Autobiographical Sketches

Move to Wayne – 1970

 

Just before we relocated from Long Island to Wayne, the homeowner behind our new house, Peter Bromshteck, was shocked to learn that an Italian family from New York was moving in, and they had six children!

 

A few months later, the house next to ours changed hands and another Italian American family moved in – Ed and Cathy, with their four little kids. Ed and I began to plan a little block-warming event. We would string lights in our back yards, set up grills and cook batches of sausages, peppers, and onions. And I thought it was a great idea to position a large fan to send the delicious odors to Peter’s house.

 

We debated about what kind of music to have. Ed wanted to use his boom box to play the theme from The Godfather. I wanted to hire a man to play the hurdy-gurdy, with songs like “C’en a luna” and “I’ll Be Down to Get You in a Pushcart Honey.” The guys would be dressed in sleeveless undershirts and smoke stubby, black cigars. Our wives would wear leopard lamé Capri pants, with hair piled high on their heads, chewing gum a mile-a-minute. And the kids would run around with no shoes. Added attraction: garbed statues of saints pinned with dollar bills.

 

Sad to say, the fantasy festival we concocted never took place – maybe we should have gotten Mel Brooks to Produce it.

 

2007

 

 

Pre-School Events by Ann Biancheri – 1980

 

Early in my days as a pre-school teacher, Andrew, a sensitive 4-year-old who was a little bigger than most of the boys, came to me to complain about one of his classmates.

 

“Mrs. Biancheri,” he pined, “Ralphie said he was going to kick my butt.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied, “I’ll talk to Ralphie.”

 

Ralph came from a large family and was quite an “active” boy. I went to him and asked, “Ralphie, did you say you would kick Andrew’s butt?”

 

He answered, with a brightness and honesty, “Nah, I didn’t say that – I said I’d kick his ass.”

 

I wondered about which careers Andrew and Ralph would follow as they matured. Andrew would likely continue to be diplomatic, and Ralph would be honest, but forceful.

 

Footnote: Ralph is now a manager in a family retail enterprise, so he has occasion to “kick butt,” but it is more properly called “managerial application of high quality standards” – but with frank honesty.

 

September 2, 2003

 

 

Bottomline Ecology by Ann Biancheri – 1970s

 

Anne, my pre-school class aide, came from the Bronx, as I did, so we got along well.

 

Once, when we were chatting, she told me she was doing some indoor planting, went to the garden supply store and asked for "a bag of dirt.” After questioning by the proprietor, he sold her some “top soil/planting mix.” Fancy words, she thought, but still just plain dirt.

 

Anne was great with four-year-olds and avoided all pretension. And she made great Irish soda bread.

 

January 14, 2015

 

 

Pre-school Follies by Ann Biancheri – 1980s

 

A four-year-old in my pre-school class was Billy, a bright, talkative and somewhat “husky” boy.

 

He came to me with a complaint, “Why can’t we get a better snack?” We usually had milk and cookies.

 

“Okay,” I said, “What kind of snack would you like?” Billy replied, matter-of-factly, “Like a pork-chop!”

 

I had no rebuttal, but knew the budget for the parish school wasn’t big enough.

 

February 8, 2014

 

 

Quattro Turisti Americani – 1989

 

After completing a sight-filled 10-day tour of the major cities of Italy in 1989, my sister, her husband, my wife and I visited Lipari, Italy, where my father was born one hundred years before. On this volcanic island, located in the Tyrrhenian Sea northeast of Sicily, we had a fascinating religious experience.

 

On August 15, “ferragosto,” the feast of the Assumption of Mary into heaven, our hosts thought we’d like to attend a local religious festival at the rural church of l’Assunta (Madonna of the Assumption).

 

In the early evening we sat in the courtyard in front of the small church located amid acres of grape arbors on a pleasant hillside high above the town’s sixteenth-century castle and the noisy downtown that dated back to early Greek times. Many families were celebrating the occasion, and bags of peanuts and other treats were available for all present, but mostly for the children. A small brass band formed at the church door as the bishop and his entourage arrived. The statue of Mary with an electric light halo was unplugged and brought out from the church for a procession. The people followed the statue down through the fields, along the country roads, back up the church steps and then into the front door.

