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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Antonio Ferrari, my friend and neighbor at the courthouse residence in Potenza, had been in Chicago for a number of years. We had been in communication at long intervals. When I advised him of my graduation, he answered me most affectionately. He also informed me that he had started an Italian weekly which gave promises of success, that he had his own printing press, but his employment in the legal department of the Chicago-Northwestern Railroad Company did not leave him sufficient time for his publishing business.
Knowing that I had a fairly good knowledge of English, Ferrari expressed a wish that I come to Chicago, where I could take over the editing of the newspaper and, at the same time, attend an evening law school, so that I could later engage in the legal profession, for which there was a splendid opportunity in a colony of 100,000 Italians. I thanked him for the offer and told him that, although I wanted very much to visit America at some future time, I could not possibly interrupt my career.
In the early part of 1907, while in Naples serving my legal apprenticeship, I received a visit from Joseph Paterno who, like his brother Dr. Charles four years previously, had come to Italy for the first time. Joe, twenty seven or twenty eight years old, was full of life and had a most engaging personality. There was a mutual liking and we had a grand time for several days.
When Joe heard that I was receiving no remuneration in the lawyer’s office, he jeered and laughed. “You have studied so many years, have a law degree, and you are working for nothing. That’s ridiculous for a smart fellow. In America, even an office boy gets ten dollars a week. If things are so bad here, why don’t you come to America? I can get you in some law firm, where they will pay something from the first day and then you can work your way up. Don’t waste your time.” I told him of Ferrari’s invitation and he said: “Why go to Chicago? Come to New York…
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…My brother and I can help you.”
I felt like crying and thanked him from the bottom of my heart, but I told him that I couldn’t give up my whole past and start anew. “You are only a kid. What are you afraid of?” Joe had a heart of gold and he was a practical man. I told him I would give thought to his kind advice.
One evening, before leaving for Rome, Joe asked to take a last cab ride on Via Caracciolo, bordering the Bay of Naples. We went up and down twice and stopped near “Castel dell’Uovo,” a reminder of romantic ages, jutting out from the circular coast line, girded with lava riprap. The sun was sinking in the Tirrenean Sea with a splash of orange and red, reflected over the slight ripples of the lethargic bay. Fishermen were rowing out, at the tune of melancholic songs. Looking at his watch, Joe said: “I have time for my train. This is so beautiful. Let us ride around once more.”
The train was ready to pull out when Joe, leaning out of the window of a first class compartment, rolled his bright brown eyes and said with deep feeling: “I want to visit Naples again and for a longer time. But, you listen to me, come to America.”
Back in my top floor room of an old building, where pigeons and rabbits were raised on an adjoining roof, a battle of new visions and emotions started within me, more cogently than ever. “Why persist in a squirming, miserly strife? Look at the apathy and poverty. Why not start a new life? Your education wouldn’t be lost. If you succeed, you can better help your family. If you don’t, you will come back with valuable experience. Even if you spend a year or two in America and then return, you will still be younger than your classmates…But, this is running away under fire. It is cowardice…You can’t face the struggle…No, it is not cowardice…It takes a valiant heart to face the unknown in a foreign land…Do not listen to the voice of impotent mediocrity…You are dissatisfied…Go where destiny is calling you…Let people talk…You will make good…Your education will serve you well in the great future that lies ahead of you. Education is only a means to an end, you know it…Break away from the conventional shackles, as you broke away from your mountains. Go forward…go far…”A flock of pigeons came fluttering across my window and, circling and cooing,…
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…alighted on a projecting ledge. “Do you see?…Those pigeons can’t go far…They have wings, but come back to the same dirty roof…”
I don’t know how long that waking dream lasted, but I shook myself and went out for a long walk. I decided to let things take their natural course, removing all forceful influence on my part, in either direction. I finished my clerkship, submitted to examinations and obtained the license to practice in the higher courts.
