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

Ralph Schiavon - Part Two: Young Immigrant in a New World

Ralph Schiavon


Young Immigrant in a New World

Ralph Schiavon, Boston, about 1910

(Second in a four-part series)


Like most newly-arrived ethnic groups during the turn of the century, Italian immigrants dreamed of becoming successful in America.  This meant owning their own home.  To the former peasants who for decades had endured la miseria - a miserable existence of innumerable indignities and hopelessness and poverty in their native land - home ownership, the ultimate definition of prosperity to the Southern Italians, represented independence, security, prosperity, and self-respect.


Vito Schiavone, who first arrived in America in 1890, had lived for a time with his brothers-in-law in a tenement house at 198 Endicott Street at the heart of Boston's North End.  Living in that crowded, dirty neighborhood had made him determined to buy his own home in another part of town so his family would not have to bear such oppressive conditions.


The dream was not unachievable, but it depended on great sacrifice and effort on the part of everyone in the family.  Vito pulled Ralph out of school as soon as he was old enough to work and sent him to join his brother Pat in a shoe factory in Roxbury. Child labor was commonplace at that time, and boys and girls in the shoe factories made up about seven percent of the total workforce in the Boston boot and shoe industry.


Children were given jobs that required little training, such as stitching shoe uppers or working in the shipping department.  Ralph worked in shipping, putting in 10 hours a day Monday through Friday and half a day on Saturdays, rain or shine.


Shoe leather would arrive at the factory in wooden boxes.  Once the crates were emptied, Ralph would break them down flat and load the wood into a small wagon so he could sell it.  For this he was paid about $6.43 a week, the average wage for a child laborer of the time.  (Men and women, by comparison, earned on average $15.17 and $10.39 a week, respectively.)


The long dreary hours left the boy without much time for a childhood. He never had a toy of his own and had little time for play.  Instead, money took on great importance in his young life as he worked long hours to help support his family.  Like other young boys, he learned to save at an early age and often walked the long distance home rather than take the streetcar, so he could have more money to give to his parents.


One freezing winter day on his way home, young Ralph met a man who gave him some baby chicks that were nearly dead from the cold.  He tucked them into his wool coat to keep them warm and set aside some of the wood from the shipping crates to make coops for them.


Upon entering the kitchen, he removed his coat and proudly showed his new pets to his parents.  While Emanuela cooed at the chicks, Vito flew into a rage at the thought that Ralph had lost money by bringing home the wood instead of selling it.  He rose from his chair and thrust his fist at his son.  Emanuela jumped in between them to block her husband.  Vito's fist, meant for Ralph, struck Emanuela instead, knocking out her front teeth.


Emanuela recovered and nursed the chicks with an eyedropper and a little wine and warmed them on the oven door.  Ralph never forgot his mother's loving sacrifice for him.  Needless to say, the chicks may have been pets for a time but ran the usual course that chicks do and eventually made their inevitable appearance on the dinner table.

Postcard of Wonderland Amusement Park, Revere, MA

Nicholas Schiavone, Boston, 1910

Tragedy struck the family in the spring of 1911 when eight-year-old Nicky Schiavone drowned in the marsh behind Wonderland Amusement Park, a popular Revere landmark in the early 1900s.  He and Ralph had been playing in the marsh with a young neighbor, Leo Dowling, when Leo began flailing his arms.  Nicky managed to rescue Leo but got caught in the marsh himself and began sinking into the muck.  Ralph watched in horror as the thick mud sucked his brother in deeper and deeper, until he drowned.


Some would later say that Ralph's "lucky veil," or caul, had protected him from the same fate as Nicky, but it seems that Ralph was in fact burdened by the fact that he had been spared instead of his brother.  The accident haunted him for the rest of his life, and he never forgave himself for not being able to save his little brother.  His children (my mother Joan and my Uncle Tom Schiavon), as well as my own sisters and I, heard the story over and over as we grew up, along with a coda of instructions on how to save a drowning person.


When Filomena married Tomasso Scicchitani in 1913 and Pasquale (known as "Pat") married Dora Salemme two years later, Ralph became the oldest child of those still living at home.  He took on the role of a third parent to Tony and Leo, sometimes treating them more strictly than their own parents, much to the chagrin of the younger Schiavones.  Perhaps he was overcompensating for his inability to save Nicky.  From what I have heard from my own mother, Joan Schiavon, and my cousins, he saw it it that his youngest brothers would not have to leave school as he did at a young age to work.  Even in his youth he comprehended the value of an education as a path to success, and he encouraged Tony and Leo to continue their studies, making it very clear that he expected them to graduate at the top of their class.