 

As we entered the church and Mass was about to begin, the statue was reconnected and the halo of stars brightly shone above Mary’s head. But, as we looked around, there was something very strange. The only people in the crowded church were old women wearing black shawls, a few ailing men, and four American tourists. All the young people and families had packed up their peanuts and gone home.

 

June 14, 1995

 

 

Selling a 1979 Chevy Malibu – 1991

 

My son Philip was told his ’79 Chevy needed a $450 carburetor. Since the car’s purchase price was only $100, we considered it “dead.”

 

I used the “FOR SALE” sign from the next “bomb” Phil purchased, a 1979 Ford station wagon and parked the Chevy in the unused lot of our driveway. The selling responsibility was mine, so an asking price was set at $50.

 

The first potential customer was a guy going door-to-door selling driveway blacktop coating services.

 

“Can I try the car?” he asked. I gladly obliged, but the ignition key didn’t even cause a click. He told me he’d come back.

 

Next, an auto mechanic from the local SAAB dealer drove by and he was very interested. He said he’d come back later, possibly with a battery.

 

Then, a young fellow came telling me he was looking for reliable transportation to get to school. I explained that this is the exact reason my son wanted a car, but this one wasn’t suitable.

 

The blacktop salesman returned. He was still interested but concerned that there were no windshield wipers. After my son met that request with an old pair of wipers, the potential buyer asked about the radio. Our answer: “There’s no radio; the asking price is $50.” He came back with a battery and a friend, started the car and took it for a test drive. On returning, he said he’s still interested, but wanted to bring back his brother-in-law who is a car expert!

 

I finally sold the car to a collector of 1979 Chevrolet Malibus. He brought a battery and his girlfriend and drove off into the sunset. The price? A $50 bill, no haggling. When I gave the cash to Phil, he offered to let me keep it, “For your troubles.”

 

Follow-up: When the ’79 Ford died a similar death less than a year later, I stuck the same sign on it. This time the same blacktop salesman offered a free coating on my driveway, if we gave him the car. Phil’s answer: “NO WAY!” So Phil ended up donating the Ford to his friend who was going to use it as a cadaver for the local high school auto mechanics class.

 

September 1993

 

 

Garage Repair – 1992

 

Our family car had a minor altercation with the rear wall of our garage. The wall lost, so some repairs were needed. Under “CONTRACTORS” in the Yellow Pages, I found the name Giuseppe Miracaluso, listed alphabetically under “G.” Figuring it might be good to give the work to a “paesan,” I called him for an estimate.

 

Signore Miracaluso was a wiry, middle-aged man with heavily calloused hands. He looked over the damage and told me, “I fixa da garagia – I hitta da wall wid da slay-jamma.” I thanked him, but was a little skeptical about his plan of action to correct the bow in the garage wall.

 

I gave the job to a “Designer-Builder” with an Anglo-Saxon name, who gave me an impressive computer-printed estimate, which was also considerably lower than any other.

 

Clark arrived about a week later to make the repairs. As he began working, I heard a tremendous pounding in the garage, so I went to check it out. I watched in awe as Clark was moving the wall back to its proper vertical position with the blows of a sledge hammer.

 

Giuseppe was perhaps a little rough around the edges in the area of customer relations, but he was smack on target with his methodology.

 

February 2, 1996

 

 

English and American - 1995

 

Our trip to Italy in 1995, the second and final one, was through SAGA Holidays, a British travel agency (aka Send A Granny Away). Most of the people on the tour were from the U.K. The first night at the hotel in Italy, they had a social mixer so the tourists could get to know one another.  Each person was asked to introduce him- or herself, as we went around the room.

 

At our table, a couple from England started the introductions. The husband said, "Good evening, my name is 'Om."

 

My wife, Ann, wanting to participate fully, didn't catch his name, so she asked him to repeat it.

" 'Om," he said again.

"What?" Ann said, now thinking her hearing had gone faulty due to the air travel.

So again, he said, more emphatically, " 'OM!"

At this point his wife chimed in with a needed clarification:

"His name is Tom."

