Due fratelli

HO CONTROLLATO una prova scientifica senza saperlo. I soggetti di questa prova erano sono recentemente morti, mio padre, Nuccio (nome formale Antonino) e di suo fratello leggermente maggiore Ignazio. È straziante che abbiamo perso queste due anime meravigliose nello spazio di un paio di mesi, ma mi ha dato la possibilità di riflettere sulle vite che hanno condotto. [Il post continua sotto la foto; versione inglese qui]

Due fratelli, per strada dove sono cresciuti, Corso Calatafimi Palermo, 2003

PRIMO, I CV. Ignazio, nato ottobre 1928 a Palermo, e residente fino alla sua recente morte. Era vedovo, sposato con una grande donna di nome Elena Beghin, da Treviso in Veneto. L’altro era mio padre, Nuccio, nato marzo 1930, anche lui a Palermo. Emigrò negli Stati Uniti nel 1955 ed era anche vedovo, sposato con mia madre, Angelina Ancona, nata nel Lower East Side di New York City. Nuccio visse a Brooklyn, poi Staten Island, e alla fine si trasferì nella Pennsylvania orientale quando è andato in pensione. Ignazio ha vissuto nello stesso quartiere per tutta la vita, tranne un periodo nell’esercito italiano.

I due fratelli avrebbero potuto anche essere gemelli. Guardando le loro foto della metà degli anni ’50, Elena mi ha detto che non poteva distinguerle. (Posso; Ignazio aveva le sopracciglia inclinate mentre Nuccio era arrotondato.) Ignazio era studioso e infilato. Nuccio non così studioso. Da ragazzo, è stato incaricato di guidare suo fratello a letto quando dormiva intorno al loro appartamento. Di conseguenza, mio padre era sempre un dormiente leggero. Le loro voci erano quasi identiche: Ignazio, che era un operatore radiofonico dell’esercito, parlava inglese passabile, rendendo la somiglianza vocale ancora più forte.

Nuccio e Ignazio ebbero ciascuno tre figli. Si può quasi dire che noi bambini siamo venuti in coppia. Quindi, io e mio cugino Giorgio siamo a poco più di un anno di distanza. Mia sorella e la sorella di Giorgio Assunta sono nate lo stesso anno, così come mio fratello Chuck e nostra cugina Loredana. Entrambi i fratelli lavoravano anche nelle fabbriche elettroniche, servendo in varie funzioni di caposquadra. Hanno fatto abbastanza per sostenere le loro famiglie, e non erano ricchi ma non avevano mai fame. Entrambe le famiglie hanno vissuto un’esistenza abbastanza comoda.

Ho stabilito che questi ragazzi erano notevolmente simili. Quindi, in che modo erano diversi? Semplice: Ignazio rimase in Italia e Nuccio se ne andò. Ed è affascinante vedere come questo abbia influenzato quasi tutto nella loro vita. Ho seguito questi due nel corso dei decenni, prima inconsciamente, ma negli ultimi due decenni ho pensato più metodicamente alle loro vite parallele come a una sorta di corsa di cavalli. Chi ha condotto una vita più confortevole e spiritualmente più ricca? C’era un vincitore? Puoi anche chiamare le loro vite una gara?

Arriverò subito al verdetto. Ignazio è partito in un posto più precario materialmente, ma è finito avanti. Ed è interamente dovuto a come gli Stati Uniti e l’Europa hanno trattato le loro popolazioni nel corso degli anni. In effetti, andrò oltre e dirò che Nuccio era molto avanti all’inizio, ma la mancanza di protezioni per i lavoratori e un programma sanitario completo negli Stati Uniti ha eroso il suo vantaggio decenni fa.

LA GARA INIZIA. Entrambi i fratelli hanno prestato servizio nell’esercito italiano negli anni ’50, ma mio padre è stato congedato nel 1955. Questo servirà come nostro colpo di apertura.

