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CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When I returned to Castelmezzano for the summer of 1902 I found a newcomer, an alert, genial, curly-headed young man in his late twenties, one of my father’s numerous cousins, Saverio Paterno [1876-1950]. With him were his wife, Minnie [1880-1969], and a little boy, John [1900-1988], both born in London, where Saverio had resided for a number of years. They had come to stay for an indefinite time and had rented the floor above our house. We quickly became close friends.
Saverio’s mother and father and all his ancestors were, like mine, rooted in the ancient soil of our town. His father, Giovanni (John) [1851-1899], was an indefatigable, hard-working man. His mother, Carolina Trivigno [1853-1925], was a sister of my father’s mother.
Aunt Carolina and Uncle John, as my parents called them, after a few years of marriage, decided to build a new house for their growing family. The first floor was constructed with a large vaulted ceiling. When the forms were removed, the ceiling collapsed, pulling down most of the structure. That was a calamity of the first magnitude, as the work had cost more than estimated and debts had been incurred. Uncle John was compelled to come to America, in order to repair his crippled finances.
In the early stage, Uncle John toiled as the thousands upon thousands of trodden, unguided immigrants did in those dark days. But, Uncle John soon emerged from the mass of unfortunate slaves, becoming foreman on a building job. He stinted and saved. He exonerated the obligations which had driven him across the sea. When his feet were firmly on the ground, he sent for his wife and his four children: Celestina, eleven or twelve years old [1873-1939], and a couple of years apart, Saverio [1876-1950], Canio (Charles) [1878-1946] and Giuseppe [1881-1939]. That was in the winter of 1885. I was then the ugly crybaby.
The boat on which the little caravan was traveling ran into a devastating storm and, when long overdue, it was given up as lost. Uncle…
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…John almost went out of his mind. He quit his job, put on a black tie and from morning till night he was seen nervously pacing up and down the Battery, watching for every boat, scanning every passenger. Stunned, unshaven, disheveled, he mumbled sobbing words to those who approached and tried to comfort him. He dragged on, without food or sleep, because at the bottom of his heart was a spark of hope that his loved ones had not perished. A week…ten days…and suddenly there is a commotion on their pier. A steamer had just come in and brought word that a certain boat, after stopping in mid-ocean, was slowly making for port. The general descriptions were those of the missing vessel. Uncle John got down on his knees and begged God and all the saints to grant him the grace of seeing his family again. Hi spirit was buoyed up, but hours were like eternity. Uncle John didn’t move from the pier until the boat of his prayers appeared before his dimmed eyes. When his family landed, Uncle John was speechless. His children didn’t know him, his wife was bewildered at the sight of a tramp, with the beard of a cave man. All ended in joy and laughter.
Once his dear family was under the same roof, Uncle John was happy as never before and put more zeal in his work. Gradually, another crop of children enriched his home. The first one, born January 22nd, 1886, was Marie [1886-1967] and, at approximate intervals of two years, Michael [1888-1946], Rose [1893-1971], Anthony [1891-1959], Theresa [1894-1954], and six years later, Christina [1899-1959]. Altogether ten children, five boys and five girls.
Uncle John had won the affection of his employer who promoted him to general construction supervisor, with a generous pay. But a weekly salary, even if much higher than average, could not support and properly provide for the future of a numerous family. Once in a while, Uncle John would tell his wife that he knew enough to build for himself, except that he lacked courage and, more serious still, sufficient capital. By thrifty management of the household, the savings were slowly, steadily increasing. Celestina was doing some sewing for the neighbors and the three older boys. Saverio, Charles and Joe were selling newspapers between four and nine A.M. on Sunday, and delivering groceries after school hours. They were all adding to the family resources.
The time finally came when Uncle John was challenged by his wife to show what he could do or stop boasting about his ability to build. The savings were checked and re-checked. Not yet enough.
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One Saturday evening, Uncle John came home head high and boldly announced to his wife that in partnership with Mr. McIntosh, a carpenter contractor, friend of his, he had bought a piece of land for their first building enterprise. Aunt Carolina had a mixed feeling of elation and fear. Had she nagged her husband into taking a crazy gamble? Could he really make the grade?
Early Sunday morning, Uncle John took his wife and five of their children to inspect the property. They looked at each other and Aunt Carolina reluctantly remarked that the plot looked pretty small. It was 25 x 100 ft.
“You say small?” shouted Uncle John in anger and consternation. “It is d…big for me. We can lose all we have. But I believe we will double our money. From now on leave me alone. I don’t want your advice.”
They trailed back home, without a word being spoken. After a good dinner and a bottle of wine, they all felt better. The children went to play. Uncle John and his wife started to talk things over. Aunt Carolina had good common sense and admitted her husband was right. The plot was small but well located. It was on a wide street, between Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue, on the north side of 106th street. With a smaller operation, the risk was also smaller. It was sensible to have a partner.
