Mystery Monday: The Railway Men of Orizaba, Part 2

Edward Joseph Organ (1859 - 1893)

Looking over the collection of photographs that belonged to my great-great grandmother, Catherine (O’Grady) Perrotin, I found one that was especially compelling and have been wondering about its subject for some time now. 

Though he was not my ancestor, he certainly was related to someone, and it seems only fitting to honor his memory, out of respect for the friendship he shared with Catherine and her family.

"To Dear Mrs. F. Perrotin, Mater in Mexico"

Edgar Joseph Organ dedicated this cabinet card photograph to Catherine Perrotin on February 27, 1893.   Taken at the Lucio Diaz Studio in Orizaba, Veracruz, Mexico, the photograph is addressed to her as his “Mater in Mexico.” 

Catherine, who would have been about 51 at the time, might indeed have been a mother-like figure to many of the expatriate railway men in Orizaba at the time.  Most likely, many of these young men, originally from England, Ireland, France, and the United States, had embarked on their great adventure working on the fledgling Mexican railway, Ferrocarriles Mexicanos, as bachelors, while others may have left wives and children behind for several years.  Catherine already had been living in Mexico for at least 25 years.  She would have been able to offer wisdom and counsel to these young men on the local customs, manners, and language. 

In this portrait, Edgar strikes a somewhat casual pose.  His broad hands appear strong from years of physical work.  He is dressed either as an engine driver, leaning against a half column on top of which are stacked three or four books.  Perhaps these were to indicate that he was an educated man and enjoyed reading.  This would seem to be borne out by his strikingly beautiful handwriting on the reverse of the cabinet card.  He also seems to have had some artistic talent, evidenced by the flower, leaves and feathers he incorporates gracefully into his capital letters.  

Edgar Joseph Organ

The great care that Edgar took to dedicate this to my great-great grandmother aroused my curiosity about him.  Documentation varies, but he was born in the southwest region of the United Kingdom in about 1859, in either Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, or Monmouth, Wales.  Cheltenham lies some 22 miles east of the village of Ruardean - where Timothy Bennett lived with his own family - while Monmouth is about half that distance to the west.  

According to the England and Wales FreeBMD Marriage Index: 1837 – 1915, he and Elizabeth Maria Woodward registered their marriage in Gloucester between October and December 1879.

They appear two years later in the 1881 England Census, living at 18 Salisbury Street in Cheltenham, with a six-month-old infant daughter, Elizabeth.  By this time, Edgar is identified as a 22-year-old railway fireman. Both he and his wife are noted as born in “Gloster” – the abbreviation for Gloucester.

Did Edgar and Timothy Bennett know each other before they went to Mexico?  It seems likely, especially as both had been railway firemen before they advanced to engine driver.  They probably trained together on the double Fairlie steam locomotive in Bristol, down the River Severn, where the Avonside Engine Company manufactured some 53 of these for Ferrocarriles Mexicanos to navigate the steep grade from Cordoba to Orizaba, Veracruz, until the railway converted to electric engines in 1920.  

Though it is uncertain when both men left for Mexico, we know that Timothy married Maria Dolores Perrotin at the railway station in Orizaba in September of 1885.  A year or two after Dolores’ father, Francois Perrotin, died of meningitis in 1891, she and her husband and their two children left Mexico for England to join Timothy’s mother and family in the Forest of Dean.  Catherine would join them in 1895.

Two months after dedicating his portrait to Catherine Perrotin, Edgar appears as an engine driver on the passenger manifest of the ship Aurania, arriving in Liverpool, England, from New York on April 25, 1893.   

Tragically, he died some six months later on November 28, 1893, in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, England.  He was only 32.  The entry in the National Probate Calendar (Index of Wills and Administrations), 1861 – 1941 does not list the cause of death, but it does indicate that he left a widow, Elizabeth Maria Organ, who received his effects in the sum of £178 when the will was administered on December 23, 1893, just two days before Christmas.

Was Edgar ill before he left Mexico?  Did he become ill after arriving in England?  Or did he die accidentally?

Where was Edgar and Elizabeth Maria’s daughter, Elizabeth?  Unless she died before her father returned to England, she would have been about twelve years old in 1893.  The other possibility is that she could have been living with relatives during this time.  In any case, I cannot find her after her initial mention in the 1881 England Census and wonder whatever became of her.

