Treasure Chest Thursday: The Walk Home

John Terrence Cherry  (1907 - 1956)

The third of four children born to James W. and Frances (Gaffney) Cherry, John Terrence Cherry seems to have been named after his maternal grandfather (John Gaffney) and maternal great-grandfather (Terrence Quinn).

John Terrence Cherry

He was born between 1906 and 1907 in Conneaut, Ohio, and from family accounts, was a handsome and charming man who inherited the creative gene. He became a graphic artist and watercolorist.  He also was an art professor at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio, where he lived with his maiden aunts, Lyle, Delia, Agnes, and Margaret Gaffney. Toward the end of his life, he moved back home to Conneaut with his mother, Frances (Gaffney) Cherry, where he lived until his death in 1956 at age 49.

My mother, Joan (Schiavon) Huesca, remembered him with fondness.  He was a regular visitor to the Schiavon home in Chicago, Illinois, and their summer cottage at Big Blue Lake, Michigan.

From all accounts, everyone loved him, though he never married. My godmother, Angelina (Ciliberto) Schiavon, once told me a story of his wicked sense of humor. She and her husband, my Uncle Tom Schiavon, were visiting the Schiavon to the Cherry home in Conneaut.  John offered to paint a portrait of Angie and invited her to his studio in the attic.  

As he worked, he looked skeptically from Aunt Angie to the picture.  "You're too sweet to paint," he said.  "You need to look at little meaner!"  As Aunt Angie laughed, he gave her a cigarette (though she didn't smoke).  "Pretend you just shot someone and take a drag on that cigarette," he suggested.  My aunt did her best to oblige.

Although John didn't own a gun, he painted one into the picture.  Aunt Angie thought he must not have been satisfied with the result, because she never got to keep the painting. 

I have only seen two of John Cherry's watercolors, and neither is a portrait. One belonged to my second cousin and was a scene of the view from the Cherry home on Mill Street in Conneaut, done in blues and browns.

The Walk Home, Conneaut, Ohio
Watercolor, John Cherry, date unknown.

My mother gave me the other watercolor many years ago.  Shown above, it measures about 16" x 20" and depicts a procession of sorts by the Nickel Plate Railroad (NKP) workers trudging home through the snowy woods on a mid-winter's day.  Many of these workers probably rented rooms from John's maternal grandparents, John Francis and Bridget (Quinn) Gaffney, who built and ran the large Gaffney House, also on Mill Street.  

I imagine that this picture was special to John not only because of his grandparents' home but because his own father, James W. Cherry, was an NKP railroad engineer.  It is special to me because it soothes me with a lasting and treasured connection to a loving family, my family. It hangs in my living room, hinting of stories yet to be discovered and beckoning me to a place from my family's past I have never known but dream of visiting some day.  

For this, John Cherry, I will always be grateful to you.

**********

Copyright ©  2013  Linda Huesca Tully

Are you a member of the Cherry, Gaffney, McCormick, McGinnis, or Schiavon  families? Share your memories and comments below.

Workday Wednesday: Going into the Antiques Business

Alice Gaffney (McGinnis) Schiavon (1895 - 1963)
Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca (1928 - 1987)

Having amassed a sizable amount of furniture and antiques during her European travels to add to her already large collections, my grandmother, Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon, now needed a place to put them.

Invitation to and newspaper
article about the grand opening
of Chatham Galleries.  Note that
Schiavon is misspelled "Chiavon."

As much a lover of a good find as she was of the thrill of the hunt, my grandmother was a familiar face at antique stores and estate and second-hand sales both in Chicago and near the family summer cottage in Big Blue Lake, Michigan.  She developed a passion for exquisite European antiques - not the kind one finds in an old farmhouse, but the type one would have in a fine home.  She had a large assortment of porcelain, including Dresden, Meissen, Limoges, Sevres, Haviland, Capodimonte, Belleek, among others.

