian bread, complete with the irregular shapes and holes the size of nickels peppered randomly across the bread. That was one way of telling what was in your sandwich without peeling up a side of the bread to take a peek. Last, many of my non-Italian friends always wanted to trade sandwiches with me since I usually brought meatball or sausage sandwiches for lunch where their mothers packed either P & J or baloney and cheese. Sometimes the switch was refreshenly good.

Today, my hometown has changed immeasurably. While the ethnic neighborhoods have been assimilated into a homogeneous core, some remnants remain. Most of my friends have moved on, what few have remained in town married school sweethearts and built new homes. My generation of grandparents has died, their homes given to their children who in turn sold them to others. Ethnic grocery stores have given way to major chains and older buildings have given way to urban renewal. Still, it's good to return home for a dose of hometown memories and to gauge how far one has traveled, and how our past has influenced our present.

While there is no desire to return to my roots, a piece of my heart will always be in Rome, New York. Our families today are mobile. Our entertainments are less family and more solitary than in my youth. New friendships are easily made, new communities adopted. No matter where you come from or how far one has traveled your values go with you. Family, friends, community, religion and politics all share similar roots regardless of ethnicity or place of origin. Let us be thankful that we can share freely our traditions and freedoms with our children and our friends.