Any extra money that Edgar might have brought home from his adventurous sojourn working on the Mexican Railway would have come in handy for Elizabeth Maria, though it could have not lasted long after she became the sole breadwinner.  In a sad turn of events, she reappears in the 1901 England Census in Barnwood, Gloucestershire, working as a storeroom servant at Barnwood House, formerly an estate that was later converted to an insane asylum.   Listed as a widow, Elizabeth was 39 years old.  Had she not only lost her husband but her daughter, too?

What happened to her after that?  I only wish I knew.   

Next:  The Railway Men of Orizaba - Part Two


Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Mystery Monday: The Railway Men of Orizaba, Part 1

Who are these men?

These two cabinet card photographs are part of a larger collection of “mystery pictures” that belonged to my great-great grandmother, Catherine (O’Grady) Perrotin.  From the dates on the back, it appears she received the photographs while living in Orizaba, Veracruz, Mexico, perhaps as she was preparing to move to England in 1895 to join her daughter, and son-in-law, Maria Dolores and Timothy Bennett.  At that time, she would have been about 53 years old.  Of course, it is also possible that the pictures were sent to her after she arrived in England.   Both pictures were taken in Orizaba, at the Lucio Díaz studio. 

The photograph above, taken at the Lucio Diaz Studio in Orizaba, Veracruz,
Mexico, is identified as an "Instant Portrait."

The men appear to have been friends or co-workers of my great-great grandfather, Charles Jacques François (“François”) Perrotin, who was a mechanic for Ferrocarriles Mexicanos, the Mexican Railway System, at Orizaba Station. (François died in Orizaba on May 25, 1891, of meningitis.) Timothy Bennett, Maria Dolores's husband, also worked for Ferrocarriles Mexicanos as a train engineer.  All appear to be either American or European, perhaps British, French or Irish.  This is especially plausible, given that these groups engineered and built the Mexican Railway line from Veracruz to Mexico City.  

In the first picture, the two gentlemen appear to be dressed in conductors’ uniforms, wearing ties, pocket watches, and pinstripe suits.   The bowler hats they are wearing would suggest that these are not their official portraits, as they would be wearing conductor’s caps instead.  There is no identification or dedication on the back of the card, except for the name of the photography studio.

The second picture, below, is dedicated to Catherine: 

“Le endorso a la Señora Perrotin este retrato en prueba del cariño que le profesa su amigo, Cook.” 

 “I dedicate this portrait to Mrs. Perrotin as proof of the affection of her friend, Cook.” 

The dedication is dated June 29, but the year is illegible.  Cook appears to be wearing the uniform of a railway worker, perhaps a conductor, but we cannot be sure.  I am not good at guessing ages but would estimate that he was somewhere between his late thirties to early fifties - a wide range, to be sure.

In an intriguing coincidence, a father and son with the last name of Cook appear  in the 1860 United States Federal Census, as neighbors of the then-newly marriedPerrotins in Shreveport, Louisiana.  Thomas Cook, age 74, appears to have been a gardener (though the writing on the census form is unclear) who came to America from his native England in 1808.  His son, Robert Cook, was 18 years old and a native of Indiana.  Interestingly, he is listed as a “Gin Maker.”  

Perhaps the Cooks and Perrotins were good friends.  Could the son (and possibly the father) have gone to Orizaba with the Perrotins?  If Thomas Cook did go to Mexico, even at his advanced age, it is unlikely that he worked there.  But Robert, who was about a year older than Catherine, would have been young enough to embark on such an adventure, either working on the Mexican railway with the others, or in another profession...

If anyone reading this has any thoughts on the identity of these men or suggestions for where to look next, I’d love to hear them.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully



Do you know these men?  Did you know, or are you a member of the Cook, Perrotin, Bennett, or O'Grady families?  Or did someone you know work on the Mexican Railway in Veracruz?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Sentimental Sunday: "Do Not Give In": Part 2

Full Circle

Second in a two-part series - Continued

My great-grandfather, Enrique Huesca (about 1850 - 1920)

Jose Enrique Florentino Huesca, known as "Enrique," lost his wife, Maria de la Luz Merlo, whom he called “mi Lucecita,” or “my little light,” some time before 1912, about three years before the death of his young grandson, Gilberto Huesca.  My father, Gilbert Cayetano Huesca, and his brothers and sisters recalled hearing stories of their grandparents’ unwavering devotion to one another, so it would not be unlikely that Enrique was still grieving for his beloved wife even as he was consoling his daughter-in-law.  Upon reading these tender and feeling words, however, one wonders whether he ever really recovered from the burdens of his own crosses.  He was about 70 years old when he died in Cañada Morelos, Puebla, on August 20, 1920.