My grandmother, Alice Schiavon at left, with her older sister, Benita
(McGinnis) McCormick, at the grand opening of Chatham Galleries,
September 29, 1951, Chicago, Illinois.  The bronze dog with puppies was
one of the pieces brought back from Europe the year before.  It was a
 favorite piece of my grandmother's - perhaps this is why it was never sold.

Her doll collection already took up considerable space in the family home at 8200 St. Lawrence Avenue..  A November 11, 1945 article in the Chicago Daily Tribune noted that the dolls took over the entire basement, at one time numbering 3,600.  It was no surprise, then, that Alice needed more room to house her treasures.

My grandfather, Ralph Schiavon, always supported Alice in her shopping expeditions.  He understood that his wife was not content to be home cooking and cleaning but needed to be busy with her collections and projects.  So when she suggested opening a gallery, he was happy to help her get started and gave her the funds she needed.  He agreed with her that it would be a good opportunity for their daughter, Joan (my mother) to spend more time with her in a common endeavor; moreover, he liked the idea of my mother learning the ins and outs of running a business.

My mother holds a french antique couple from the early
1800s in this article on the Chicago Antiques Exposition
and Hobby Fair, published in the Chicago Daily Tribune.

When Alice and Joan returned from their European adventure in the fall of 1950, they set to work to plan their business, scouting locations, contacting vendors, evaluating inventory, and arranging displays.   Nearly one full year later, on Saturday, September 29, 1951, they opened The Chatham Galleries at 8231 Cottage Grove Avenue, on Chicago's South Side, stocking not only antiques but also fine art, gifts, and greeting cards.

Interestingly, the name of the building it occupied was the Aranoff Building - a slightly different spelling than that of Abraham Aronoff of New York, who had been a constant companion of my mother and grandmother's during their recent tour of Europe.

My mother, Joan Schiavon (right), age 23 here, proudly greets her
 sister-in-law (and my godmother) Angelina (Ciliberto) Schiavon,
 just before the store'sgrand opening.  I do not know the identity of
the  young man in the center; could he be Angelina's brother, Joe Ciliberto?

My mother's college friend, Margaret Yu, sent best wishes and hearty encouragement to the mother-daughter team. She recalled that in her own hometown of Hong Kong, the Chinese invited all their friends and family to visit on frequent occasions when they opened a new business.

The idea was that when passers-by looked in the store and saw a crowd gathered, they would go inside, too, because they wanted to be part of whatever was going on.

This seemed like good advice, and before long family, friends, and even some of my grandfather's business associates were filling Chatham Galleries during several open house events.

The store became a popular fixture in the neighborhood, and Alice and Joan began to see their share of business.  My mother would later laughingly say, however, that my grandmother was her own best customer.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone, Ciliberto, or McCormick families?  Do you remember Chatham Galleries?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Wisdom Wednesday: Good Things Come to Those who Wait

Joan Joyce Schiavon (1928 - 1987)
Gilbert Cayetano Huesca (1915 - 2009)

                                    

My mother,
Joan Joyce Schiavon, about 1947

1947 was a time of joy and excitement for the Schiavon family of Chicago, Illinois, as they anticipated the wedding that would join Ralph Thomas "Tom" Schiavon and Angelina "Angie" Ciliberto.  

My mother, Joan Schiavon, having just graduated from Aquinas Dominican High School the year before, was proud to be a member of the wedding party for her brother and surely wondered when her own turn at the altar would come. 

My father,
Gilbert Cayetano Huesca, about 1947

Little did she or her family know that during that same year, the young man who would years later sweep her off her feet and become her own Prince Charming - and my father - was being admitted to the United States at Laredo, Texas, and was on his way to Chicago.