Ralph entered the United States Navy on August 26, 1918, and received his training in Norfolk, Virginia.


Assigned as a Seaman Second Class on the submarine USS Carolina.  The tight quarters of submarine made him feel claustrophobic, and he was relieved when he was later transferred to the battleship USS Kansas.  He was a member of a crew that traveled to Brest, France, at the end of World War I to bring many of the Special Expeditionary Forces home to America.  His jobs entailed standing various forms of watch, such as lookout and security, and his days would have consisted of learning such basic duties as being part of the gun crew; setting up and using rigs for loading fuel, ammunition, and supplies; firefighting; food cleanup; sweeping and swabbing decks; and painting and polishing equipment.


Two months after he enlisted, the Armistice Treaty was signed on November 11, 1918.


In 1919, Ralph was stationed at Great Lakes Naval Station, near Chicago, Illinois.  One day while on leave he met Benita McGinnis, a young artist and member of the Chicago Movie Censorship Board.  After dating her briefly, he was invited to her home, where he noticed her younger sister, a lively, 26-year-old redhead named Alice.  He was smitten immediately by her laughter and sense of adventure and soon began courting her instead of Benita.


Although we do not know for certain how it happened, it seems that the McGinnises did not know Ralph was Italian when they first met him.  He may have deliberately dropped the "e" at the end of Schiavone, which would have put the accent on the last syllable and made it sound French, or maybe it happened some other way.  (In later years he would say that the U.S. Navy had dropped the "e" from his name to make it sound more American.  His service record and his naturalization petition, however, do not show this to be so.)  He apparently was afraid of being found out as Italian and said nothing to change Alice's impression that she was in love with a Frenchman.

Speaking the language of
the Axis powers during
World War II was
considered "Un-American,"
as shown in this poster.

His fear was not unfounded.  For years, Italians, in particular those from the south, had been perceived as gangsters, womanizers, and lower class members of society.  They had been subjected to ethnic jokes and racial slurs such as "goombah," "wop," and "dago."  During both World Wars, Italians were viewed with suspicion and often regarded as Fascists.  Italy being an enemy nation during World War II, the six thousand Italian aliens then living in the United States were required by law to register as "enemy aliens."  This included Ralph's mother, Emanuela, who had never changed her citizenship.  In a lesser-known incident, several hundred Italian-Americans on the West Coast were rounded up and interned in detention camps from 1941-1943, not because of anything they had done but simply because they were Italian.


In later years, Ralph himself would be mistaken for Benito Mussolini, the Italian dictator, as well as for the infamous mobster Al Capone.  In the latter case of mistaken identity, the Chicago police actually stopped him for a short time, releasing him only after verifying his identification.


Considering that Italians were at the bottom of the ethnic ladder in those days, it must have been a difficult decision for Ralph to change his last name to something that sounded less Italian.  Some of his family were hurt by this action and believed that he had been disloyal to his heritage.  They may have had valid reasons to feel that way, as they, too, had faced the same prejudice and discrimination - perhaps even more so because they kept their family name.


But the truth is that Ralph was not alone.  Many of his countrymen changed their names to avoid bigotry and discrimination, sometimes even translating their surnames into English.  Ralph was proud to be Italian and would never dishonored his origins, but he, as any other human being, had a right to be treated with dignity and respect.  Though we may never know the depth of the inner struggle he must have experienced over this decision, we can be certain that ultimately he did what he felt he had to do in the climate of the time.


Ralph was granted U.S. citizenship on May 12, 1919, two weeks before he was discharged from the service at Great Lakes Naval Station.  He returned to his parent's home on Eastern Avenue in Revere and began a long-distance correspondence with Alice that would span nearly four years.

Ralph Schiavon, second window from rear,
Cologne, Germany, early 1920s

He found a job selling shoes at a store in Revere.  He soon discovered that he enjoyed working with numbers and solving problems more than selling shoes, and he began taking night school classes in accounting.  He also seems to have returned to Europe after World War I, as the photo above shows.


Alice McGinnis accepted his proposal sometime in early 1923, setting off a short personal crisis for Ralph as he realized that "the jig was up."  He knew it was time to honest about his nationality, even if it meant losing the woman he loved.