Enrique’s son and daughter-in-law, Jose Alberto Gil Cayetano “Cayetano” and Catalina Huesca welcomed a baby son on November 1, 1915, in Tierra Blanca, Veracruz, seven months after the death of their beloved toddler Gilberto.  It is possible that the new baby reminded them of the child they had recently lost, and that may be why they gave him the same first name:  Gilberto. 

Gilberto Cayetano (his middle name was given for his father) Huesca – my father – was called by his middle name, “Cayetano” (or “Tano” for short) by all.  Perhaps his parents decided not to call him by his first name because it might remind them of the tragic loss of the first Gilberto.  This may be the reason my father never learned of his first name until he was in his 40s, when, living in Chicago, Illinois, he obtained his baptismal record for his naturalization application to become an American citizen.  Upon seeing his full name for the first time, he asked his family and friends to call him Gilbert from that day forward.

Enrique Huesca’s words to my grandmother came full circle some 82 years later.  It was 1997, and my father, by then 82 years old, was still mourning the loss of my mother, Joan (Schiavon) Huesca, a decade earlier.  Like his grandparents, he and my mother had been deeply in love, and her absence now permeated every aspect of his being.  He used to tell my sisters and me that he thought of her “every fraction of a second,” and we never doubted this. 

My father was visiting us for dinner one Saturday evening when we called my grandmother Catalina at her apartment in Mexico City.  She was 104 years old but was as sharp as ever and would continue to reign as the respected matriarch of her large family until her death in 1998. 

I turned the speakerphone on so we could hear each other, and after the usual greetings, she asked my father how he was.  My father, in an emotional voice, told her of the profound sadness he still felt without my mother. 

Catalina and her son, Gilbert Cayetano Huesca
Mexico City, about 1948

My grandmother initially expressed her sympathy but then stopped abruptly.  “Hijo mío – my son,” she admonished him in Spanish, “ya basta – that is enough.  Of course you love her and of course you miss her.  But what has happened is done.  You had a beautiful life with my daughter Joan, and she left you four beautiful daughters.  The time of mourning is over.  If I had done that when your father died at such a young age, I would have dishonored his memory and done a disservice to our family.  I still had so much to do, and so do you, my son.  You must not give in to the pain, but live for the living.  You must not forget Joan, but it is time for you to live for your children now.”

It would be inaccurate and unfair to say that my father turned his sadness around right after that.  Yet his mother’s heartfelt wisdom reverberated within him in the coming years as he began to live more fully for his children and grandchildren until his own death in 2009 at age 93. 

His brother Gilberto had, in a strange way, given my father his name.  Maybe in another roundabout and mysterious way, the memory of the first Gilberto also gave his younger brother and namesake a renewed lease on life, even in his final years.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully 

Did you know any of the people in this story, or are you a member of the Perrotin, Huesca, or Schiavon/Schiavone families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Sympathy Saturday: "Do Not Give In": Part 1

Condolences

Cañada Morelos, April 25, 1915

                       

Mrs. Catalina Perroton.

Tierra Blanca

My Dear Friend,

As I send you my greetings together with all the well-deserved attentions to you and your kind family, I want to send you my deepest sympathies on the death of the Child Gilberto, and you must not believe that it was caused by a Cold, but by the bump he had on his head, which sooner or later would have a sad ending.  It happened…there is nothing you can do but have patience.  Now do not give in to the Pain; but Look at this news with some calm, understanding that it is better to grieve over the dead rather than wish  them alive again; as I did, for I have spent my life in tears wishing they were alive.  The conjugal bond offers us flowers and pleasures…but the cross of marriage, offers us a world of woes.  No matter how much a family may possess, all must go through that world of woes…but all you can do is have a big soul, a Heart that neither denies the truth nor gives in to tears but Sees that this is part of life.  Calm, my friend, calm, do not give in and do not carry this burden around with you.  Give my kisses to all the children.  Your friend who esteems you,

Enrique Huesca

At left, the original letter (in Spanish) from Enrique Huesca to 
Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, 1915

The above is my English translation of a letter that my paternal great-grandfather, Jose Enrique Florentino Huesca, of Cañada Morelos, Puebla, Mexico, wrote to his daughter-in-law – my grandmother, Angela Catalina (nee Perrotin) Huesca, in Tierra Blanca, Veracruz, Mexico, shortly after the death of her young son, Gilberto Huesca. 