They would not meet for another eight years.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Joan (Schiavon) and Gilbert Huesca, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone 

Wedding Wednesday: Tom and Angie Schiavon

Ralph Thomas Schiavon (1924 - 1993)
Angelina (Ciliberto) Schiavon (1923 - 2004)

Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Thomas Schiavon exiting Saint Philip Neri Catholic Church, 
Chicago.   The man behind Angie is her brother, Joe Ciliberto.  Angie's father
is on the far right, beaming with pride at his daughter.

The wedding took place inside the exquisite gothic church of Saint Philip Neri, 
on Chicago's South Side.

The happy couple flanked by their wedding party.  Far left, my mother,
Joan Schiavon; far right, John Eubanks; second from right, Joe Ciliberto.

My mother, at 18 years old, hoped she would catch
the bouquet.  Her turn - and her prince - would come,
but not for another eight years.  He was worth the wait.

My mother's older brother, Ralph Thomas Schiavon, known as "Tom," married his sweetheart, Angelina Ciliberto, a lovely young woman from Iacurso, Calabria, Italy, in about 1946.  

My mother, Joan Schiavon, was a bridesmaid of honor at their wedding, which was held at Saint Philip Neri Church in Chicago, the family parish.  The two of them got on famously.  She loved Angie and felt she finally had met the sister she had never had.

Tom and Angie had a long and happy marriage, raising four children and living in the Chicago area for many years.  Tom worked as an engineer for the Chicago public schools.  He and Angie loved boating and the outdoors and were officers of the United States Coast Guard.  

They were my baptismal godparents and were always very loving to me.  As I grew up, we spoke on the phone from time to time, and our conversations sometimes would go on for hours.  Both of them would be on an extension telephone, laughing and reminiscing about times past and present.   They were especially proud of their children and grandchildren and told many a story about the latest visit or accomplishment.

They retired to Knoxville, Tennessee, where Tom died of a heart attack one day as he was working outside in the garden.  Angie buried him under a lovely magnolia tree at Greenwood Cemetery in Knoxville.  Angie lived another nine years and died in 2004 in Bradenton, Florida.  She is buried beside Tom.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know Tom and Angie (Ciliberto) Schiavon and their family, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone, Ciliberto, or Huesca families?  Do you remember Saint Philip Neri Church?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Motivation Monday: How Could I Compete with a Genius?

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca 

1928 - 1987

My godfather and Uncle, Ralph Thomas
"Tom" Schiavon, United States Army
Signal Corps, Camp Crowder, Missouri

Ralph Thomas Schiavon

1924 - 1993

In her own words  (Part Six)

We have been following my mother's account of her life, written a couple of months before she died of cancer on September 11, 1987.  In Part Six of Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca:  an Autobiography, she remembers her beloved older brother, Ralph Thomas Schiavon.  

My mother idolized Tom, who was four years older, and who in her view, could do no wrong.  She and Tom grew closer in adulthood, and my mother never stopped looking up to her "big" brother.  He, in turn, loved her back with all the tenderness an older brother has for his sister.  He and his bride, Angelina "Angie" Ciliberto, asked my mother to be a bridesmaid at their wedding in 1946 and later, to be the godmother to two of their four children.  She reciprocated the honor; Uncle Tom and Aunt Angie were my very special - and very treasured - godparents.  

Tom's name was one of the last my mother spoke shortly before she died, as she waited for his hurried arrival from his home in Chicago, Illinois, to her bedside in Modesto, California.

"Back to school again, but not to St. Dorothy's this time.  Instead I was sent to St. Joachim's along with my brother Tom.

"This will be your first indication that there was quite a difference between my brother and me.  But there was, and I might as well confess it now.  He was not only a boy (there's a lot of difference right there!), older than I, but even in his earliest years, everyone seemed to agree that he was somewhat of a genius, while I was sweet, quiet, and timid mischievous me!  Not really very bright, but appealing. (Well, I must have had some good qualities, don't you agree?)

Lazy Days at Big Blue Lake:  (left to right) Tom Schiavon, Elizabeth
"Lyle" Gaffney, and Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon.  Between 1929 - 1932.
Hmm...deep in thought.  Notice Aunt Lyle's curious expression.  Could
she be wondering what her nephew was up to with her in that canoe?