He wrote Alice a passionate letter that spring.  In it, he confessed his Italian nationality and apologized for having deceived her, explaining that he had not wanted to lose her. He went on to tell Alice how much he loved her and that he dreamed of opening a small general store in Chicago so he could always take care of her and she would never have to work.  He closed by adding that he would understand if she decided to break off the engagement.


Alice McGinnis was not one to reject someone on the basis of his origins.  She understood prejudice only too well, as she and her family had experienced it first-hand as Irish-Americans.  It had not been that long ago that her grandfather, father, and brothers had been excluded from jobs whose ads warned that "Irish need not apply."  


She wrote back to Ralph right away and forgave him.  The couple were married on June 18, 1923, at Saint Joachim's Church in Chicago and honeymooned at Starved Rock Park, a popular campground not far from Chicago.


Copyright (C) 2011  Linda Huesca Tully




Next:  Part Three - Halcyon Days


Did you know, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone, Sannella, Schiccitani, or McGinnis families?  If so, share your own stories and comments below.

Ralph Schiavon - Part One: Auspicious Beginnings

Ralph Schiavon

Born January 27, 1898
Died August 16, 1970    



The following is Part One of a four part series on the life of my wonderful Italian grandfather.       


Auspicious Beginnings


My maternal grandfather, Ralph Schiavon, was one of those rare children born with a veil over his head.

The “veil,” known medically as a “caul,” was actually part of the amniotic membrane that covers a child’s face or head.  This occurs in about 1 out of every 80,000 births. Italian superstition viewed this as an omen that such children were destined to be special and do great things, as they had gifts of wisdom and vision (also called "second sight").  The caul itself was seen as a lucky talisman that could protect a person from harm and especially from drowning.  For this reason, it became popular for many seamen to seek these out and purchase them for their personal protection.  However, others viewed the caul as a curse because it supposedly brought with it great challenges and heavy burdens. 

As was tradition for such a special circumstance, the midwife who delivered Ralph rubbed a sheet of paper across his head and face so that the material of the caul would stick to the paper.  She then presented this new treasure to the child's happy mother, who sealed it in a small jar for safekeeping and later carried it across the sea on the ship to America, eventually giving it to her son when he grew old enough to take care of it.  My mother said that Ralph kept the caul with him all his life.

Ralph was the third of six children born to Vito Schiavone and his wife, Emanuela Sannella, on January 27, 1898, in San Sossio Baronia, Avellino Province, just east of Naples, Italy.  Most of San Sossio’s residents were poor and illiterate and were leaving the village in droves, and many families emigrated to Boston and its environs.  Vito Schiavone left for America in 1890, barely three years after Emanuela gave birth to the couple’s first child, Pasquale.  He returned at intervals to San Sossio as daughter Filomena and sons Ralph and Nicholas were born.

Ralph, who was named for his mother’s father, Raffaele Sannella, was born with a “caul,” part of the placental membrane, covering his head.   Italian superstition had it that such children were destined to be special and do great things, as they had gifts of vision and wisdom.  The caul also was said to protect a person from harm and especially from drowning.  For this reason, it became popular for many seamen to seek these out and purchase them for their own protection.  However, others viewed it as a curse because it supposedly brought with it great challenges and heavy burdens.  Emanuela’s midwife placed the caul, also called a “white veil,” into a small jar for safekeeping and gave it to the happy mother, who later passed it on to her son.  My mother said that Ralph kept it with him all his life.

For reasons unknown, Emanuela sent Ralph to live with some maiden ladies – possibly relatives? – for the first years of his life.  They were a bit better off and kept him well fed and healthy.  They owned several farm animals, one of them a goat, from which Ralph would drink milk directly and then ride around until he was too big to carry.    

San Sossio had a rivalry with San Nicola Baronia, a village on a neighboring mountaintop.  One night before Christmas, as the Sossians prepared for their annual saints procession through the village, some of the rival townspeople sneaked into the village and stole the statues for their own procession.  A rock-throwing war between the villages ensued until the culprits returned the statues. 

In her 1987 autobiography, my mother wrote of one of Ralph’s earliest adventures:

When Daddy was five or six, he and some of his friends met on the Church steps in the village square, and planned to undertake a hunting adventure.  One boy would bring a gun, another the ammunition, another some spaghetti, and still another, some tomatoes for sauce, and they would go out into the woods to catch their dinner.  Off they went, but to their dismay, all they could catch were some little birds.  They decided to make the best of their spoils.  Cook dinner they did, and when it came time to add the “meat,” they threw in the birds – complete – feathers and all!  Needless to say, dinner was not a success!