Six months later, the new five story walk-up had been completed and sold, the fondest hope realized with the capital almost doubled.
Click: 151 West 106th Street
Click: 204 West 106th Street
Uncle John and Mr. McIntosh promptly bought two similar plots on the south side of 106th Street and repeated the performance, with similar successful results. Mr. McIntosh now felt he had enough and lost interest in his work. The partnership dissolved, Uncle John built two other buildings on larger plots, the last one at 112th Street, west of Amsterdam Avenue. By this time a sterling reputation had been established for honesty and punctuality of payments, a solid foundation laid for a family of great builders who for half century were to lead in the construction of high class apartment in New York City.
Click: 507 West 112th Street
However, in 1899, during the last building operation, Uncle John started to complain of his health. His son Joe, then nineteen or twenty, was his assistant. Charles, two years older than Joe, was in…
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…his senior year at Cornell Medical School. A baby girl, Christina, was just born.
Uncle John’s physical condition was failing rapidly and he had to discontinue business, leaving its management to his son Joe. New York physicians were giving up hopes of recovery and Uncle John decided to go and consult some of the famous doctors in Naples. They also declared the case incurable and Uncle John came to our town in the summer of that year, when I met him for the first time. My father extolled Uncle John’s intelligence, character, initiative and ability. He had gone to a foreign land and accomplished great things with small means. Ten or twelve years previously, my father had been in New York for six months, to sell some merchandise, and received the hospitality of Aunt Caroline and Uncle John. He always spoke of their kindness and home virtues. Aunt Carolina still had the souvenir of a scale which my father used to weigh his goods.
Uncle John died in our town in the fall of 1899, at the age of forty-eight, surrounded by the esteem and deep affection of all our people.
Aunt Carolina honored the memory of her husband by keeping the family together and guiding it to continued success.
On graduating from Medical School, Charles interned at Bellevue Hospital and gave all his spare time to assist his brother Joe in the completion of the building operation which their father had left unfinished. A year later, Charles gave up his profession and joined Joe in the construction field. Under the firm name of Paterno Brothers they soon moved to the front line of New York builders.
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(photo)
1900 – Mother Paterno and her ten orphan children. Seated from left: Rose, Michael, Theresa, Marie, Anthony. Standing from left: Joe, Saverio, Celestina, Charles. In mother’s lap is Tina. Father’s photo in center.
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In Memory of Carolina T. Paterno whom I loved and respected as my own mother.
It is with a heavy heart that I take on myself the arduous task, the painful privilege, of bidding the last farewell to you, noble mother. Devoted mother of ten children. Those few words would glory any woman’s name – they symbolize the poem of your life-work, the work you fulfilled with such zeal and self-denial.
Through my mind flashes a picture of forty years ago when, leaving the quiet peaceful life, the sunshine of our mountains, you, with four little tots, crossed the ocean, to join your dear husband, who was laboring feverishly, for the well being of his beloved ones.
How strange these shores must have seemed to you, fair mountain girl, how different from your dreams of the promised land! But it didn’t matter…The goal was set, a better future for your family meant everything to you both, and you forged your way with unwavering courage. You were like two brave soldiers, in the midst of a great battlefield, determined to win. And the victory was in sight, the sun of happier days was dawning on the dim horizon, when fate willed on you a great catastrophe – the loss of your faithful companion.
What a tragedy!
The little ship, battered by high seas, would have foundered, but for your stout, indomitable will. O valiant woman, o fond mother, o pure example of our strong race, who ever knew of your sleepless nights…who ever knew the throbs of your heart!
A splendid shepherd you were. Through hills and valleys, through woods and rough roads, you held your little flock together and led it to the great highway. From childhood you had inspired your five boys with the rugged spirit of sacrifice, honest work and ambition for achievement; your five girls with the home virtues of modesty, frugality, devotion to their families. Your success was complete, and the tender love and gratitutde of your children were your greatest reward. Wonderful mother, you can be proud of your record.
A deep void will be left in our hearts, a deep void in the once happy home where at every corner, are seen relics of your thrifty, simple life; but you shall continue to live with us, in sweet memories. Before departing, please forgive us for our errors, forgive us for any act of disrespect, forgive us for our faults of human weakness.
Watch over us, guide us in times of doubt, show us the light and truth and, most of all, hold firm the bonds of our family, so dear to you; keep us united, as united we are in this great sorrow. And now, go and join again your waiting pal, who, with the grace of God, will show you the way to eternal peace and happiness, so well deserved by your accomplishment in life.
Anthony Campagna
April 20, 1925
Next: Chapter 14
