Here is a funny story from my book, "27 Cottage Place".  Please enjoy it and Merry Christmas to all.

Pop Stearns and the 25 Cent Geometry Problem

Pop Stearns was one of my favorite teachers at Sleepy Hollow High School. I had him for Geometry in my sophomore year and he doubled as the junior varsity football coach. I remember, with almost absurd clarity, the time I had the audacity to tell Pop  Stearns he was wrong, in front of his geometry class, challenging him in his very own bastion.

Pop Stearns

He was solving one of our many geometry problems on the blackboard. I noticed something wrong so I raised my hand to brashly announce that he had made a mistake. (I would have never done it, but I was quite sure that I was right.) He argued with me that he was not wrong. I argued back that he was wrong; trying to point out his error..

After a few more argumentative exchanges, he said he would bet me a quarter that he was right and I would not be able to prove him wrong. I accepted the challenge. I stepped up to the blackboard and solved the problem for him, showing clearly his misstep.

I will never forget the combination look of surprise and chagrin on his face as he reluctantly accepted his defeat, reached into his pocket and pulled out a little leather change purse. He slowly opened the purse and reached in with two fingers to find a quarter. He dropped the quarter into my hand and went on to the next problem. I always wondered if he had made that mistake on purpose just to see if anyone was “watching”. I guess I'll never know.

While I was delighted to have won the bet, I suspect that he got his revenge many times over on the football field. You see, being the JV football coach, Pop was in charge of how many laps we had to run and how many push ups we had to execute.

There are many more stories in the book.  You may purchase a copy at Amazon.com.

Mary Meyers' Junk Shop

As a young boy, my world extended out as far as Wildey Street. That put Mr. Logan's dairy shop and the Grand Union Supermarket in my reach. I remember reveling at my math skills one day when Mom entrusted me with a whole dollar to fetch a loaf of bread at the supermarket. My ability to divide told me that I could come home with nine loaves and a penny in change. So I proudly brought Mom nine loaves of bread. I guess I never understood why I had to bring 9 of them back.  My reach also extended to one of the more fascinating stores in the town.

At the bottom of Wildey Street was Mary Meyers' Junk Shop. Mary had an absolutely limitless array of antiques and other junk which included a huge stack of used comic books. My friends and I used to love to go in and peruse them. I couldn't tell you which ones I enjoyed the most, but I loved reading those old comic books.

Now, Mom would often cast things into the trash that I could take to Mary, and barter for comic books. Whenever I found something that I thought might interest Mary, I would enter her store and see if I could strike up a bargain. To Mary, I was a frequent shopper.

Cottage Street Buddies, Barbella and Kepler

One fine afternoon, my virtual brother, Richard Kepler and I were exploring the basement at 27 Cottage Place. I've already mentioned that each family in the house had a little storage area in the basement and I noticed an old rocking chair in our storage area. It had been there for a really long time. What the heck! If it's down here that long, Mom couldn't possibly want it, could she?

So Richard and I dragged the chair up the stairs, and somehow got out of the house undetected. We carried the chair down to Mary Meyer's Junk Shop. Mary couldn't believe her eyes. She made me swear on a stack of bibles,which I did, that Mom no longer wanted this chair. We haggled over the price, as well as kids could haggle, and Richard and I walked out of the shop with a huge stack of comic books. This must have been a really good rocking chair.

A few days later, Mom, as mothers often do, found out. She happened to be walking down Wildey Street, and on passing Mary Meyer's Junk shop noticed the rocking chair in the window. She decided that she would love to have a second one to complement the one she was keeping in storage. She was in a re-furnishing mood so she inquired in the shop. I guess Mom was not really surprised when Mary told her how she had come upon the “matching” chair.

This, of course, ended badly for Richard and I (mostly I).  The rest of the story is in the book, 27 Cottage place, available from Amazon.com.

The Old Gory Brook Road (mis)Adventure

This is a continuing series of stories about growing up in the magical village of Tarrytown, New York during the mid 20th century, and my life at 27 Cottage Place.