In 1902, Vito declared that 15-year-old Pasquale was ready to go to America, and he took him along to New York on the ship S.S. Washington that May.  By then he had rented a house on Tapley Avenue in Revere, determined that the family would not live in the Boston tenements that housed so many other Italian arrivals.  Even so, Revere was a working class town, and rents were relatively expensive.  So, like many of his fellow villagers and cousins, son Pasquale (known as “Pat” in America) went to work at a shoe factory in the Boston area.  Father and son saved their earnings carefully until they were able to send for the rest of the family.

It took four years, but finally in 1906, Vito sent Emanuela the money she needed to buy passage in the steerage compartment for herself and children Maria Filomena, 16, Ralph, 8 and Nicholas, 4.  The little group departed Naples on October 6, 1906, on the S.S. Republic.  The trip took 48 days, with the Republic arriving in Boston Harbor just before Thanksgiving on November 23^rd. 

Times were hard, and like many newly arrived immigrant families, the Schiavones expected those children who were old enough to work to help bring in enough money to house, feed, and clothe their growing family, especially as Anthony and Leo were born in Revere in 1908 and 1910, respectively.  Vito and Emanuela were frugal and in a few years managed to save enough money to buy a house just around the corner at 33 Eastern Avenue.  It was not far from Saint Anthony of Padua Church, where Ralph would serve as an altar boy for many years.

The Schiavone Family, about 1910
Left to right, back row:  Pasquale, Ralph, and Filomena
Front row:  Vito, Emanuela, Anthony, and Nicky
Photo by Fotografia Italiana, Hanover Street, Boston

Not long after arriving in America, Ralph began selling newspapers after school. He also worked for a time helping load pianos on freight cars.  Though his jobs left him little time for homework, he was a natural student and a quick study.  His principal at the Shurtleff School, Miss Adams, called him “brilliant” and “very businesslike.”  Perhaps the latter descriptionwas more revealing than at first glance, as it is clear that Ralph had to grow up quickly.  Unfortunately, Vito, who like many of his fellow immigrants had never learned to read or write in the old country, decided at some point during 1908 that Ralph had spent enough time at school and he should be working full time to help support the family.  Over Miss Adams’ loud protests, he pulled his young son out of the third grade and sent him to work in Roxbury at the same leather shoe factory as his brother Pat.  Ralph, who loved school, was devastated, but he had no other choice but to obey his father.  He was barely 10 years old, but the greatness for which he had seemed destined at birth was waning in his eyes.


Copyright (C) 2011 Linda Huesca Tully 

Next:  Part Two - Young Immigrant in a New World

Did you know, or are you a member of the Schiavon/Schiavone or Sannella family?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

Calling W6RMQ . . .

Calling W6RMQ . . .


We lost Dad (aka my father-in-law, Welner "Bing" Tully) three years ago today.

He had been in hospital for about a week after his heart and kidneys failed, and he was on his way home when he died in the ambulance as it left O'Connor Hospital.

Dad was a ham radio buff from an early age - think of ham radio as his generation's version of Facebook or Blogger -- and instead of "friends," "fans," or "followers," he collected calling cards -- colorful postcards with the call signs, names, and cities of his fellow radio operators.  Here he is at his homemade radio station at his Aunt Amelia Binning's home on South Grande Vista in East Los Angeles, sometime in the mid-to-late 1930's.  


Incidentally, I think this is the only picture we have of him with "long" hair - after serving in the United States Army during World War II (as a radio operator in the Pacific Theater), he wore it "high and tight" for the rest of his life.  He used to say he saved money on combs that way!

I wonder if he has a radio station up there in Heaven, so we could tell him how much we miss him but how his spirit lives on through his family and those who loved him.

Caliling W6RMQ...Bing Tully, do you read me?

Did you know Welner "Bing" Tully, or are you a member of the Hoppin or Tully families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.
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Marriage Record of Francisco Perrotin and Maria Amaro

Marriage Record
of
Francisco Perrotin and Maria Amaro

Orizaba, Veracruz State, Mexico

March 3, 1889

The following is my translation of the Marriage record between my great-grandparents, Francisco Perrotin and Maria Amaro:

Number 25.