"Genius or not, Tom was a problem to the school and the Sisters who taught there.  My mother claimed that she spent most of her time traveling from the house to the Principal's office to see what Tom had gotten into almost daily.  One time, she arrived at Tom's classroom to find the Sister covered from head to toe with grease from an engine Tom had brought to school.  Another time, she was called to the Principal's office to find my brother and a representative of the Street Car Line. Seems Tom had decided to conduct a scientific experiment to see how awake and aware people were early in the morning, and had taken my Mother's clothesline and interlaced it between the handles on each seat, then sat and watched people on their way out of the street car, falling as they went, and deduced that they really weren't wide awake after all.  

"Still another time, when the Sister in charge of Tom's classroom returned there after recess, she found that he had turned the classroom around, and her desk and that of the students were placed in reverse order than they had been originally.  'Of course,' explained Tom, 'you'll all ruin your sight, as the sunlight is coming from the wrong direction, the way you had things placed before.'

"Now, back to  me, how could I ever hope to compete with that?"

                                                                            - Joan Huesca

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Summers in the Wilds of Michigan

My mother, 18 years old, Big Blue Lake, Michigan, 1946

Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca

1928 - 1987

In her own words  (Part Three)

On June 24, 1987, a couple of months before she died of cancer, my mother, Joan Joyce (Schiavon) Huesca began writing the story of her life.  In the first and second parts of this series, she describes her early years at home.  In this excerpt from her book, Joan Joyce Schiavon Huesca:  an Autobiography, she fondly recalls her family's summers at Big Blue Lake, Michigan, and their cottage, Bunny Rest.

"Memories are funny, especially as one grows older.  They don't seem to be recalled in sequence of time, so if I sort of "bounce" things about, please understand that one memory many times sparks another. 

Bunny Rest, so named by my grandmother, Alice (Gaffney)
Schiavon, because that was where the family went to rest
what she referred to as their "bunnies."
Big Blue Lake, Michicgan, about 1945

"My Grandfather's brother, William McGinnis, known to our family as 'Uncle Bill,' had retired in his later years to live in a house that he built at Big Blue Lake, about thirty miles north of Muskegon, Michigan.  He lived a hermit-like life there, living off the land, trapping mink and other small animals in the winter, and renting boats, selling bottles of water, and whatever else he could to people visiting the lake.  (I hesitate to use the term 'tourists,' as people in those days were hardly of a present day category of 'tourists.')  Uncle Bill's home at that time was quite small.  A tiny kitchen, combination living-dining room, a good sized room, used as a closet, stairs to a second floor with one big room, used as a bedroom, a screened-in porch along the front and one side of the house, a wood-burning stove for cooking, and a true-to-name ice box filled with the ice that Uncle Bill would cut from the frozen lake in the winter and store in a tiny cellar beneath the kitchen sink.  Outside to the back of the house was the privy.  No indoor bathroom here!

"My mother was the only one in the family who kept in contact with Uncle Bill, and when she was notified that he had fallen and was hospitalized with a broken hip, she drove the 200 miles from Chicago to where Uncle Bill was interned in a hospital.  From what I had been told, Uncle Bill died from his injuries, complicated by pneumonia.  He willed his property to my Mother.  This must have happened in about 1929, as I was just one year old when we first went to the "cottage" to spend a summer there.

"Surprisingly, I learned to swim before I could walk.  We had the nicest beach on the whole lake, and I would be placed in the shallow water to play, and one day, off I went, swimming!

"We spent every summer at the cottage.  When school was out, off we would go, packed to the hilt in the reliable Ford of the day, a high vehicle, narrow, and with narrow tires, and a running board along each side.  My Mother was the driver in the family.  Long before, my Father, who had purchased our first car, tried to drive it home, and found to his amazement that the salesman had forgotten to show him how to stop the car, so he just had to keep driving til he used up all the gasoline.  That must have frightened him, for he never really drove a car, so my Mother took over.