Previous posts have covered a variety of Tarrytown topics as well as a genealogical trip to Italy to search for our Italian ancestors who settled in Tarrytown.  This blog features one of the stories in my "Top 20" list of stupidest things ever done.

Oh, the things we do to impress our women folk.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, there were two young men, Eugene Bernald, and Peter Barbella.  They were pretty good friends then, and, truth be known, still are today.  Back then, they both had a small crush on one Rosemary Brana, one of  Tarrytown's most attractive young girls.

Now the reason Bernald had the crush was that Rosemary's father had a very successful business, Green County, and had lots of money.  That's something that attracted Gene.

The reason Barbella had the crush was that Rosemary's father made the best Pepper and Egg sandwich on the planet.  Surely that skill had been passed down to his daughter.  That's something that attracted Peter.

One cold winter day they schemed up a plan that would be sure to impress the young lady.  They were going to show her what adventurous men they were and how skilled they were at handling a state-of-the-art automobile.

It seems that Gene's father had, somehow, acquired a four wheel drive vehicle.  Certainly not the first of its kind, but a rare beast for those days, nonetheless.  Gene's Dad was going to try to sell it for a friend but he made the unwise decision of letting Gene drive it. The first thing Gene did was to unhook the speedometer cable.  The first mistake Gene made was to let Barbella drive it.

In any event, here they are, tooling around town in this fancy machine.  They decided that they were going to impress MS Brana using this vehicle.  They were going to drive it down Old Gory Brook Road.  

Now at the time, Old Gory Brook Road was a dirt path which ran from somewhere in Briarcliff to Bedford road in North Tarrytown. The road came out right around Rosemary's house.

It had been a very cold winter and the road was under two to three feet of snow.  The adventurers were going to drive the car down the road, come out at Rosemary's house, beep the horn, and let her know how magnificent and skillful they were to drive a vehicle on the unplowed road.  This achievement was going to move us far up on her esteemed list of great guys in town.

The plan began wonderfully.  They boys got the car to Briarcliff and found the entrance to the dirt road.  They put the car into four wheel drive and began, driving cautiously and slowly.  Bernald certainly did not want to bring a wrecked car home to his father.

Everything was going great.  They were about half way to Rosemary's house when they began to descend a steep section.  At the bottom of the hill the driver stalled the car.  Now, who was the driver?  This was a contentious point in a recent discussion. Bernald blames Barbella, and, of course, Barbella blames Bernald. The reader must decide for himself  but it should be known that at age 70, Barbella still has all his marbles and Bernald is in the early stages of Dementia.

In any event, all four wheels got stuck at the same time.  They could progress no further.  No problem!  The boys were industrious and had packed shovels and sand into the back of the vehicle.  They were prepared.

But alas, no amount of shoveling or sanding seemed to help them out of their precarious situation.  The car would not proceed.

A decision had to be made.  Bernald set out on foot to find a tow truck.  Otherwise his father was going to kill him.  Barbella stayed behind with the car.  He didn't want to be seen walking past the Brana residence with his tail between his legs.

After a half hour or so, Barbella tried to move the car again. Somehow he got it rocking back and forth and managed to free the car.  He got it moving up the hill and with great elation began finishing the journey on his own.  Oh how stupendous would be the accolades he would receive for saving the day.  

Sadly, the car stalled once more, on a flat section of the road,no less, just tenths of a mile from the goal, and this time, the battery decided that it was out of electrons.  Barbella's ego deflation could be heard as a hissing sound for miles around.  Now there was nothing to do but wait for Bernald to arrive with the tow truck driver.

To this day Bernald and Barbella wonder if Rosemary was looking out her window as they went by, hooked to the tow truck.  They wondered if she could see the two cold and wet idiots trying to hide their faces.  To this day Bernald and Barbella wonder how it is that they survived the staggering stupidity of their youth.

By the way, the names in this story are fictitious, to protect the innocent.

Luberger's Distributing Company

This is a continuing series of stories about growing up in the magical village of Tarrytown, New York during the mid 20th century, and my life at 27 Cottage Place.

Previous posts have covered a variety of Tarrytown topics as well as a genealogical trip to Italy to search for our Italian ancestors who settled in Tarrytown.  This blog features my gig at the bars.