Second act of The Marriage of Francisco Perrotín with María Amaro


In the City of Orizaba, at nine in the morning of the third of March of one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine, before me, the undersigned Judge of the Civil Registry of the Town, appeared Citizen Francisco Perrotín, demonstrating that as the term prescribed by law for the publication of his convened marriage with Miss María Amaro, without no impediment imposed whatsoever against it, asked for a date and time to celebrate it. The Judge, certain of the above, by the individual and in agreement with him, indicated five-thirty in the afternoon tomorrow and signed with the same. = Mr. Galindo. Francisco Perrotin = Fernández


Number 26.
Twenty-six.
Marriage of Francisco Perrotín and María Amaro


In the City of Orizaba, at five-thirty in the afternoon of the fourth of March of one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine, before me, Agustín Portas Ariza, first Justice of the Peace, legal substitute of the the Town Civil Registry, by physical impediment of the second (judge), appeared with the object of celebrating their civil marriage, the Citizen Francisco Perrotín and Miss María Amaro, the first twenty-two years old, originally from and neighbor of this City and a mechanic, current in the payment of his personal taxes, son of Mr. and Mrs. Francisco Perrotin and Catalina Ogradi (sic), married, of legal age, of this vicinity, the first originally from France, industrialist and the second from Ireland. The bride is celibate and seventeen years of age, originally from Tecamachalco, Puebla State, of this vicinity, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Rafael Amaro and Soledad Cid, married, of legal age, originally from Tecamachalco, of this vicinity and the first an artisan. Both bride and groom demonstrated that: their matrimonial presentation of the fourth day of last February having been verified, the publications having been made as prescribed by law, without any impediments having been imposed to the contrary; that the bride’s father having given his consent in the act of the presentation and ratified by same today, in this act they petition the present Citizen Judge to authorize their concerted union. In virtue of having fulfilled all the requirements of the law, the relative articles of the law of July twenty-third, one thousand eight hundred fifty-nine having been read to them. The bride and groom having been interrogated as to article One Hundred Fifty-seven of the State Civil Code, whether it was their will to unite in civil matrimony, each taking the other and submitting mutually to one another as husband and wife and in view of their affirmative answer, I, Agustin Portas Ariza, first Justice of the Peace in this city and legal substitute of the Town Civil Registry Judge, made the following declaration. In the name of Society I declare Citizen Francisco Perrotín and Miss María Amaro united in perfect, legitimate, and indissoluble matrimony. The final part of the aforementioned article was read to them. Witnesses to this union were the Citizens Félix B. Marín and Francisco Salas, both single and Francisco P. Carmona, married, all of legal Age, the first originally from AltoSonga and the second from Puebla, both of this vicinity and the third
from Veracruz. The present act was read to them, with which all agreed and signed and sworn = Ag. Portas Ariza = Francisco Perrotín = María Amaro, = Felix B. Marín, Francisco Salaz, F.P. Carmona.



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

Francisco Perrotin: 1866 - 1899

Francisco Perrotin

1866 - 1899

“The first cases (of yellow fever) in Orizaba were all of persons living in a small radius, close around the railroad station. In the next epidemic they spread out a few hundred yards farther and took in another block of houses a little farther off from the railroad station as a center, and it may be that in course of time they will establish themselves permanently a little farther off from the railroad station. But at any rate that point, at Orizaba, is the highest point where I found the Stegomyia mosquito permanently breeding in the country of Mexico.” 1   


My great-grandfather, Francisco Perrotín (seen here with his wife, Maria Amaro, their son, Francisco, and infant daughter, Catalina), was one of those “first cases.” A mechanic at the railroad station in Orizaba, in Veracruz state, Mexico, he was likely bitten by an infected Stegomyia fasciata mosquito as he worked on one of the engines there. He was pronounced dead at his home on San Cristóbal Street in Orizaba on Saturday, November 11, 1899, at 6:00 p.m., by Dr. Rafael Labardini, the Perrotin (and later Huesca) family physician. He was 32 years old.


A search for answers

The initial outbreak in Orizaba stunned scientists, as the offending species was not native to a city that rose 4,500 feet above sea level. Scientists and medical experts on the disease quickly descended on the area and traced the source of the disease to the mosquitoes breeding in the waste water from the Montezuma brewery, across the street from the railroad station in the port city of Veracruz. Mosquitoes were believed to have been transported inadvertently on the trains to Mexico City and were released when the cars were unloaded at Orizaba, accounting for the first wave of cases at and around that unfortunate station. 2

Yellow fever was the scourge of the late nineteenth century along the east coast of Mexico, the Caribbean, and several port cities in the United States and Central and South America. After a 3 – 6 day incubation period, victims suffered fever, headache, chills, jaundice and vomiting. Most people survived this first stage, while a fifth of those afflicted were doomed to die in misery, experiencing multiple organ failure, internal bleeding, delirium and coma. The vomit, which took on the consistency of coffee grounds (when it was in fact coagulated blood), gave the condition its Mexican name of El Vómito Negro – the Black Vomit. It might as well have been the plague for the terror it wrought in those days.