Gilberto was about two years old when he died.  The exact cause of death is unclear; many of the civil records of the village of Tierra Blanca from 1915 were burned in a fire, and most of those who might have known the details have gone on to their heavenly reward. 

Maybe he fell or suffered a blow to the head while playing or pulling down some heavy object from above.  Maybe he had a tumor of some sort.  We may never know, but we can only imagine the grief Catalina felt at losing her sweet little boy.  Enrique, as he was known, gently tells his daughter-in-law that she must not believe that her toddler died of a cold and adds that “sooner or later” the lump would have a sad ending.  In what must have been nearly unbearable for Catalina to conceive, he goes on to reassure her that the child’s fate might have been worse had he lived. 

His words today might sound terribly fatalistic, but they came during a trying period in Mexico.  The country was in the throes of a revolution, and Tierra Blanca and surrounding areas not only experienced the heavy casualties of that conflict but also lost many people, young and old, to outbreaks of measles, diptheria, and smallpox. 

It would have been easy for a young 21-year-old mother to “give in to the pain” of losing her child when she was scarcely an adult herself.  But her father-in-law’s words must have given her the strength she needed to go on and care for her husband Cayetano and their three children, Enrique, Eduardo, and Victoria, even as she was in the first trimester of yet another pregnancy.  Like many of the women of her time, Catalina would prove to be strong and resilient.  She and Cayetano would have 17 children in all, 11 of whom survived into adulthood. 

Catalina and Cayetano Huesca and sons (left to right) Gilberto, Eduardo, and Enrique,
in front of their home, Orizaba, 1913.

Enrique’s letter hints at his own trials and tribulations.  We know little about him except that he was born between 1847 and 1850 in Puebla, Mexico, to Jose Calletano de la Trinidad Huesca and Josefa Rodriguez.  A devout Catholic, he followed in the family trade as a carpenter, crafting interior furnishings for the cathedral and churches of Puebla, a city known for having as many churches as there are days in a year.  He taught his children to do good for others but to keep their acts to themselves, often reminding them to “never let the right hand know what the left hand is doing.”  This was a refrain that his children and their children would carry with them all their lives.

Born at the end of Mexico’s civil reform war, Enrique lived through some of the most turbulent eras of his country’s history.  Before he had even reached his teen years, he undoubtedly witnessed the Battle of Puebla between the French and Mexican armies.  He would have rejoiced wildly with his family at the Mexican victory on May 5, 1862, only to be devastated barely a year later when the French regrouped and defeated the Mexicans in a second battle at Puebla and went on to topple and replace the Mexican government with what Napoleon III referred to as his “Mexican Empire.”  He and his parents would have discussed the resurgence of the deposed Mexican president, Benito Juarez, who with the backing of President Abraham Lincoln, reclaimed his government and had the puppet Emperor Maximilian Hapsburg executed by firing squad in 1867. 

The uncertainty of the times and their severe impact on the nation would continue for many years as subsequent regimes rose and fell one after the other, culminating in the Revolution of 1910 and indelibly scarring the psyche of the Mexican people with the ironic realization that the only constancy in their lives was that  - save their faith in God and their love for one another - nothing, including happiness, could either be certain or last forever. 

Next:  Sentimental Sunday - "Do Not Give In" Part Two

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully 

Sentimental Sunday: "...Wise unto Salvation"

Inscription in bible by
Catherine O'Grady Perrotin
to her grandson, Edward Bennett, 1893

The small bible pictured here was a gift from my great-great grandmother, Catherine O'Grady, to her three-year-old grandson, Edward Bennett, eldest child of Maria Dolores Perrotin and Timothy Bennett. 

