Mother's Day -Addolorata to the Rescue

As Mother’s Day approaches, I always think that the term “mother” can often encompass the whole spectrum of older, significant women in a person's life, women who nurtured you in some way growing up.

Addolorata and her seven daughters circa 1955

At the beginning of my life in the Di Camillo family, I had no shortage of significant women besides my birth-mother. In fact, I had an abundance of them! I had my mother's three sisters-- my maternal grandmother, seven aunts on my father’s side, and my grandmother Addolorata Inanotti Di Camillo, a woman absolutely essential to her family and the founding of our family bakery.

Addolorata Di Camillo Circa 1950

She was a huge presence to our family and this essay is dedicated to her memory.

My grandfather was quoted saying about my grandmother (as told to me by my mother) "God Bless her: she is stronger than me." Having given birth to twelve children (she always counted her two miscarriages in her prayers) and outliving him by a quarter of a century, he was quite accurate.

Tomasso Di Camillo

It is curious but I don’t remember her ever speaking to me in English and although I have virtually no knowledge of Italian, I have to this day a strong sense of her. In my memory she was physically a big woman, not obese but certainly not tiny or skinny with large hands and feet. In my memories she was always wearing an apron, preparing some food or sitting majestically at the head of her dining room table, very much the Di Camillo matriarch.

 

Addolorata dressing the pig for Thanksgiving dinner. circa 1959

 

Understandably, food was an important element in our family life, and she was the ultimate authority on that subject. You never sat down at her table for lunch or dinner, in summer, or winter without soup-- to start.

Addolorata was not just a “housewife” but a businesswoman as well. When my grandfather started the bakery, he was completely consumed with the tasks before him as he was delivering bread around the city. The store at street level in their building was empty and my grandmother told him that she wanted to open a grocery store. It is recorded that he told her she would be on her own as he had no time to spare. My grandmother and her daughters took the reins. Neither my father, uncles, or grandfather ever worked in the store-- just Addolorata and her daughters!  It was truly her domain and consistently profitable!

She was a woman with deep spiritual devotion combined with a real love of hosting meals for her family and anyone else who entered her home.

Addolorata and grandchildren 1955

I especially remember her bedroom which was virtually a religious shrine: Spiritual artwork from ceiling to floor.  I particularly remember a haunting statue of Saint Mother Cabrini sitting on a niche surrounded by a colossal rosary.

"La Societa" Officers: Josephine Iaciofano (secretary), Addolorata Di Camillo/ (treasurer), Jennie Catone (founder), Lina Catone, Antonia La Morticella (secretary) 1950

Her religious devotion went beyond just her byzantine style, religious bedroom decor and included religious social organizations, notably “Società dello Anime Sante del Purgatorio" (“the society for the blessed souls in purgatory”) affectionately referred to in the family as simply, "La Societa". A name so macabre it would have been hard to forget even if two of my aunts had not picked up the necklace after my grandmother had died and joined it themselves. The women in this society had something of a uniform and would meet once a month for Mass followed by breakfast. At all official meetings they would all wear a black and white ribbon necklace with a religious pendant hanging from it. 

Addolorata's Neckless from "La Societa"

 

When a member in “La Societa” died they would show up en masse at the wake and in uniform. Another religious social gathering my grandmother created was her summer pilgrimage to Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré Basilica-Shrine in Quebec City.

Addolorata third from left, Angelica Di Camillo back row 2nd from left 1966

I recall the large, chartered bus parked in front of their grocery store with men and women of my grandmother’s generation on the street waiting to board with a celebratory atmosphere prevailing. My grandmother was beaming and my aunt Angelica, the disciplinarian for the expedition that lasted several days, herding the masses onto the bus.  I have further proof that it was not just prayers and no fun: One year my mother went--probably eager to just get away from my father and her boys, for which I can’t blame her. Upon her return she regaled us about the fascinating evening entertainment that they attended in Montreal-- a drag performance!

St Anne Pilgrimage Addolorata next to the priest circa 1947

What I know of my grandmother’s history is recounted in a remembrance essay written by her first born, my aunt Sister Mary, who herself left home at sixteen with a papal dispensation to join the convent of the Salesian Sisters of Saint John Bosco. In my aunt’s essay she recounts her then-sixteen-year-old mother's 1902 solitary ocean journey coming to America to marry my grandfather. It was a trip so very unpleasant that she would never get on a boat again.

Sister Mary Di Camillo 1935

I have, in addition, two other written stream of conscience remembrances: one by her second born Assunta (Sue) DiCamillo-Waite and another by her son Nick.

Sue Di Camillo in front of their business and home. circa 1922.

Also, along with these written accounts, I was a good listener to the stories told to me by my mother and a surrogate mother-older-sister, my aunt Theresa, a treasure-house of family stories.

Theresa Di Camillo Hargrave circa 1996

 

Really though, all my father’s family had a sense of legend about their family's American adventure.