Although the modern-day world has seen a significant decrease in cases of yellow fever thanks to the wonders of vaccines, there still is no cure for it. Modern-day treatment for the disease includes offering the patient plenty of rest and fluids, blood transfusions for severe bleeding, and dialysis in the event of kidney failure.


From pot-maker to boiler-maker
If Francisco Perrotin’s demise was dramatic, so too, were his beginnings. We can trace the Perrotin family back to Melle, an ancient rural town in the region of Deux-Sevres in western France. It was rumored that his grandfather, Jacques Perrotin, had served with the Napoleonic Army. Francisco's father, Charles Jacques François, however, had refused to perform his obligatory military service and instead left Melle for America with his brother Romain Paul. With enough money for only one ship’s passage, Charles Jacques François smuggled the younger Romain Paul in a mattress onto the “good ship” Louis XIV at Le Havre, France, arriving at New Orleans, Louisiana, on November 29, 1843. Safe from capture for draft evasion, the brothers shortened their names to François and Paul.


The sons of a long line of chaudronniers / poeliers, or oven and pot makers, François and Paul were hard-working, ambitious, and creative. The brothers arrived in America during the last stages of the Industrial Revolution.  They became entrepreneurs, building stoves and ovens and figuring out how to use their metal-working skills in new ways. They made enough money to travel to Cuba, where they stayed for a time, and returned briefly to France to settle the affairs of their newly-deceased father before returning to the United States. In 1860, François married Catherine Grady, a young Irish seamstress who had sailed to America with her own sister some years earlier. The couple lived in Shreveport for a time before moving to New Orleans and later, it was said, to Niagara Falls before heading to Orizaba to make their mark on the flourishing railroad enterprise being promoted between Veracruz and Mexico City.

The Niagara Falls connection
And here is where the mystery of Francisco’s birth begins.

Family legend has it that my great-grandfather, Francisco Perrotin, was born in Niagara Falls, but no one can say for sure. His sister, Maria Dolores, was born on 15 September 1866, in Orizaba, Mexico. If indeed he was born in Niagara Falls, it could have been between 1865 and as late as March 1866, though the later he was born in this period, the more likely it would have been in Orizaba. Maria Dolores could have been born prematurely; hence, it would be possible that Francisco could be born in the same year as his sister and their mother become pregnant right afterwards. If he was born in Orizaba, it probably would have been after the first part of 1867.


Of the five vital records that mention Francisco, four place his birth sometime between 1 April 1865 and 31 May 1867. Only one, his death record, is way out of range. This would be understandable, as the informant, Porfirio Amaro (Francisco’s brother-in-law), would be more likely to have estimated his age.


1.  Marriage between Francisco Perrotin and Maria Amaro
     Date:  3 March 1889
     Age noted on record:    22
     Possible Birthdate Parameters:
     From March 4, 1867 on


2.  Birth Record of Francisco Perrotin, Jr (Francisco's son)
     Date:   31 March 1890
     Age noted on record:   24 
     Possible Birthdate Parameters: 
     Between March 4 and 31, 1867


3.  Death Record of Francois Perrotin
     Date:  26 May 1891
     Age noted on record:   24
     Possible Birthdate Parameters:
     Between 27 May 1866 and 26 May 1867


4.  Birth Record of Catalina Perrotin
     Date:  31 May 1893
     Age noted on record:  26
     Possible Birthdate Parameters: 
     Between March 4 and 31, 1867


5.  Death Record of Francisco Perrotin
     Date:  11 November 1899
     Age noted on record:  29
     Possible Birthdate Parameters: 
     Between 13 November 1869 and 12 November 1870


As the informant for his father, Francois’ death record, Francisco should be a credible source.  However, his age does not line up with the other records. I think it is possible that with all the grief he was going through and all the affairs he had to handle, he forgot that he had just turned 25 and stated erroneously that he was 24.