This chapter closed, I went back to Castelmezzano and started to work on a very important matter in connection with a “tithe,” which was a tax paid to the Church, under a dubious form. The “tithe” had been abolished when the Church surrendered its temporal power and received compensation for its holdings, but the collection of the tax had survived through an independent charitable entity. I believe the practice prevailed throughout small communities of Southern Italy, formerly under the Catholic Bourbon regime. It was an issue of vast possibilities and, if property founded, it would afford me a sensational exordium in the higher courts. There were in my town sixty or more such taxpayers. I had no difficulty in having most of them agree to discontinue the payment in order to ascertain what steps would be taken to enforce it. I anticipated a long drawn litigation, for which I had time and ambition. When the payments became due, no action was initiated and it was the first sign of weakness. We were glad to wait.
During the lull of early Winter 1907, I received another letter from Ferrari urging me to go to Chicago. He offered me a steamship ticket and the hospitality of his home. The cost of a trip abroad was one of the hurdles which had discouraged me before, and now this obstacle too had been removed. Would I still hesitate?…The temptation was gaining ground…
For one long evening, throwing one log after another into the fireplace, I talked things over with my mother and sister. We had gone through so much hardship, my future was not yet clear and we leaned to the thought that it might be worth while to try my luck. It would be a difficult parting. Could they stand the separation? Yes, they could. They had Spartan fortitude. Hope melted the pall of sadness. The die was cast.
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I wrote Ferrari that I was ready to accept his invitation and could leave by the end of winter. He replied enthusiastically, enclosing a tourist reservation with the Hamburg-American Steamship Company.
When preparations began, I gave my clients instructions on the procedure of the “tithe” case, but they balked at my suggestion to turn the matter over to an able lawyer in Potenza, who was a good friend of mine. They were not litigious people and would rather pay than become involved in a lawsuit, if I weren’t there to represent them. I was informed later that a favorable settlement was effected.
I had obtained my passport and was waiting for the steamship ticket, when Joe Paterno came to Castelmezzano with his mother, Aunt Carolina, and his youngest sister, Christina, eight or nine year old. Aunt Carolina was a stately woman in her early fifties, with keen eyes, rosy smooth complexion and silvery hair. Christina was a very pretty girl, chirpy, inquisitive, who managed to express herself in Italian mixed with dialect. I tried my English on her and she giggled, but understood and corrected me.
When I told the American visitors of my going to Chicago, Joe was extremely elated, but still insisted that I should go to New York, instead of Chicago. In any event, he would meet me at the boat in New York and we could then talk the matter over. Aunt Carolina invited me to stop at her house for a couple of weeks, before going to Chicago, and I gladly accepted to be her guest for at least a few days.
Joe was the life of every party. One evening, at a family gathering, Joe opened a locket and showed a miniature picture of his sister Marie, a pretty brunette. In a flash, one of Aunt Carolina’s sister, Aunt Rose – a kind-hearted, jolly woman – clapped her hands and said: “That is the girl our Antonio here should marry, not the doctor’s daughter we hear so much about.” Joe’s grandmother, who had been in New York on a short visit, seconded the motion and added: “Our Mariuccia (diminutive for Marie) is not only a pretty girl, but she is smart, affectionate and “molto virtuosa” (skilled in domestic arts). Our Antonio is an educated, fine young fellow and why shouldn’t the match be made, if they like each other when they meet?” Similar comments followed and I tried to steer away from the embarrassing situation by remarking that marriage was far from my mind and that I would probably remain a bachelor.
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I stated the truth. However, that was the way our old folks did things. No beating around the bush – straight from the shoulder.
Saverio Paterno, Joe’s brother, had made his permanent residence in Castelmezzano and lived there like a country squire, on an income established for him by his family. After his mother, brother and sister left for America, Saverio gave me an intensive training in English reading and conversation. It was a most valuable assistance, for which I am still thankful to him. I didn’t know his diction was so definitely British and tried my best to imitate it.
Next: Chapter 28