In 1963 I began working for Luberger's Distributing Company in North Tarrytown, near the top of Beekman Avenue.  Luberger's was the distributor of Ballantine beer and ale and soft drinks to the stores and restaurants in the area.  His warehouse is pictured on the right side of the illustration.  That large door is where his trucks entered and exited.

Luberger's warehouse on right

I got this job through my cousin, the late Tony Veteran who happened to be my football coach at the time (Alexander Hamilton in Elmsford).  He was sure this was going to be beneficial to my strength training for his team.  That didn't work out so good; another story, but this was my first "good" job.  It payed far more than bagging groceries at the Grand Union in Elmsford.

I learned many things on this job, from Truck driving to tapping kegs.  Let me tell you, tapping a keg can be quite exciting if your hand slips and the tap, under pressure, goes whizzing by your head like a javelin.

The day would start with an early reporting time to get our daily marching orders.  I worked as a helper with a driver.  His name was Jimmy.  Jimmy liked to have a drink or two, and this was, perhaps a job that satisfied his need. 

Old Mr. Luberger would give us a loading sheet in the morning.  It would contain the names of all the stores and bars and restaurants we would service that day, and what their orders were.  We then would go through the warehouse and stack our orders in a logical manner which allowed us easy access as we progressed through our list of stores (first in, last out).

When we would get to a bar, we would usually drop two or three kegs down into their basements.  Do you remember the old steel doors in the sidewalks in front of the bars?  They were direct drops to the basement; no stairs.  At the bottom there were heavy duty mats which absorbed the drop.  One of us would be at the sidewalk level and one of us would be in the basement.  Once the keg was dropped into the hole, the guy in the basement had to minimize the crash and prevent the keg from careening out of control into the basement.  This was not easy work and it was no picnic because most of the basements were pretty dirty and dinghy.  

In stores we would wheel in cases of beer or soda, whatever was ordered.  In restaurants we often wheeled beverages and kegs through the cooking area.  Hopefully the sanitation inspectors do a better job today than back then.

At the taverns, Jimmy would settle the paperwork at the bar.  The bartender would always offer me and Jimmy a shot and a beer.  Jimmy rarely refused.  I didn't like alcohol then, and, except for wine, that holds true today.  I would, however, never fail to get a glass of a special drink that we sold.  It was called birch beer.  It came in a keg like regular beer, but it was a root beer, made somewhere in New Jersey, I believe.  It was better than any soft drink I have ever had and I wish I could find it today.

One day, Jimmy's drinking got him in trouble and he lost his license.  That's when I began driving the truck.  Oh how "manly" that made me feel.  I thought I was "hot stuff" backing that big truck into the warehouse at the end of the day.  However it was my undoing.  I went to old Mr. Lubergerger and suggested that, since I'm now a driver, I should get driver's wages.  We did not see eye to eye on this so I quit.  I'm sure that angered coach Veteran but I wasn't thinking about that at the time.  I did however recover very nicely by getting a better position at Fisher Body.

I'll bet that the old building is still there.  I don't know what is in it now, and maybe someone can comment on that.  My work experience there had, at least, a small part in shaping my character, as did most of my Tarrytown adventures.  Hard to forget my roots.

How did I stay out of Jail

This is a continuing series of stories about growing up in the magical village of Tarrytown, New York during the mid 20th century, and my life at 27 Cottage Place.

Previous posts have covered a variety of Tarrytown topics as well as a genealogical trip to Italy to search for our Italian ancestors who settled in Tarrytown.  This blog features staggering youthful stupidity.

There are a number of incidents that occurred in my life for which I should have been imprisoned.  Most of those came out of my "middle school" years.  As fate would have it, I managed to avoid that penalty and stay out of the "hoosegow".

One of those incidents was brought back to my attention by a recent Facebook posting featuring a photo of the building on the northwest corner of Washington Street and Main Street.  This building used to house a stationery store, Kugel's, which sold a variety of candies, magazines, cigarettes, and other novelties.

 
I was a frequent customer of this store.  It was on my route to school from Cottage Place during my Junior High School days at WI.  I used to regularly buy candy (lots of it) and, at that point I was probably already heavy into cigarette smoking.