By removing Francois’ and Francisco’s death records, we narrow down the birthdate parameters and can conclude that Francisco probably was conceived almost immediately after his sister’s birth and would have been born prematurely in Orizaba, between March 4 and 31, 1867.   It also would mean that he was not 29 years old but 32 when he died of the horrendous Yellow Fever, or “Black Vomit” as it was then called, on November 12, 1899.


As for Niagara Falls, could a third child have been born there – perhaps before Maria Dolores and Francisco? Perhaps it was a boy – also named after his father but more likely “Frank” or “Francois.” This would seem plausible. Part of the legend surrounding my great-grandfather was that he was named “Frank” Perrotin. Could there have been a Frank Perrotin who died young, say, before Francisco was born in 1867? This, too, would be reasonable, as Francois and Catherine had some six years from the time of their marriage in 1860 to the time of Maria Dolores’ birth in 1866, to conceive other children during that time, though these conceptions could have resulted in miscarriages, stillborns, or childhood deaths. It still makes sense to think that Catherine and Francois left Louisiana shortly after their marriage, as it would not have been a desirable place to raise a family on the eve of the Civil War. Niagara Falls, by contrast, was home to a number of Frenchmen, refugees from the politics down south.


Though they may have stayed there for a few years and would been closer to Francois’ brother Paul and his own family (who lived in New Jersey at the time?), I think it became apparent at some point that Niagara Falls was not where Francois and Catherine wanted to spend the rest of their lives.


A new venture
Shortly after arriving in Orizaba, Catherine gave birth to two children within a short period of time. María Dolores was born on September 15, 1866, and (following the theory mentioned above) Francisco followed a scant six months later – a surprise if ever there was one. Though premature, the child was buoyed by the high tropical climate, where the air was pure and everything flourished, and he grew into a strong young man who followed in his father’s footsteps as an engine mechanic.  

Thanks to Francois' keen instinct for opportunity, the family was financially comfortable and well-travelled.  Maria Dolores married a British train driver, Timothy Bennett, at a celebrated wedding at the Orizaba train station in 1885, and Francisco married Maria Amaro in 1889.  He was 22; Maria was 18.  The couple welcomed their first-born son, Felix Francisco “Pancho”, a year later. Four other children followed: Juan, Catalina (my grandmother, or Abuelita, who was named for her own Irish grandmother, Catherine), Hugo Ramiro, and Blanca Luz.


The young family lived in a house on the "with the letter 'I' on the second street of San Cristobal" in Orizaba. Francisco and Maria (who presumably was multilingual like her husband) spoke Spanish, French, and English at home, and their children grew up speaking all three languages fluently and gliding easily from one to another, much as their parents had done before them.


François died of meningitis in 1891 at his home on the station property. A year later, Francisco and María’s infant son, Juan died of the same disease while still in his infancy. Shortly afterward, María Dolores and Timothy left for England with their own two young children. The grief of losing her father, coupled with the fear that the dreaded meningitis might affect her own babies, must have shaped María Dolores’ decision to embark on such a major change, although it is also probable that Timothy was ready to return home to his own family and origins.



Catherine, also grieving for her beloved François and missing her daughter, eventually decided to join her and her son-in-law in England. Though she hated to leave her son and grandchildren, Pancho and Catalina, she told herself that Francisco was going to be all right with his young and growing family, while Dolores, in a new land, needed her more. She left for England in 1895.  As she bade Francisco farewell, she may have wondered whether she would live long enough to see him and his family again.  Little did she know that she would outlive her son by two years.   


When Francisco died in 1899, Pancho was 9; Catalina was 6; Hugo was 4; and Blanca Luz (later called Blanca) was a month shy of her first birthday. Juan had died seven years before of meningitis.  

Of the five children, Juan was the shortest-lived, succumbing at the age of nine months, while Catalina (pictured below, left) would live the longest, dying in 1998 at the age of 105.

Pancho grew up to become a mechanic in the new family tradition. He married a woman named Ester, and they had two daughters, Catalina and Celia. He died in 1921 or 1922, probably in Veracruz state. My father, Gilbert Huesca, recalled that his Uncle Pancho had very Irish looks - a stocky build, red hair and fair skin. He also remembered that his Uncle owned a most unusual cast iron stove, untypical of the stoves in Orizaba at the time. Did Pancho build it? Or did his grandfather, Francois, the poelier?