The Di Camillo Family at Home circa 1934

 

What I have been able to put together from my sources is that Addolorata was born in 1886 in Ari, Italy, an only child.  Her father died when she was a young girl, and her mother remarried. This new family then moved from their home in Ari in the Abruzzo region of Italy to the village of Villamagna, also in the Abruzzo. She went to school and basically grew up there. Villamagna was very much the longstanding home of the Di Camillos and this is where she met my grandfather, eight years her senior.

 

Villamagana Abbruzzo, Italy

 

This always seemed a bit mysterious as the math would make her only eleven years old when my grandfather left Italy for America in 1897. It was a different time so I suppose marriages were arranged early and not left up to chance, if it could be avoided. My aunts and uncles always steadfastly maintained that their parents were childhood sweethearts, which is perhaps true.  What I do know for certain, however they met, is that it was a fruitful marriage, and an exceptionally happy home that they created together, and both of them were revered by their children.

Addolorata and Tomasso shortly after their marriage 1902

Addolorata's bond with her mother was close so it made this transatlantic marriage-to-be a heart-breaking event, but it was indeed a chance for a better life. My take on both of their situations was that neither my grandmother nor grandfather were destitute. I never heard stories of hunger or outrageous poverty as I did from my mother’s mother. One would only need to see my grandmother’s wedding trousseau's outrageously elaborate bed linens (still in our family collection) to know hunger wasn’t staring them in the face. 

In my one aunt’s notes she elaborates on her mother’s final departure from Italy with a touching and dramatic scene. The year was1902 and she was accompanied to Naples by her mother to board the ship to New York City, and both were fairly certain they would never see each other again. As my aunt recorded this moment, Addolorata's mother made her kneel in front of her on the dock, before boarding the boat in Naples, put her cloak around her and blessed her. It was, indeed, the last time they were together in this life.

 

Every family has a story that is told in confidential tones, after the kids leave the table, and every Italian-American family who had a business during prohibition, has a story or two about the various protection rackets and mob pressure they had to deal with. This is one of those stories for our family. 

I never heard about it until I was in my twenties and really never got it straight from my father who was certainly old enough to remember it well.  I understand his reluctance in telling me, as I imagine he thought I would be imprudent in the retelling (and as a father, he probably wasn’t wrong). I’m sure his concern was that any association with these gangsters would immediately be viewed as a willing connection on our part - “guilt by association".

   This story first came my way from my aunt Theresa one afternoon during our many years in the same office. I was immediately interested by this hitherto unknown event in our family history. Theresa was the family archivist and had a real passion for record- and book-keeping and her family in general. She was an extraordinary woman in many ways (see our previous blog "Sing Out Theresa").

 

 

Theresa could tell a very good story, and retention of interesting details was her specialty. Not long after Theresa dropped this bomb on me (pun intended) I became further aware of these events when my brother David showed me, from a trove of family memorabilia, a yellowing envelope with a fragile brown newspaper articles from 1925 and 1931, a big black headline worthy of the tabloid press fell out “VANDALS RUIN BAKERY", another front page story dated December 20, 1925 “NIAGARA FALLS BAKERY BOMBED”  With these official newspaper accounts spilled out before me of both events it was rapidly becoming “real” history and not just family lore. The final jackpot for me was finding my Uncle Nick’s own diary which had a lengthy account of the preamble and conclusion to this violent episode in our family’s history.

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Nick Di Camillo Circa 1943

He shed some invaluable first-person knowledge on this event, since he had been a teenager at the time this all occurred. He was privy to not only the public knowledge of the events but “the why’s and wherefores” that predate the following incidents.

From my uncle’s account, augmented by the exact dates as recorded in the newspaper articles, this is what I have been able to put together.

Niagara Falls circa 1902

 

To set the time and place for this story it is 1925 in Niagara Falls, New York. It was a place celebrated for their iconic waterfalls, “The Honeymoon Capital” and then their groundbreaking hydroelectric plant. The country was five years into prohibition, and by most reports, not liking it much. As a result of the 28-year-old Adams hydroelectric plant, industry had exploded in the area and European immigrants (hardly fans of temperance) had swelled the population. 

Opening Ceremony of the Adams Hydroelectric plant circa 1897

 

However, across the bridge from Niagara Falls, New York, in Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada they had just ended their prohibition. In short, a perfect storm was brewing of smuggling liquor, easy money, greed, and violence. Sadly, this all resulted in many illegal smuggling rings and crime syndicates which had extended their reach to many other areas of the community.

 Into this setting my grandfather and grandmother arrived in this community in 1898 and 1902 respectively, immigrants from the Abruzzo region in Italy. They were married here at St. Mary’s of the Cataract Church, and began a family, which would eventually evolve into 12 children (only 11 would survive childhood). This sad loss is recorded in another blog post “Under the Cover of Night”.