I spent a lot of time looking over the goods in the store and Mr. Kugel had two things that connected in my devilish little Middle School brain.

One of the things was a fake firecracker.  That's right, fake.  It consisted of a red cardboard cylinder, three inches long and about an inch in diameter.  The cylinder was empty, but it came with a fuse, or a set of fuses.  You would insert the fuze into a small hole in the end of the tube and then you could lite it.  It would burn and sparkle and fizz like a real firecracker, and then you could throw it at your friends(?) or otherwise scare someone with it.  Of course, nothing happened when the fuse burned out.

Another thing that Mr. Kugel sold were cigarette bombs.  These were small splinter like things that you could slip into someone's cigarette.  When the cigarette burned to the splinter, it would explode and blow your cigarette up.  Oh, that must have been a barrel of laughs.  I don't recall ever seeing anyone suffer through this sick joke, but the combination of these two things gave me an idea.

I purchased several packs of the cigarette bombs and 1 fake firecracker.  Now I don't even have to tell you what I did, do I?  You can probably visualize me carefully prying the end off the fake firecracker and stuffing it as tightly as I could with the little cigarette bombs.  This was going to be good.

Just a few yards down Washington Street towards the school, there was an open parking lot and I took my invention there with one or two friends.  Just as we were attempting to light the fuse, a police car spotted us and pulled into the lot.  Oh boy!

As I was putting my cigarette lighter into my pocket the officer came over and asked, "What are you guys up to?"  Since I was the mastermind, the other kids kind of hid behind me and let me do the talking.  I said, "Oh sir, we're just playing with one of Mr. Kugel's fake firecrackers, see."  I held the device out in my hand and prayed that he would believe me and not ask to inspect the homemade "bomb".

At this point I must tell you how sure I am that God has a plan for me.  I'm sure because he always answers my prayers as he did this day.  The officer looked at my improvised bomb, chuckled a little under his breath and asked us to disperse and get to school.

We took his advice and ran on to school, throwing the unused bomb down some storm drain along the way.

It's amazing how these youthful indiscretions come back to haunt me so often.  How I avoided serious trouble in my youth is a subject which I will never understand.  Well, that's it.  I'm not proud, but, indeed, I did this stupid thing.

By the way; anyone who leaks this information to my grandchildren will get un bocci di Morte, Capisce?

The Bonanza Year

This is a continuing series of stories about growing up in the magical village of Tarrytown, New York during the mid 20th century, and my life at 27 Cottage Place.

Previous blogs covered a genealogical trip to Italy to search for our Italian ancestors who settled in Tarrytown.  This blog features the General Motors Chevrolet plant which used to be on the river.  The plant was within walking distance of 27 Cottage Place, and many days, I walked to work to make a ton of money during my college years.

I used to make good money working at the Fisher Body Division of the Chevrolet Plant down by the river.  My Dad was a foreman there and I was lucky enough to find summertime employment while I was home from college.  I worked night shifts mostly, but sometimes the midnight shift.

We used to get a premium for working the night shift.  It was more pay than I would have made working on the day shift.  I worked in the materials department unloading the freight cars which were hauled in and out of the plant on the railroad tracks along the loading dock.  We would unload floor pans, doors, instrument panels, and all the parts of the vehicles.  The most difficult freight car, believe it or not, was the freight car which contained the cushions for the automobile seats.  They came densely packed in brown paper containers and they were difficult because they were so large and unwieldy.  

On the midnight shift, there was an even larger premium to your wages.  Here, while the assembly line was quiet, we used to roam about the plant counting all the parts.  Knowing how many pieces of each auto part were in the plant was an important part of the factory planning, especially at the end of the model year.

Anyone remember the old Chevy L6

The work was hard and demanding, but the pay was fabulous.  Often, when working on the midnight shift, you could stay in the morning to fill in for absentees on the line.  That got us "time and a half".  I made gobs of money which I simply handed over to Dad to help with the college costs.  In turn, if I ever needed money for a date or anything else, Dad would give it to me.  Life was good, but it became even better in the "Bonanza Year".