Cover of bible given to Edward Bennett.  The bible has
been passed down to my cousin, Dorothy (Meek) Stephens, 
daughter of Jane Bennett, Edward's sister and 
the youngest child of 
Maria Dolores and Timothy Bennett

Edward also was Francois and Catherine Perrotin's first grandchild. He was born in Orizaba, Veracruz, on October 21, 1891, just a few months after Francois' death.   His birth must have been quite a comfort and source of joy to Catherine, who was grieving for her beloved husband.

The inscription reads,

Edward W. Bennett

by his Grandmother

Catherine with Love

Search the Scripture

which is able to

make you wise

unto Salvation.

1893

Catherine would have sent this to Edward, now in Ruardean, Gloucestershire, England, with his parents, from her own home in Orizaba, Mexico.   Two years later, she would leave Mexico forever to join Maria Dolores, Tim, and their family in Ruardean.  Surely Edward and his brothers and sisters must have enjoyed the blessing of their sweet and loving grandmother Catherine.  As she was now widowed, the children must have been blessings in return to her.  

Graveyard at Saint John the Baptist Church (also known as Ruardean Church). The family graves are located  just behind the church, along with quite a few graves of the Bennett family, many of whom lived in the area.  The graves at center are those of Timothy and Maria Dolores (Perrotin) (rectangular grave at front)  and Catherine (O'Grady) Perrotin and two of her grandchildren, Edward and Mary Clements Bennett (rear).  Rose Marie Bruton, the widow of Catherine's great-grandson, Leonard Fisher, still lives in  Ruardean Woodside and regularly brings flowers to the graves.

Edward Bennett died in Ruardean on June 3, 1899.  He was only eight years old.   Catherine is buried with him and with his younger sister, Mary Clements Bennett, who died at two-and-a-half years old in 1895. 

The marker on the left side of the grave reads,
 "Catherine Perrotin  1840 - 1901"

The marker in the center (front) of the grave reads,
"Edward Bennett 1891 - 1899"
The marker on the right of the grave reads,
"Mary Clements Bennett 1892 - 1895"

At the invitation of our English Bennett cousins, my husband and I travelled to Gloucestershire and the Forest of Dean in August of 2011.  We visited Ruardean a couple of times with Jennie and Don Murray and Dorothy, Bob, Tim, and Peter Stephens, who graciously endured our endless questions and my non-stop photography.  We also met new Bennett cousins:  Eileen, Linda, Susanne, Pearl, Marlene, Rebecca, and Joanne, among others.  It was such a wonderful feeling to know there were so many of this branch of our family, when at one time we thought there were none.

Rear view of Saint John the Baptist Church, Ruardean, Gloucestershire

It is one thing to see a picture of where your ancestors are buried.  It is another thing altogether to actually be able to stand next to the graves and touch them, knowing these same ancestors worshipped at this church, they walked the grounds at one time, that their remains are there now, and that generations of descendants like Rose Bruton (Jennie's mother) and Jennie and Dorothy have tended them and visited them over the years.  It overwhelms the senses.

I felt incredibly close to my great-great grandmother Catherine at that moment and still do.  The love of this family truly endures.  I feel so blessed - and grateful - to be a part of it.

Copyright ©  2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know, or are you a member of the Perrotin, O'Grady, or Bennett families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Marriage Record of Charles Jacques François Perrotin and Catherine O'Grady

26 January 1860

Shreveport, Caddo Parish, Louisiana

This week marks the 152nd anniversary of the marriage between Charles Jacques  François Perrotin and Catherine O'Grady (also known as Catherine Grady), on January 26, 1860, in Shreveport, Louisiana.

Here is a copy of their Certificate of Marriage.  A transcription follows, along with a short background of a legendary Catholic priest who united the couple in Holy Matrimony.

Transcription

State of Louisiana   }

Parish of Caddo      }

I hereby certify that on the 26^th day of Jany 1860, I being a minister of the Gospel and authorized to celebrate the bonds of matrimony have celebrated the marriage between François Perrotin and C. Grady in the presence of the undersigned witnesses.

Nancy Petters                                                                         François Perrotin

A Cook                                                                                                 

J P. Brinck                                                                                Catherine Grady

                                                                                                       X her Mark

                                                (illegible)

Recorded 9^th

(illegible) 1860

            Shreveport the 26th of January 1860, I the undersigned J. Pierre, Catholic parish of Shreveport have joined in holy and lawful wedlock after license of the Court has been obtained Mr. F. Perrotin and Wife Catherine Grady.  In testimony thereof its parties François Perrotin, Catherine O'Grady, N. (illegible)     A. G. Cook, Prof. Dr. Casiez Cte, Beaumont have hereunto affixed their names. 