Nuccio ha sposato mia madre americana e si è trasferito a New York. Sono nato poco dopo e all’inizio abbiamo vissuto nello stesso quartiere che mia madre chiamava casa, la East New York di Brooklyn. Mio padre ha lavorato prima in una fabbrica di scarpe e poi, felicemente per me, ha trovato un lavoro in un piccolo produttore di giocattoli a gestione familiare. Dopo aver ottenuto la cittadinanza statunitense nel 1960, ci siamo trasferiti in una piccola casa stilo “Cape Cod” a Staten Island. Mia sorella era arrivata da allora. La casa era quella che veniva chiamata una casa di partenza, con un seminterrato e una soffitta incompiuti. I miei genitori erano costanti miglioratori domestici. La soffitta è diventata due fantastiche camere da letto per me e mia sorella. I patii sono stati costruiti e ampliati. Un enorme giardino ha fornito molte delle nostre verdure.

Nuccio in occhiali da sole, con i suoi cognati e mio nonno materno a destra, negli anni ’50

Materialmente, non siamo stati privati di nulla. Mia madre era davvero brava a controllare il budget e mio padre ha ottenuto un lavoro migliore dopo l’azienda di giocattoli. (Ero orgoglioso di lui, ma allo stesso tempo odiavo il fatto che non sarei stato un soggetto di prova per i nuovi prodotti del produttore di giocattoli.) Le auto usate alla fine hanno lasciato il posto a nuovi modelli più grandi. E la nostra piscina per bambini nel cortile si è trasformata in una più grande in cui potevamo effettivamente nuotare, quindi le nostre estati infantili sono state fondamentalmente trascorse in acqua e all’aperto in generale. È stata una bella vita e mio padre, mentre lavorava sodo, stava vivendo una versione del sogno americano per tutti gli anni ’60, fino ai primi anni ’70.

Nel frattempo in Italia, Ignazio era ancora nell’esercito e lui ed Elena erano una coppia, avevano un figlio ma lo tenevano un segreto perchè senza lavoro voleva rimanere nell’esercito; Palermo a quel tempo era difficile trovare un buon lavoro, infatti, i primi anni ’60, una volta appesi all’uniforme, erano un momento di scrivere lettere ai datori di lavoro e agli amici di amici che potevano aiutarlo a trovare un posto. La giovane famiglia viveva con i miei nonni, il che non era una situazione facile per mia zia, abituata alle libertà personali di cui godevano le giovani donne del nord. Infine, ad un certo punto Ignazio ottenne un lavoro in una fabbrica gestita dal monopolio telefonico di stato italiano, e la famiglia si trasferì in appartamenti propri, non lontano da dove sono cresciuti i due fratelli.

I due fratelli durante l’ultima volta che si sono visti di persona, novembre

Quindi a questo punto, i fratelli sono equamente abbinati. Ma finiva presto. Anche la moglie di Ignazio ha lavorato per alcuni anni quando i bambini sono cresciuti. Avevano una famiglia che viveva vicino che poteva tenerli d’occhio. Hanno comprato il loro appartamento quando è andato in vendita; hanno accumulato un gruzzolo. Aumenti regolari e un nuovo sistema sanitario nazionale hanno consolidato questi guadagni. Uno dei figli di Ignazio andò all’università locale, che era libera di frequentare, ad eccezione delle tasse e delle spese di soggiorno. Ha ottenuto una laurea. In Italia, i proprietari di case non pagano le tasse immobiliari sulla loro abitazione principale. In generale, Ignazio e la sua famiglia facevano parte dell’aumento generale del tenore di vita per la maggior parte degli europei. Si è ritirato con la maggior parte del suo reddito pre-pensionamento ed è stato in grado di aiutare i suoi figli.

Nel frattempo, Nuccio ha visto i suoi salari ristagnare, come hanno fatto molti lavoratori americani. Le nuove auto sono diventate quasi inaccessibili. Io e mia sorella siamo andati all’università, ma siamo andati all’università della città perché i nostri genitori non potevano permettersi di mandarci via Nuccio in realtà è stato sottoposto a un taglio salariale mentre l’azienda a gestione familiare per cui lavorava ha venduto la sua sede di Soho per milioni; alla fine è stato costretto a uscire e ritirato sulla previdenza sociale con un piccolo gruzzolo. È stata una fine umiliante di una vita di lavoro. I miei genitori hanno venduto la loro casa a Staten Island e si sono trasferiti in una molto più economica nei Poconos. Tuttavia, hanno dovuto pagare pesanti tasse immobiliari, in gran parte a causa del modo decentralizzato in cui le scuole sono finanziate negli Stati Uniti. La vita per i miei genitori è stata molto più una lotta che per suo fratello, in generale.