I don't recall the year.  It was either 1964 or 1965.  I made enough money to cover my entire tuition.  It all began with a strike.

When automobiles came off the line, they were quickly loaded onto car carriers.  The Anchor Motors Freight Company would then haul them off to different dealers on the east coast.  This year, the Anchor Motors drivers went on strike.  It wasn't a few days later that the company's lots were full of unmoved cars.  They had to either find a place to store the 50 or so cars coming off the line every hour, or close the plant down.  

General Motors management made a snap decision.  They rented a huge dumping ground up north in Croton.  Management then arranged to drive all the cars coming off the line up to Croton.  They had to hire extra people to drive them there and park them on the dirt ground for storage for the duration of the strike.  

The strike went on for several weeks, and by the time I got out of school for the summer, rainstorms had rendered a staggering mess out of this temporary lot.  Cars were buried in mud.  Cars were not where they were supposed to be.  Cars had been tampered with.

When the Anchor Motors Company finally settled with their drivers, they were forced to hire an army of people who worked with the GM people to try to untangle this mess.

The result was that when I got off my midnight shift from the plant, I was able to work another 8 hours in the Croton mud field.  We used to board a bus in the morning and drive up.  Our job would be to locate specific vehicles and drive them to a makeshift loading ramp where they would be placed on car carriers.

The cars were either covered with mud, or sunk so deep, that it was a project to dig them out and get them going.  In at least one incident that I know of, a car was found missing its engine.  In another incident, a car actually fell off the loading ramp and was damaged.

To this day, I wonder about the dealers who received these cars, and even more, about the people who purchased them.  To this day, I can't believe the money I made.  I am certain that in that two months of summer work,   I made more money, in equivalent dollars, than I made when I retired from my engineering job.  It was a sad day when the plant closed its doors.

Life was really good in those days.  Can you imagine a youngster today, making an entire year's college tuition slinging burgers at McDonalds?  We were, indeed, fortunate to grow up in Tarrytown.  I count my blessings every day.  I hope you do to.

Pictures curtesy of "GM Tarrytown, an Autobiography" published in 1996

Finite!

Back to Rome,

One night in a "No Tell" hotel,

and Home Sweet Home

In this post we visit an old friend in Sulmona, and drive to the outskirts of Rome for our last evening in Italy. We get our Fiat safely back to the airport, fly home, and reflect on our wonderful adventure and great genealogical finds, summarized below.

Today we woke up with mixed feelings of nostalgia and anticipation. We have been away for a while and it will be good to return home, yet we have been on an incredible adventure and it will be sad to see it end. Brunetta and Bepe prepared another wonderful breakfast for us, and we sat for a while enjoying the beautiful view of the Adriatic. We bid farewell to our hosts and set off towards Rome, to visit with old friends.

Our Hosts at Rifugiomare, Brunetta and Bepe

We first met our old friends, Italian natives, Peter and Anna Ventresca in our small hometown of Littleton, Massachusetts, many years ago. Peter and I were co-workers in the same company. Peter retired to Italy, and settled into his home town.  We were delighted to have the opportunity to see him and Anna again. We made arrangements, by email, to visit them in their newly constructed home close to the village of Sulmona. Sulmona is about half way between Chieti and Rome so this was a convenient stop for us.

Castello di Ventresca

Peter had told us to set our GPS to Vallelarga, another small village. So we did. The ride across Italy was wonderful. There were many snow capped mountains in view and once we left the autostrada, the road seemed to blend into the countryside. We were approaching the village and I began to wonder how I would actually find Peter's home from wherever the GPS landed us. I didn't need to worry.  When the GPS said, “arriving at destination”, I stopped the car. I looked around at all the old homes searching for someone to ask for help, and then, on a corner not 100 yards away, there was Peter, standing in the sunshine waiting for us to arrive.

Peter led us to his home which is, to say the least, quite a magnificent palace. Peter showed us the grounds, including his handmade rock maps of Italy and Massachusetts. He showed us all the rooms inside. He showed us the outdoor kitchen that was being finished by several workers.

the outdoor kitchen

Then, Peter and Anna took us on a tour of the village of Sulmona. There we came to a very extensive open market. We saw an example of an original Roman aqueduct, and many other very old structures. Then we were treated to lunch at a very nice restaurant.