Back row, right:  My aunt and godmother, Angelina "Angie" (Ciliberto)
Schiavon.  Front row, center:  My mother, Joan Schiavon.
About 1946, Bunny Rest Cottage, Big Blue Lake, MI 

What a driver she was...FEARLESS!  She loved to speed, and would seem to be driving as fast as the car would go.  Roads in those days would be unrecognizable today.  There were no freeways, but one lane in each direction, unaptly called highways.  Fortunately, they were paved.  Ten or twelve miles from a little town near the cottage, called Twin Lakes, was a dirt 'lumber trail' to travel [as far as] about two blocks from the cottage.  (Later, this would become first a gravel road, then finally, a black-topped paved road.)  From this point, [another] lumber trail to the cottage (which still exists today).*  From Twin Lakes, one would enter a thick, pine forest.  The cottage was nestled in the midst of this forest, with sandy ground all about. The lake was just down the way, and we could see its sparkling blue water through the trees.

"What a wonderful place for city children such as we! Such a different life, and such wonders to explore! We adjusted to the lack of civilization nicely.  My Father would remain in Chicago, working to provide for us. On weekends, he would travel to Muskegon by train (must have been a 'milk-train' as it stopped at every little town along the way), usually a trip of eight hours.  We looked forward to his arrival, and would leave early in the day to 'go to town' to buy groceries and look around the stores.

My mother told me that her Great
Uncle Bill McGinnis also built
this (red, I think) log cabin on his
property, not far from Bunny Rest.

"On the way, we usually stopped at a wayside cafe where we would feast on barbecue beef sandwiches while my Brother would order a bowl of chili with oyster crackers.  Our big treat would be to attend a movie theater, and we would be just in time for the 10:00 p.m. arrival of the train.  

"I remember, standing outside the depot, watching the train light from afar, and then the engine chugging into the station, excitedly watching for my Daddy who always seemed to be the first person standing on the train platform waving with one hand and grasping a small satchel in the other.  I remember running to meet him, and trying to help him carry his bag which always was too heavy for me. We would all squeeze into the car, and on the long drive home (cars didn't travel as fast as they do today), I would fall asleep, and be awakened when we would drive alongside of the cottage, then sleepily find my way upstairs after a dish of milk, bread, topped with sugar, for a nightcap. Much of the time, we all shared the big room upstairs, but on mild nights, we children would love to sleep on a cot on the porch.  There, we would wake during the  night and see families of deer on their way to the lake. Usually, the moonlit nights would be clear and the beauty of the forest would be a breathtaking backdrop for this scene of nature.

                                                                             - Joan Huesca

Did you know any of the people mentioned in this story, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone or McGinnis families?  Do you remember summers at Big Blue Lake, Michigan?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Ralph Schiavon - Part Three: Halcyon Days

Ralph Schiavon


Halcyon Days


(Third of a four part series about my maternal great-grandfather)

A self-made man, my grandfather, Ralph Schiavon, was not afraid of anyone.  Not even "Scarface" Al Capone.


In the late 1920s, Ralph was working as a supervisor for the Internal Revenue Service and lived on the South Side of Chicago with his wife Alice and their two small children, Tom and Joan (my mother), when two of Capone's henchmen summoned him to the mobster's infamous headquarters in the Windy City at the Lexington Hotel.  There, he was asked to help a paesan, "Mr. Capone" to straighten out the books," for which he would receive a handsome recompense.  As Ralph sat there listening to the men, his mind was racing.


As an employee of the IRS, he surely was aware that Al Capone was under scrutiny for tax evasion.  Though Capone ran a number of illegal gambling and bootlegging operations, he had made sure that all his assets and properties were not in his name but in those of his front men.  He had never filed an income tax return or declared any taxable income or assets.