                                                                                                J. Pierre

                                                                                                C. V.

Father John Pierre, French Missionary

"J. Pierre" was Father John Pierre, the founding pastor of Holy Family Church, the first Catholic church in Shreveport.  As a seminarian in France, Pierre had been recruited by Bishop Augustus Martin of the then-new Diocese of Natchitoches, to do missionary work.  He arrived there in 1854.  On his ordination date one year later, Bishop Martin appointed Father Pierre as pastor of the first parish of the diocese, Holy Apostles.  When he became aware that the Catholic families in the nearby city of Shreveport had no priests or places to worship,  Father Pierre persuaded the bishop to let him expand his missionary work. He bought land on the corner of Fannin and Marshall Streets in Shreveport, where he built a small wood frame church (the first in Shreveport) in 1856.  He replaced it with a larger brick church three years later.  This was Holy Family Church and most likely is where he married François and Catherine.

Father John Pierre, center

Thirteen years later (and long after  François and Catherine had departed Shreveport), the beloved Father Pierre died of yellow fever, one of five Catholic priests to be stricken during a tragic epidemic.  It was a sad day for the people of Shreveport, who had known Father Pierre as a tireless evangelizer for the Church and a devoted minister to the sick.  Another priest of the time, Father Joseph Gentille, wrote of Father Pierre, "His death was a public calamity.  He was loved and esteemed by all."

In a fateful coincidence, yellow fever would go on to claim the life of the Perrotin's only son, Francisco, some 26 years later in Orizaba, Mexico.


Copyright (C) 2012  Linda Huesca Tully

Are you a member of the Perrotin, O'Grady, or Pierre families?  If so, share your own thoughts and stories below.

Ralph Schiavon - Part Four: Twilight

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Ralph Schiavon


January 27, 1898 - August 16, 1970


Twilight


(Last in a four part series about my wonderful grandfather)

Ralph Schiavon, at train station,
Chicago (date unknown)

My grandmother Alice had lost her eyesight in the early 60s.  Her diabetes worsened, and she died at home on New Year’s Day in 1963.  My parents moved our family to Mexico City the following year.  We stayed there until 1967, when my sister Joyce became ill and we had to leave the high altitude city.  We moved back to the States and settled in  California with its warm Mediterranean like-weather.

Now in his late 60s, Ralph began to think about retiring.  He spent more time with Tom and Angie and their family, as well as meeting old friends for dinner or an evening out.  He enjoyed inviting his brothers Leo and Tony and his cousin Ralph Sannella and their wives and children up to the family cottage, Bunny Rest, in Big Blue Lake, Michigan.  And of course, he continued visiting his mother, Emanuela, and his family back in Massachusetts.  

Emanuela Sannella Schiavone was now in her 90s.  For many years after Vito’s death, she had lived with Filomena’s family, but as she became increasingly bedridden, her children decided it was time to move her into a nursing home.  Ralph and Leo arranged a room for her at the Don Orione Nursing Home in Revere. 

Ralph loved his mother dearly.  He visited her twice a year, taking the train from Chicago to Boston for Mother’s Day in the spring and later in the fall.  He and Leo contributed to the building of a new wing for the nursing home, ever mindful of the loving care she had given them as children.  For these efforts, as well as for their philanthropic contributions to the postwar rebuilding of their native land, the Italian government had awarded Ralph and Leo the Stella della solidarietà italiana, or the Star of Solidarity, and made them Honorary Cavalieri, or Knights, of the Italian Republic.  The Cavaliere, similar to a British knighthood, is regarded as the highest honor that can be bestowed on an individual by the Italian government.

Order of the Italian Star of Solidarity,
originally established in 1947, recognized
expatriates and foreigners for outstanding
contributions to the reconstruction of post-
World War II Italy.