Open Market in Sulmona - aqueduct in background

We returned to their home and had a wonderful time catching up on news. Finally, we bid farewell to our friends who got in their car to lead us to the highway to Rome.

friends reunited in Sulmona

The ride to Rome became more and more hectic as we got nearer and nearer. Sophia (our GPS) let us down a few times, but we recovered and eventually found our way to the village of Frascati, to find our final B&B(?). This turned out to not be the best choice for our last evening. We picked Il Paradiso from a google map because it was outside the madhouse of Rome yet an easy shot to the airport in the morning.

Il Paradiso, Frascati Italy

What we didn't know was that at Il Paradiso the rooms were located directly over a pizzeria and pool hall. To put it nicely, this wasn't the best room we had on our trip, but the shower was spacious, and we managed to get a little sleep.

In the morning, we had our free continental breakfast and then completed the most harrowing drive of our trip; the ride to the airport. We successfully delivered the car to the Hertz lot, and then had about a three hour wait for our Alitalia jet back to Boston.

We collapsed into the chairs at the gate and nearly fell asleep as we reflected on where we had been and what we had accomplished.

I love it when a plan comes together

Avellino

• We met and received great help from an accomplished genealogist, Joe DeSimone.
• We met our facebook cousin Pelligrino Mascolo and had a wonderful dinner with his parents
• We saw two old family churches
• We collected several family records at the Avellino Archivio di Stato.

Morte in Avella

Sassano

• We found the Sassano cemetery
• We made friends while touring the old town built on a mountain
• We met with Don Otello and found a remarkable marriage certificate, in Latin
• We visited the Museum Del Cognome in Padula and met with Mormon genealogist Michele Carasciello
• We retrieved several records from the Ufficio di Anagrafe
• We met with Facebook cousin Oreste Barbella and his family

1734 Matrimony

Palo Del Colle

• We attended a festival and toured the city with, now lifelong friend, facebook cousin Vito Tricarico
• We saw the Palo del Colle cemetery
• We got a personal tour of Bitonto and Bari with Domenico Tricarico
• We met a real cousin, Angela Lattanzio
• We retrieved some useful records from the Trani Archivio di Stato

Meeting cousin Angela

Vasto

• We saw ancestral churches
• We saw ancestral streets
• We were shown Foglios di Famiglia by a wonderful clerk in the Vasto Ufficio di Anagrafe
• We found more records in the Chieti Archivio di Stato
• We learned how to make “Wine Cookies”

Foglio di Famiglia

Put all this together with making dozens of new friends, visiting old friends, and seeing so many wonderful sights and you might gain a sense of how satisfied we are.

We landed in Boston and went quickly through customs. There at the luggage carousel was our daughter, waiting to bring us “Home Sweet Home”. We were certainly glad to get home, however, I must admit that now, as I write these final words some two months after our trip, a piece of my heart is still in Italy and I'm not at all certain that it will ever return.

Footnote

We hope that this blog has inspired some of you.  We also want to make ourselves freely available to offer advice and encouragement to any of you that may have questions.  Our email is nonobar@gmail.com.  Thank you for reading.

Research in Vasto and Chieti

This is a continuing saga of our research trip to Southern Italy in search of ancestral data.  In this post, we get outstanding assistance from a town official in Vasto, and once again are received as "royalty" in an Archivio di Stato;  this time in Chieti

This morning we woke up to face a day with a very ambitious schedule.  We had plans to drive 20 miles south to the village of Vasto and look for records in the Ufficio di Anagrafe.  Then we were going to drive 40 miles north to the Archivio di Stato in the city of Chieti.  We would return to our B&B that evening.  We finalized our plans over a very good breakfast.

Ummm!  Italian Blood Orange Juice

The drive south was uneventful.  The village was very busy with traffic but we found our way to the city hall and we found a parking garage to rest the car.  We entered the Anagrafe office and found a very long line.  We waited for about forty minutes and eventually we got to speak with the official.  We told him we would like to see records of the Decristofaro family.  We showed him our family tree.  