Ralph knew he was in a delicate situation.  The request for an IRS agent's help was brazen enough, but the thought that he should regard Capone as his paesan might have rankled him, too.  While he knew there could be consequences for saying no to Al Capone or his henchmen, he was a moral man with a strong sense of integrity that was far greater than any fear he might have felt.  Thanking the men for the offer, he tactfully said he could not be of much help and was astounded when he was dismissed summarily.  He hurried home, looking over his shoulder all the way for fear of reprisals against him or his loved ones, but fortunately nothing ever happened.  He must have breathed an enormous sigh of relief in 1932, when Capone was convicted of tax evasion.


Like many Americans at the time, Ralph's job fell victim to the Great Depression, and he and Alice found themselves in dire financial straits.  To ease the burden, they sent my mother, then two years old, to live with Alice's mother and maiden aunt until they were able to get back on their feet some four years later.  It was as though history was repeating itself, as Emanuela Schiavone had sent her own toddler Ralph to live with two maiden ladies so many years before in San Sossio.


Ralph had always been resourceful and was able to find a job at a grocery store.  Though it was a better place than most to work during such hard times when many people were starving, it just helped the family get by.


Still regretting that he had not been able to attend college, Ralph determined to not let this happen to his youngest brother, Leo, who had shown great academic promise.  He mustered enough money to send Leo to college, first to the University of Chicago and then to Notre Dame University in South Bend, Indiana.  This was no small effort, considering he began the endeavor around 1928 and was somehow able to see it through to Leo's graduation from Notre Dame in 1932, in the midst of the Great Depression.  It must have taken a great deal of sacrifice, but Ralph loved his brother very much and believed Leo was worth it.


It was a proud day for the Schiavones and indeed, the entire town of Revere when Leo graduated from Notre Dame cum laude.  Leo was the first Italian-American from the town to graduate from college, and the mayor threw a party at City Hall and invited everyone to celebrate the accomplishment.  Leo went on to earn an advanced law degree at DePaul University in 1934 and was hired by a Chicago law firm, eventually repaying his brother in full.


Ralph established his own practice as a tax consultant with an office at the Title & Trust Building at 111 West Washington Street in downtown Chicago.  As things improved, he and Alice took a vacation to Cuba.  Upon their return in 1933, they brought Joan, then five years old, back home to live with them again.


On May 4, 1935, Vito Schiavone, Ralph's father, afflicted for several years with arteriosclerosis and kidney disease, suffered a cerebral hemorrhage.  He died exactly one week later at the family home at 33 Eastern Avenue in Revere.  Ralph brought his mother, Emanuela, to live with him and his family for a short time afterward.  She later returned to Revere and moved in with Ralph's sister, Filomena Schiavone  Scicchitani and her husband, Tommasso.  She stayed with them for most of the remainder of her life.  Filomena herself would die an untimely death a few years later on October 23, 1941.  That evening, she had just received an award at an American Legion banquet for her involvement in local Democratic politics and was returning to her seat when she collapsed of a cerebral hemorrhage, as had her father.  Her death came as a terrible shock to her brothers, who loved her dearly.


My mother worshipped her father and fondly remembered his tenderness to her as a child.  In contrast to his own stern upbringing, Ralph never spanked her or Tom.  Not long after Joan had been brought back home, she broke a favorite mirror of her mother's.  Alice was furious and sent Joan to her room to wait for a spanking from her father home when he got home from work.  My mother later described the incident in her autobiography:


"All afternoon, I worried.  My father had such BIG HANDS! 'This will be some spanking,' I thought.  The hours passed, the front door opened, and there was my Daddy...so BIG.  He had a smile on his face, which quickly disappeared as my Mother told him of my misbehavior.  A stern, serious expression crept across his face, and I stood there, grasping my Mother's dress hem, trying to disappear behind her.