 

Later we learned that this is a dictal anomaly, known as "non-conso-lalia," where some people of Anglo-Saxon origin swallow leading consonants of certain words.

 

It took a while for the American ears to understand the British tongue.

 

April 2016

 

 

Hospital Visits – 1997

 

As a Eucharistic Minister, I periodically go to the local hospital to give Communion to the Catholic patients. Many are of Hispanic or Italian background, and some speak only Spanish or Italian, so my meager linguistic abilities are often tested. Some recent experiences follow:

 

1. On entering the room of an elderly patient, Mrs. Signura (not her real name), I introduced myself as a Eucharistic Minister and asked if she was a Catholic. She replied in Italian that she did not understand English, so I tried to converse in my best “broking” Italian. She indicated she did not wish to receive Communion at that time, and as I was about to leave, I used one of my few Italian phrases, “Addio” – meaning “good-bye,” but literally translated as “to God.” She quickly corrected me, saying, “No, no – arrivederci!” I smiled and acknowledged her preference for our meeting again. The following week I looked for her, but she had gone Home.

 

2. On another occasion, I offered Communion to a woman named Mrs. Antonucci. Since my family had friends with this same name, I asked her where in Italy the name came from. She said it was from Calabria, which meant to me that there was no likely connection. I suggested that the name probably meant “little Anthony,” but she didn’t agree. Her husband’s name, she said, traced way back to the illegitimate son of the monsignor from a local parish church. That kind of ended the small talk.

 

October 18, 1997

 

 

San Francisco Treat – 1999 

 

During a visit to San Francisco in early 1999, my wife and I went into a little Italian gift shop in Ghirardelli Square, and seeing all the ceramic ware, including many salt and pepper shakers, I asked aloud if anyone knew what Caruso’s last words were. Only a sales clerk and the manager/owner(?) were there.

 

Signora La Proprietrice answered with a question, “Beniamino Caruso?”

 

I said, “No, ENRICO Caruso,” thinking, “What kind of Italian is this?”

 

With a shrug, she replied, “Whatever,” in typical Generation X fashion, although she was about thirty years old.

 

P.S. Caruso’s last words were “sale” and “pepe.”

 

March 19, 1999

 

 

THE WHO – My First Rock Concert at Age 70 – 2003

 

On August 30, 2003, son Gene, his wife Barb, and our son Paul took me to my first rock concert – THE WHO, at the NJ Garden State Arts Center. As I have often said about the nearly two years I spent in the U.S. Army, “it was quite an experience!”

 

We had seats in the sixth row, beneath speakers that were about three stories high, and twice as loud. At one point, I wondered if I should have used a higher SPF because of the blinkin’ strobe lights; but I put on my sunglasses, and fit right in. What saved the day (and my sanity) were the earplugs given to me by my daughter-in-law.

 

I had the privilege of being the oldest fan in the audience of several thousand (I did a visual survey). And I think I was the only person NOT wearing a black concert shirt.

 

The opening act was Robert Plant, formerly of Led Zeppelin. Pete Townsend and Roger Daltry, the two remaining from the original four in The Who, seemed to be holding up okay for multi-millionaires.

 

Everyone stood for the performances (except those who were way out on the grass looking at large video screens), and after three hours, it kind of hurts your calf muscles.

 

The last time I saw lines for the men’s room was at Shea Stadium; the women were happy to see that.

 

Gene and Barb had VIP passes, so they went to the hospitality tent behind stage, where they were treated to M&Ms and bottled water.

 

The Kids were Alright – they explained some of the backstage details of such a concert/production/tour. I was somewhat familiar with many of the numbers, from hearing them played in our house for the last 30+ years.

 

The Who’s final show in the NYC area for this tour was the following day at Jones Beach, and I was reminded of my first year as a toll collector there, in the summer of 1952, when that theater first opened, with Mike Todd the on-site producer.

 

All in all, it was a lot of fun for an old geezer; now I’ll go in peace, man.