Emanuela, who had never learned English or even to read or write in Italian, had been relegated to a lonely life.  Unlike many immigrant women around her who worked in the factories, she had stayed home to care for her children and was somewhat limited to her Italian neighborhood.  Her granddaughter, Gloria Scicchitani Johnson, Filomena’s daughter, remembered that Emanuela prayed often throughout the day.  Unable to read, she recited from memory Bible stories and stories of the lives of the Saints that the village priest in San Sossio had told her many years ago.  Though she could converse with her own children, many of her grandchildren could not speak Italian and did not understand her.  She could watch TV, but she had no idea what the people on it were saying.  It was no wonder that she looked forward to her sons’ visits and seemed to come more to life when they came.  Pasquale was present during these visits, and the brothers held animated political discussions long after tucking Emanuela into bed for the evening.

Left to right:  Pasquale Schiavone, Emanuella Schiavone,
and Ralph Schiavon, Revere, MA, about 1960

Shortly after his 78^th birthday, Pasquale "Pat" Schiavone fell ill in early December of 1965, just as Ralph was preparing to return home from Boston.  He was diagnosed with uremic poisoning – the final stage of kidney failure.  He died a few days later on December 7^th.   His death came as a shock to Ralph.

Emanuela had been suffering from advanced heart disease, and she died five months later on April 18, 1966.  At the time, no one knew her exact age and believed her to be 103.  In fact, she was just a few months short of her 99^th birthday.  

In the years that followed, Ralph became acutely aware of his own mortality and growing loneliness.  He began to have health challenges of his own, and after being a widower for six years, he realized that he could not go on living alone.  In July of 1969 he married Emily Scheurer, and the newlyweds flew to Italy on honeymoon.

It turned out that for many years, Emily had lived two doors down the street from Ralph in a single-story, red brick Tudor house at 7133 South Luella.  I remember meeting Emily when I was a little girl of about 5, though we didn’t know her name at the time.  With our wild imaginations, my friends and I thought her house looked just like that of the witch in the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale.  Perhaps she unwittingly had perpetuated that impression one Halloween when she greeted all the trick-or-treaters wearing a pointy witch’s hat and stirring a large cauldron filled with steaming black ice. 

One afternoon, we were playing on the sidewalk when Emily appeared at her door and offered us some apple pie she had just finished baking.  To us, this could only confirm that she was a witch, because witches were wily and always used apples as a ruse to trick children so they could eat them.  My friends screamed and ran home, but for some reason I stayed behind.  She beckoned to me, and I found myself walking up the walkway to her door.  

Emily invited me in and gave me a piece of her witch-pie.  Terrified, I took it because I had been taught to be polite.  I gingerly bit into the crust, wondering whether I would be poisoned, eaten, or ever see my parents again.  To my friend’s and my own surprise, I lived!  Although my miraculous survival (not to mention the tastiness of the pie) should have been sufficient evidence for us kids that “the lady in the witch’s house” might just be a nice older lady after all, we continued to keep our distance.  

Ralph and Emily were married for two years, and her companionship surely filled a void during the latter part of his life.  During the summer of 1970, Ralph’s health worsened, and he began losing weight.  A lifelong smoker and recently diagnosed diabetic, he was suffering from emphysema and colon cancer.  

Ralph’s family kept vigil with him during his final stay at Chicago's Wesley Memorial Hospital as he drifted in and out of consciousness.  On the morning of August 16^th, before his family arrived to see him, Ralph asked one of his nurses to turn on the television so he could watch Sunday Mass.  She obliged and noticed a faint smile appear on his face as she left the room.  She returned just as Mass was ending in time to see him close his eyes one last time.  

He was 72 years old.

From what I heard years later, Emily Scheurer Schiavon lived for several years after Ralph’s death, and then her only child, Yvonne Cooksey, brought her to live near her in Madison, New Jersey, where she died a short time later.

Coincidentally, as I write this, it is Ralph Schiavon’s birthday.  How I wish I could tell my dear grandfather - my Baba - that I love him and miss him, but somehow I feel he must know.  I think he would be happy that his memory lives on through his grandchildren and great-grandchildren and that we are grateful for the many blessings he gave us through his legacy of devotedness to his family, strong work ethic, love of learning, unwavering integrity, and pride in his heritage.  Baba, grazie per tutto.  Vivrai sempre nei nostri cuori.  

You will live on forever in our hearts.

Copyright (C) 2011 Linda Huesca Tully

Did you know any of the people in this story, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone, Sannella, or McGinnis families?  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