Figuring It Out
By Jim Sollecito
My paternal grandfather, Filippo, grew up dirt poor in Italy’s Basilicata region on a small olive oil farm where their animals stabled downstairs and people lived upstairs.
After decorated service in the WWI Italian Army fighting in the ice and snow of the Alps, he left Europe for a better life in America.
Having landed on Ellis Island in the 1920s, he secured a manual labor job in the New York City Italian ghetto. After earning enough, he sent for my teenaged grandmother and they married. Walking home one Friday payday, a local mafia representative stopped him and demanded 25% on the spot and every week thereafter for his “safety.” My grandfather refused, pulled a knife on the guy and told him to never bother him again.
Arriving home, he told my grandmother what happened. My grandmother, imagining the probable outcome, decided right then and there to pack their belongings, take the night train that very evening upstate to Amsterdam where they had relatives. Otherwise, life as a young non-English-speaking widow could be challenging.
Once in Amsterdam, quickly re-figuring their life plan, he got a job with Mohawk Mills Carpets, never returning to NYC. He eventually made enough to move on from his cousin’s hospitality. He bought a house in the neighborhood, right up the street from Kirk Douglas where, as a lad, my father sold used newspapers and other recyclables to Kirk’s father, a Russian Jewish immigrant known as the Amsterdam ragman. My aunts were mentioned in Kirk’s book, “The Ragman’s Son.”
Fast forward. After his naval stint in the Pacific, the WWII GI bill allowed my father, Emanuele, to complete his electrical engineering graduate work at MIT. He married, had children and a nice job at the Schenectady GE. He bought a home and we lived in Schenectady until 1963 when we moved to Syracuse where he ran the Electronics Park E-Lab.
We periodically visited my grandparents in Amsterdam for overnight stays. On one trip my father drove only me for an overnight with my grandparents, my father leaving early the next morning for a business trip. Since my grandfather did not drive, we all had the understanding that I’d take a bus to Scotia and spend two days at my uncle’s home.
Good plan. But I had never taken a bus except for school and my grandfather didn’t really ever learn English. I had no idea what a city bus stop looked like, let alone where or what the Greyhound terminal was. After we ate breakfast, my grandfather walked me to what he thought was a city-to-city bus stop. But it wasn’t. After standing by the city bus sign in front of the Olender Furniture Store for an hour watching Greyhound busses whiz by, we realized something had to be done. My grandfather stepped into traffic, waving down cars and trucks to ask in Italian if they would drive his grandson to Scotia. As they repeatedly sped away, I surmised that was pointless.
And so it began. At age 12, I hitchhiked to another city 17 miles away. I learned I could garner more attention with an improvised limp but it still took me three to four rides and walking maybe three miles. In about five hours I arrived at my uncle’s.
Lessons were learned.
The first that when Plan A does not work out, be ready to figure Plan B. My father never asked how the bus ride was. He had assumed that one way or the other, I’d got there.
My grandfather worked hard and barely ever smiled except for this photo (in rented clothes). But he taught me how to manually cultivate soil, sow seeds and grow a great garden. Also how to select the best tasting watermelon. And how to make wine that tasted better than that yellowish Mohawk River water that came out of the tap. And when things went wrong, to not let it slow me down. Basically, figure it out. Let us remember to give thanks for the gifts of our youth that keep giving.
Grazie, Nonno.
Jim Sollecito is the first lifetime senior certified landscape professional in New York State. He operates Sollecito Landscaping Nursery in Syracuse. Contact him at 315-468-1142 or jim@sollecito.com.