 1920 was an important year for my grandparents, besides setting up their bakery business, their eldest daughter had left home and entered the convent, their son Anthony died in infancy and there were dramatic circumstances surrounding his burial. This event is covered in a previous blog “Under the Cover of Night”. Also in 1920, the Volstead act took effect on Jan 17, 1920, prohibition was now the law of the land.  Niagara Falls was already being celebrated around the world for their waterfalls, but now with prohibition and their proximity to Canadian whiskey it became a gateway to an illegal liquor supply as well.

As the reality of prohibition settled on the country, nearly immediately smuggling operations began and protection rackets were an outgrowth. It was routine for them to demand a payment from small business in the community-- in effect you were paying them to not hassle you. Noncompliance was cautioned by threats of violence. These “protectors” did have a policing aspect and supposedly kept rogue criminals off your doorstep, set prices, and kept a level of order that met their criteria. The long and short of the situation was my grandfather, with twelve mouths to feed, fell into line and made payments. He apparently didn’t share this with his family, as a deeply religious man I would imagine he was ashamed to be having even this victim association. The protection money payment “il pizzo” was collected in person by representative. The representative that collected from my grandfather was known by his moniker of “Don Dedo”. According to my uncles Nick’s written account, Don Dedo showed up one day to collect. On this day my grandfather was not in the store, but his eldest son Thomas, Jr. was- a strapping youth-- and apparently fearless.

  

Thomas Di Camillo Jr. circa 1925

When my uncle learned what Don Dedo was looking for, he threw him out of the store, refusing to pay. I’m not sure if my uncle physically persuaded him to leave but threats were made by Don Dedo on his exit. I’m not certain what my grandfather’s response was immediately after he found out. He certainly couldn’t have been happy, feeling I’m sure that his family and business were at risk. 

 It would seem you only said no once, no second chances to change your mind. I also posit that for my grandfather, a family position had been made, imprudent though it be, it was honorable. Who knows? Maybe they thought they could stare them down, or that Don Dedo words were merely empty threats.

However, this was not to the case. It’s not clear the length of time that evolved from the Don Dedo event, to what then happened next, but the newspaper reports absolutely confirm the date and time of the violent and destructive attack: Sunday morning December 20, 1925. In reading the newspaper accounts there is no mention of the protection payments or threats, but there is a mention of a “bread-price war”. Understandable they were silent and not about to start naming names.

 

Sue Di Camillo in front of their store. The iron gate led to cellar bakery. Circa 1925

 

It should be remembered that the bakery was in the cellar, their bakery grocery store at street level and the family lived in the sprawling second floor flat and the third floor had two rented apartments. When my grandmother awoke on Sunday morning December 21,1925 to go to early mass before the family awoke, having descended the twenty steps down from their apartment and found the bakery windows blown out and debris everywhere, the situation took on a life-and-death aspect. My aunt Theresa added to this event some details so bizarre and in keeping with what I know of them they couldn’t have been invented. Still an infant on this fateful night she was still being breastfed, according to her mother she was so aggressive in feeding: “Come un piccolo animale” like a small animal. This I gather was viewed in retrospect, by my grandmother, as a warning of what was to happen.

Addolorata and Theresa in front of their store Circa 1925

 

Then my aunt added yet more detail so incredible, but so in keeping with my father’s family’s capacity to sleep soundly.  Apparently, my grandmother heard something in the middle of the night, woke my grandfather, he told her it was nothing, go back to sleep! True it was a brick building of particular sturdiness, and I think the brick ovens may have even been part of the original construction. The night intruders had placed explosives over the ovens which contained the explosion somewhat. Still, I can’t help but smile thinking that nearly the entire family slept through an explosion that blew out all the windows in the bakery, two floors below their beds, and this fact is noted in the newspaper article at the time. There is a reference in the newspaper accounts of a price war.    

What followed immediately after is unknown to me, but I imagine their family life and bakery business resumed with caution. What prompted the second attack in 1931 as reported in the police investigation which appeared in the newspapers was a “bread-price war”. Unlike the first attack which took place on a Saturday night (the only night there was no production). This second attack took place on Thursday, May 15, 1931 a full-production night. As reported in the newspapers armed men entered the cellar bakery, then tied the bakers up and threatened them at gunpoint--and then poured gasoline over the flour which suspended production.

It is at this point that my grandmother Addolorata enters the story and more or less took the reins. 

Addolorata in front of the store circa 1925

Family history has it she had enough, put on her good hat and went to see a member of her religious group "La Societa" whose husband was a man of influence in the community explaining the situation and asked for the attacks to stop. 

She was effective in her mission, all attacks stopped, and they never paid for protection again. This closed the chapter on the reign of terror over our family and bakery with the protection rackets and further enshrined Addolorata's legacy in our family’s journey.

 

 

 

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