 

2003

 

 

Look in the Sky – It’s a Plane… - 2005

 

The other day I heard an airplane – heavy, droning motor sounds, flying a bit low and not moving along quickly as the passenger jets usually do heading toward Newark Airport. I looked up and saw it was a B-17, a “Flying Fortress,” a four-engine bomber used extensively in bombing raids in Europe during World War II. Then, for the next two days, I happened to see it again, heading directly south, with bright yellow military markings on the tail fin. I scanned the online search indexes for a local press release, but found no mention. So I presume it was just moving through the area, likely going to a New Jersey air show (I found one listed for Cape May and another for Hammonton).

 

It reminded me of summer days during the 1940s, when our family had a vacation home in Massapequa Park, on Long Island, and those bombers were pouring out of factories and staging areas to fly east across the Atlantic. Often, their path was one block north of the Long Island Rail Road tracks, and they came right over our house, flying so low I could wave to the airmen in the gun turrets.

 

Many years later, after seeing the movies Twelve O’Clock High and Catch-22, I no longer thought it would be such a great adventure to be on a Flying Fortress in wartime.

 

September 2005

 

 

Keratosis “Trainatus” – 2005

 

Recently, I went to a dermatologist (bump and grind doctor?) for the first time in my life, so I showed him the palms of my hands with the many tiny spiny protrusions. My mother had them and a few other descendants do as well. I’ve always considered it a non-threatening familial trait, where one’s hands are a bit rough.

 

The doctor was so impressed he asked if he could bring in his two assistants to see them and I readily agreed. When the young ladies came into the examination room for the “viewing,” I told them about the theory as to how these growths originated: they might be vestigial feathers that somehow got sidetracked a few thousand years ago during the evolutionary process. The doctor kind of smirked at my unscientific explanation and said he was going to look it up in his reference books. I had found it on Google variously listed as: “spiny keratoderma,” “keratosis punctate” and “music box keratosis.”

 

He prescribed an acidic cream that would smooth them down, but he agreed that the same effect could be obtained by using a pumice stone (my preferred method, and one with heritage connections).

 

Was this the closest I’ll ever get to my fifteen-minutes of fame? I think the possibility of flight is still very far off.

 

October 28, 2005

 

 

Telephone Exchange – 2007

 

Our home phone rings and I answer, “Hello.”

 

The woman at the other end says, “Who is this?”

 

I say, “Who is calling?”

 

She stumbles a bit and says, “Is Koko there?”

 

I say, “You’ve got the wrong number.” Her reply is emphatic and sets me straight:

 

“I don’t have the wrong number – I just pressed the wrong button.” SLAM.

 

This conversation should have been recorded for replay on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno.

 

May 6, 2007

 

 

Memorabilia Sale – 2009

 

At our local flea-bag motel, a trading company was buying gold, silver, watches, jewelry, antiques, etc. So given the current economic situation, I took some of my junk to see what I could get. I showed the buyer my Minolta camera [bought in Japan in 1955, with the original instruction booklet], a silver belt buckle, some Cross pens/pencils [gold filled?] and three unused cigarette lighters [one a Zippo dating from 1945; two others with trade show info on them].

 

The guy had only one tooth, located in this upper jaw – he weighed the silver buckle and said there was a demand for lighters having markings on them; he rejected the Cross pens and said the camera required further research. He then offered me a $20 bill. I took it and ran.

 

The financial melt-down continues.

 

March 5, 2009

 

 

Call to Gene – 2010

 

Recently, I called my son Gene at his business 800 number. When the operator answered, I gave his extension number.

 

She asked, “Who do you want to speak with?”

 

I replied, “Gene Biancheri.”

 

She then asked, “Who’s calling?”

 

I told her, “Gene Biancheri.”

 

She queried, “Gene Biancheri is calling Gene Biancheri?”

 

“That’s right,” I confirmed.

 

Her reply, “Hold on please.”

 

Next, Gene came to the phone saying that the operator, sounding very perplexed, told him, “There’s a call FOR you, FROM you!!??”

 

Perhaps the young lady thought she was having a “senior” moment. Or she might have guessed that there are only two people with that name in the entire world [per Google]. I believe there were only four with that name in the history of the world – the others being my father (1889-1962) and his older brother (1884-1889).

 

August 25, 2010