Hugo became the family correspondent with his grandmother Catherine, his Aunt Dolores Bennett and his cousins overseas. When his letters stopped suddenly following a major earthquake in Mexico, the Bennett family assumed that he and all the rest of the Perrotin family in Mexico had been killed in the earthquake. (Contact between the two branches of the family resumed a century later, when Don and Jennie Murray of Highnam, England, contacted me and began correspondence, in June 2006.) Other than this, I do not know whether Hugo ever married or at what ever became of him.

The three Perrotin women had wavy dark brown hair and lively brown eyes, and they possessed an inner strength that was as appealing as their beauty. Blanca Perrotin was about 5’6”, slender, regal, proud, strong-willed, and beautiful. As a young woman, she was the image of her grandmother, Catherine, and perhaps because of this, she felt extremely close to her all her life, though Catherine had left Orizaba three years before Blanca was born. She was married briefly, but when she found out that her husband had a temper and was known to sleep with a dagger strapped to his calf, she either separated from or divorced him immediately and resolved never to marry again. Perhaps because of this and because she never had the family she had wanted, she became rather bitter. Her stern personality was quite a contrast to her sister Catalina’s, who was a happy person and surrounded by a loving husband and 11 children.

Still, Blanca (shown at right), Catalina, and their mother, Maria (Amaro) Perrotin, were very close. Aunt Blanca and her mother lived together all their lives, always next door or very near Catalina, first in Orizaba , Veracruz , and later in Mexico City. Aunt Blanca was the leading authority on the Perrotin family. When I was 9 years old, our family moved from Chicago to Mexico City. My great-aunt Blanca, my Abuelita (grandmother) Catalina, and my mother became fast friends, perhaps because of their shared Irish heritage, and they spent hours poring over family pictures and sharing family stories. Although she did not need to work, Aunt Blanca was an industrious woman and worked with her nephews (my paternal uncles) in their embroidery businesses. She died in about 1980 or so, roughly at about 88 years of age.

María Amaro Perrotin, Francisco’s widow (shown above), would live to age 98. A beautiful and attractive woman, she would marry again, twice in fact, after Francisco’s death, to foreigners; both of whom died of natural causes. She ran a bakery or café in Orizaba, helped by her daughters.  It was there that Catalina met the young Cayetano Huesca, who she would soon marry.

_____________
1  Dr. L.O. Howard, chief of the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Office of Entomology, reporting on the pattern of the initial outbreak of yellow fever in Orizaba during 1899, Transactions of the Second International Sanitary Convention of the American Republics, The Willard Hotel, Washington, D.C., October 9 – 14, 1905
 
2  Dr. Narciso del Río, one of Mexico’s top experts on yellow fever and a member of the Consejo Superior de Salubridad Pública.  Public Health and Reports, Volume 28, by the American Public Health Association, 1903


Post Script:  Revenge

My husband and I have been sick since last week with nasty colds - it is very damp here in California right now - and we’ve spent a considerable amount of time resting and reading. Last Saturday, I read up on yellow fever (not the best topic to tackle when you’re sick, by the way) and learned a considerable amount about Stegomyia fasciata, the species of mosquito that became infected and went on to spread the disease throughout coastal Mexico and beyond. It must have really made an impression on me, because when I went to bed that night, I had vivid dreams about mosquitoes and yellow fever.


Sometime during the middle of the night, our eldest son tapped on our door to ask where the bug spray was. It seemed that there was what he called a "gi-normous bug” flying around outside our bedroom, on the upstairs landing. Our son tapped again on our door a few minutes later and said he couldn't find the bug spray and was going to leave the bug there.


Now, normally one of us (not me, mind you) would have gotten up at that point to take care of the dreaded intruder, but my husband and I were too sick and too out of it to budge. Still, I knew what was out there and spent the rest of the night in restless sleep, terrified of being bitten by that horrible mosquito and getting West Nile Virus or some other blood-borne disease. Funny how one's mind can take off like that! When I awoke in the morning, I rolled up a nearby magazine, gingerly opened the door, and held my breath as I looked about the landing. There it was, just above the bathroom door.


"Damn you!" I yelled at him as I swatted it violently. I startled myself with my own reaction and then realized I had killed it not just for myself but for Francisco and the family he left behind. Looking at its flat, lifeless form on the magazine, it seemed ironic to think that such a small insect could have inflicted so much misery.


I went back to bed and slept quite well.




Did you know Francisco or Maria (Amaro) Perrotin or their children, or are you a member of the Perrotin, O'Grady, Amaro, or Huesca families?  If so, share your memories and comments below.

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