"My father grunted, 'Come with me.'  I followed as slowly as possible, cringing inside with fear.  We entered the bathroom; my Father closed the door, turned to me, and asked if I was sorry for what I had done.  In a small voice, I replied that I was very sorry and promised never to do it again.


"In the meantime, my Mother, waiting outside in the hall, was having second thoughts about my punishment.  A smile appeared on my Father's face, and he plotted with me to clap his big hands together, and I would scream as loud as I could. . . My Mother called out for my Father to stop spanking me.  We opened the door with big smiles, I in my Father's arms.  From that time on, there was a special bond between (us), as through my life, (he) tried to shield me from harm."

My great-grandfather, Thomas McGinnis, built this home on
South Drexel Avenue for his family in 1913; after he
and my great-grandmother Mary Jane died, my grandparents
Ralph and Alice Schiavon moved their young family here.

When Alice's mother, Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis died in the summer of 1940, the Schiavons moved into the McGinnis family home on South Drexel Avenue, on Chicago's South Side, where they lived for several years before moving to a larger home on Saint Lawrence Avenue.  Ralph loved these homes with their large gardens, and he spent long hours digging out weeds, planting flowers, and trimming hedges.  He loved working with his hands.  Maybe he felt connected to his roots, especially his Sannella grandparents, who had been gardeners by trade in San Sossio.

Ralph Schiavon in his garden on
Saint Lawrence Avenue, Chicago.

Ralph traveled back to Italy at the end of World War II and was shocked by the poverty and devastation there.  The large numbers of children who had been orphaned during the war especially moved him.  He befriended a young priest, Father Piccinini, who ran an orphanage in Southern Italy, and he began sending funds to assist this and a number of other postwar relief efforts.  


In 1946, the Schiavon's eldest child, Ralph Thomas, known as "Tom," married Angelina Ciliberto, a strikingly lovely brunette from Iacurso, Calabria, Italy.  They went on have four children:  Ralph, Alice, Michele, and Paul.  


Alice had taken up several hobbies that included doll and stamp collecting.  Over the years, she also had become an avid collector of fine antiques.  Ralph supported her in these interests, and he helped her open an antique and gift gallery, Chatham Galleries.  In 1950, he sent Alice and Joan to Europe on the luxury liner Queen Mary on an antique buying trip.


While Alice was delighted at the prospect of going off to Europe to hunt for new treasures, Joan, 21 at the time, balked at the idea.  She envisioned herself trapped for months among a boring melange of older people and even older antiques.  Ralph saw the trip as an opportunity for his sheltered daughter to be exposed to a rich world of culture, tradition, and history.  He arranged for my mother and my grandmother to stay in the finest staterooms and hotels and tour the most beautiful cities on the continent.  It would be the trip of a lifetime for my mother, who returned to New York from Cherbourg, France on the cruise liner Queen Elizabeth I as a wiser and more worldly young woman, thanks in large part to her father's vision and encouragement.


Sometime during the 1950s, the governor of Illinois appointed Ralph as State Bail Bondsman Inspector.  He continued his tax consulting business, commuting by train daily to his office in the Loop downtown. He also joined the American Legion and the Swedish Club, where he held court with colleagues and clients alike and often hosted large banquets for them.


As much as he loved eating out, he was an equally accomplished cook who enjoyed inviting people over for his memorable Italian dishes, which he had learned to cook from his mother.  This was quite a godsend for all concerned, as Alice was uninterested in cooking and gladly relinquished kitchen duties to her gourmet husband while she used her artistic talents to decorate their home lavishly and create elegant table settings.  The house overflowed with family and guests on holidays. Thanksgiving in particular called for Ralph's signature turkey with a rich dressing of mascarpone and other Italian cheeses, Genoa salami, golden raisins, and pine nuts.  His daughter-in-law, Angelina Ciliberto Schiavon (my Uncle Tom's wife - and my godmother), once remarked that on these occasions, it was hard to tell by evening's end which was more stuffed - the turkey or the guests.