With one eye on the long line behind us, the clerk asked if we would mind coming back at noon.  He said he could help us then.  

Old Vasto

Somewhat skeptical about the clerk, we said we would be back.  Then we set out for our next goal, locating our ancestral church, San Giuseppe.  With the help of a passerby, we discovered that the church was within a few yards.  We were in the old part of town, and all the old buildings around us made a stark contrast with the modern city hall.

We approached the church and found the door open.  There was a cleaning crew there, and they allowed us in to look around.

Chiesa di San Giuseppe

After viewing the church, we decided to try to find strada San Francesco Di Assisi.  This was an address on some of the documents I had previously found.   I took a seat on a bench with some fine young gentlemen and managed to get directions to the street.

Can you pick out the "Americani"?

We took in the sights, visited the street, and found another church, the chiesa di San Francesco Di Assisi.  This church was also open and quite a sight to behold.  While I was there I found a family name, Trivelli, imprinted on one of the pews.  Oh how I wished I had time to look this particular family up.  Perhaps this will give me a reason to come back.

Chiesa di San Francesco Di Assisi

After this, it was time to return to the Anagrafe Office.  I must admit, I was not expecting to find any useful information from the clerk there.  Although we had shown him a picture of our family tree, we thought his mind was more on the long line behind us.  To make matters worse, my grandmother's name, Decristofaro, was akin to the name Smith in the US.  

Well, were we in for a big surprise.

A segment of the Foglio di Famiglia

When we went back to the office, the clerk took us into a back room and he produced two "family foglios" of the Decristofaro family.  Somehow, out of all the Decristofaros in Vasto, he had managed to find the exact families of my direct descendants.

The family foglio is like a census with names of the parents, the children, their birth dates, their death dates, their occupations, and more.  It simply reeks of valuable data.  I couldn't have misjudged this clerk more.  He had the family foglio for my grandfather and my great grandfather.  

What a find.  I couldn't believe my luck.  We took photos of all the information and thanked the clerk, but he was not interested in remuneration.  Sitting here now, I'm wondering if this clerk knew a lot more about this particular family.  I regret not quizzing him more thoroughly, but he was, indeed, a very busy clerk, yet, somehow, I believe he knows a lot more about "my" Decristofaros than I had thought.

On our way out of town, a miracle occurred.  All of this time in Italy, we have been pleased with every aspect of our trip, except the awful coffee they drink.  That problem was alleviated in a small way when Gay spotted a McDonald's on the road.  We each enjoyed a cup of real coffee, and then it was on to Chieti.

Real Coffee

 In Chieti, we made our way through the busy streets to the Archivio di Stato.  There, once again we were treated as royalty.  Here we found several new records and we got a tour of their impressive facility.  They have over 16 kilometers of bookshelves stored in a temperature controlled environment. 

Research at the Chieti Archivio Di Stato

 When we had concluded our business, the staff encouraged us to visit the Constantine Barbella Museum of Art in the center of the town, but once again, we were stymied by busy narrow streets and no available parking.  (Mental note to self: we must learn more about public transportation in Italian cities.)

This book will be on my Christmas wish list

 We drove back to our B&B and enjoyed a wonderful dinner there.  Later we relaxed with our hosts and got to know each other a little better.  Bepe took us to the back yard to show us a spectacular night time show being put on by an army of Italian fireflies.  There were thousands of the creatures and the light show was marvelous.

With that, we retired for the evening.  Night time thoughts focused on our final adventure; getting back to Rome for the flight home.

Next, and final, post.  A visit with old friends in Sulmona, and a hectic ride to Frascati, for our last B&B (?), Il Paradiso, on the outskirts of Rome.  We reflect on our trip and summarize some of our findings.

 

 

More Research in Trani, and off to Chieti

This is a continuing saga of our research trip to Southern Italy in search of ancestral data.  In this post, we get one more surprise visitor, say good by to the farm in Palo del Colle, and begin our journey north to Chieti.  First, we stop in the village of Trani for a little research at their Archivio di Stato

Oh no!  Not again!  Yesterday we walked at least 1000 miles through the streets of Bitonto and Bari.  We're dead tired and there goes that blasted donkey again, at 5:00 AM.  Couldn't he let us sleep in just one day?  But just look at him.  How could you possibly be angry at a face like that? 