My precious mother and grandparents, Joan, Alice, and
Ralph Schiavon, Chicago, Illinois, early 1960s.

One day in 1954, a handsome young man walked through the door of Alice and Joan's shop to buy a birthday card for his mother back in Mexico City.  He and his landlady had been out shopping, and the landlady, having met Joan Schiavon on a previous visit to the store, dared the young man to go inside to ask her for help.  He and Joan were immediately attracted to one another, and they began taking long walks around the block together.  Walks turned into movies and dinners, and soon the young couple's relationship deepened into love.


My grandfather, still protective of his daughter, was not happy when the young man, Gilbert Huesca, came to the house to ask him for Joan's hand on the Fourth of July, her birthday.  He had assumed his daughter would marry an Italian, just as her brother tom had a few years earlier.  He looked down sternly at Gil.  "Do you have any insanity in your family?" he asked.


The man who would become my father looked squarely back.  "No," he smiled.  "Do you?"


Ralph knew he had met his match.  Had he remembered that he, too, had married a non-Italian?  He gave his permission and began planning a large wedding with a guest list that would fill the church with family and all his clients and professional contacts.

Gilbert and Joan Huesca in their first apartment,
Chicago, November 1, 1954.

My mother, who had wanted an intimate wedding, proved to be equally as willful as her father.  She and my father eloped one afternoon during his lunch break.  The date was August 19, 1954.  That evening they sent a telegram to Ralph and Alice, who were vacationing in Florida.  Though they must have been surprised by the news, they took it graciously and sent the happy couple a lovely floral arrangement with their congratulations and best wishes.


In 1959, Ralph and Alice bought a two-story residence on South Luella Avenue.  They moved into the upstairs flat and invited my parents to move our family into the flat below.  I was fairly young at the time but recall being greeted on moving day with a marvelous swing and slide set in the back yard, along with a yellow rectangular wading pool for my sisters and me.


Ralph kept his lawns in pristine condition.  Both front and back lawns were bordered by tidy boxwood shrubs and colorful flowerbeds of snapdragons, roses, petunias, geraniums, and birds-of-paradise (my grandmother's favorite flower).  He also had an herb garden with sweet basil, Italian parsley, and oregano that he used in his wonderful Italian dishes.  He was always telling us to keep off the grass, yet he seemed to understand that as children we needed to run and play, and he indulged us in the way that only a loving grandfather could.


My grandparents doted on our cousins and us.  They bought my sisters and me a large Swiss-made child-size surrey with a pink-and-white fringe on top that seated four.  We used to pedal it down the block or to the park with our parents or lead neighborhood parades on Flag Day and the Fourth of July.  Though he was not one to fuss over children, Ralph loved each of us, his grandchildren, dearly. His letters to my mother during the last decade of his life reflected his pride in all eight of us as we grew into young men and women.

 My grandparents, Alice and Ralph Schiavon, with me (at age 1),
at my parent's apartment, Chicago, Thanksgiving 1956.

I have a vivid memory of one Sunday afternoon, when I ran upstairs after Mass to visit my grandparents.  My Nana Alice, who had been ill of complications from insulin-dependent diabetes, was napping, and my grandfather was sitting in his big leather club chair in the den.  He was watching a Chicago Cubs baseball game on TV and listening to a Notre Dame ball game on a small transistor radio he had up to his ear.  He motioned to me to come in, and I clambered onto his lap. 


We sat there, he and I, in awkward silence together for quite some time, he puffing occasionally on his cigar and I wondering what to say to him.  Unlike Nana, who could be the consummate playmate to her grandchildren, my Baba - that was the closest I could come to as little girl to saying the Italian Babbo, or Grandpa - was not easy to talk to, and at seven years old, I really didn't understand why.  What I did understand in some obscure way, though, was that even on the lap of that silent, enigmatic man, I felt safe and loved.


Copyright ©  2011  Linda Huesca Tully




NEXT:  Part Four - Twilight