We got up and washed and immediately began fretting about how we were going to get back to civilization from the farm.  There were not enough uneaten breadcrumbs to mark the path to the town.  The GPS had not a clue as to where we were.  Oh bother!

Down to breakfast for one last time and again we feasted on the fresh eggs from the farm.

We were mentally plotting our departure in the lobby when in walks Domenico.  Domenico must have seen the glazed look in my eyes as he was drawing his "exit" map, the night before.  He decided to come and personally lead us out to a main road and show us the highway to Trani.  And so, we bid farewell to Marie and her husband, got in the car, and began to follow Domenico through the back country roads, to a fairly major highway.  There, we said farewell and we were off to Trani.

An angel shows us the way to our next stop

 You should understand that the Archivio di Stato for the province of Bari is in the city of Bari.  However, they have a branch archive in the small commune of Trani, some 20 miles north of Bari.  The records for Palo del Colle are kept in Trani.  Since we missed our opportunity to go to the Ufficio Di Anagrafe in Palo del Colle, we wanted to spend some time in Trani before we made our way to our next destination near the commune of Vasto.

Trani is an amazingly clean looking commune right on the coast of the Adriatic.  The incredibly blue sky made the whiteness of the buildings seem even whiter.

A church in Trani with a bright blue sky background

 We parked in a small piazza and walked a short distance to the Archivio.  There we were greeted, almost like royalty.  You develop a distinct impression that the clerks here don't see too many "Americani" searching for "dead people".

Lots of help at the Archivio di Stato

We spent several hours in Trani, and photographed a few more interesting documents.  If it weren't for the fact that most of the Palo records are available on line, we might have stayed longer.  

Archivio di Stato, Bari - Sessione Trani

We said arivederci and began our trip north to the commune of Rocco San Giovanni.  This is a village on the Adriatic coast which lies almost halfway between Vasto and Chieti, two important destinations for our research activities.  This is the home of my paternal grandmother.  


The ride was scenic, but otherwise uneventful.  We stopped at an Auto Grill for some lunch.  When we got to our destination (close to the village of Lanciano) our GPS ordered us to ascend a very steep and very narrow road.  We were having apoplexy as it seemed we were driving straight up, at a 90 degree angle.  Eventually, we stumbled upon our hidden B&B, and what a magnificent surprise.  

Rifugiomare is a B&B high up on a mountainside, overlooking the Adriatic Sea.  The view was simply amazing.  The building was constructed on two levels.  The main house and the lounging area were on the upper level.  The rooms were on the lower level, underneath a grassy patio area.  From both levels there was a breathtaking view of the sea, and it seemed so close that it felt like you could touch the water.

 

The Rifugiomare Lounge

We settled into our very spacious and very comfortable room (with a walk in shower).  We climbed to the upper level and sat down in the lounge to catch up on our emails and other internet activities.  Our hostess, Brunetta, brought us some (American coffee) and introduced us to Wine Cookies.  

Fish - Adriatic Style

We did some planning for our next day and then went down the mountain to a seaside restaurant.  We had pasta and fish.  Eating fish from the Adriatic, Italian style was a new experience for us.  It was hard work breaking all those shells, but the food was delicious.

Beach in front of the Restaurant

We took a little walk on the beach after dinner, and then we went back to the B&B.  We met Brunetta's husband, Bepe, and had some coffee and more wine cookies.  We capped the evening with a little lemoncello and slept soundly.

Next Post:  More fabulous genealogical finds - A trip to the Vasto Ufficio di Anagrafe and to the Archivio di Stato in Chieti.

Wine Cookies:

3 Cups of flour

1 Cup of Sugar

1 Cup of wine (red or white)

1 cup of olive oil (maybe a little less)

1 teaspoon of baking powder

Mix the ingredients into a pasty dough

shape into small meatball size balls

Roll in sugar

bake at 375 for 20 minutes