Io e mio padre durante una sessione FaceTime l’anno scorso

Ignazio faceva parte del servizio sanitario italiano. Nuccio e sua moglie si sono iscritti nel sistema Medicare per gli anziani, ma dovevano pagare un supplemento perche Medicare paga solo 80 percento. Mio padre, doveroso come sempre, è stato lasciato a pagare un’enorme bolletta ospedaliera per la degenza terminale di mia madre,

Di tanto in tanto mio padre esprimeva rammarico per aver lasciato la sua patria. Il suo inglese non è mai stato fantastico e penso che, insieme a una paura generale di nuovi ambienti, lo abbia trattenuto. Una volta mi ha detto: “Forse avrei vissuto meglio laggiù. Ma ho fatto la mia scelta con te e tua madre, e ho fatto del mio meglio per assicurarmi che avessimo una buona vita”.

Puoi esprimere il tuo giudizio su questa storia di due fratelli. Ci sono molte variabili, e la grande è come essere un immigrato negli Stati Uniti modella la vita che conduci. Ma credo anche che si dica molto, e niente di grande, su come un ragazzo che ha lavorato duramente per tutta la vita e ha fatto tutte le cose giuste, si sia trovato in condizioni molto peggiori man mano che invecchiava. Ha dovuto lasciare la casa in cui ha cresciuto la sua famiglia e ha finito per vivere in un ambiente molto più duro solo per sbarcare il lunario.

A tale of two siblings

I’VE BEEN WATCHING A social science experiment unfold over the past few decades. Yeah, I’m old. But the subjects of this experiment were older and have recently passed away. I’m writing about my father, Nuccio (formal name Antonino) and his slightly older brother Ignazio. It’s heartbreaking that we lost these two wonderful souls in the space of just a couple of months, but it’s given me a chance to don my political scientist hat and reflect on the lives they led. [Post continues below the photo.]

Versione italiana, clicca qui.

Two bros, on the street where they grew up, Corso Calatafimi Palermo, 2003

FIRST, THE CVs. Ignazio, born October 1928 in Palermo, Sicily, and a resident until his recent death. He was a widower, married to a great woman named Elena Beghin, who came from Treviso in the Veneto, within bike riding distance of Venice. The other was my father, Nuccio, born March 1930, also in Palermo. He emigrated to the United States in 1955 and was also widowed, married to my mom, Angelina Ancona, born on the Lower East Side of New York City. Nuccio lived in Brooklyn, then Staten Island, and finally moved to Eastern Pennsylvania when he retired. Ignazio lived in the same neighborhood all his life, bar a stint in the Italian army.

The two brothers might as well have been twins. Looking at photos of them from the mid-’50s, Elena told me she couldn’t tell them apart. (I can; Ignazio had angled eyebrows while Nuccio were rounded.) Ignazio was studious and high-strung. Nuccio was a party animal, not so studious. As a boy, he was tasked with guiding his brother back to bed when he sleep-walied around their apartment . As a result, my father was always a light sleeper. Their voices were almost identical—Ignazio, who was an army radio operator, spoke passable English, making the voice resemblance even stronger.

The two brothers each had three children. You can almost say that we kids came in pairs. So, my cousin Giorgio and I are only a little more than a year apart. My sister and Giorgio’s sister Assunta were born the same year, as were my brother Chuck and our cousin Loredana. Both brothers worked in electronic factories, too, serving in various foreman/supervisory capacities. They made enough to support their families, and weren’t rich but never were hungry. Both families lived a middle-class existence.

I’ve established that these dudes were remarkably alike. So how were they different? Simple: Ignazio stayed in Italy, and Nuccio left. And it’s fascinating to see how that affected just about everything in their lives. I’ve been tracking these two over the decades, as first unconsciously, but in the past couple of decades I thought more methodically of their parallel lives as a sort of horse race. Who led a more comfortable, spiritually richer life? Was there a winner? Can you even call the race?

I’ll get to the verdict straight away. Ignazio started out in a more precarious place materially, but all things equal, he ended up ahead. And it’s entirely due to how the United States and Europe treated their populations over the year. In fact, I’ll go further and say that Nuccio was far ahead early on, but the lack of worker protections and a comprehensive healthcare scheme in the U.S. eroded his lead decades ago.

LET’S START AT THE BEGINNING of the race. Both brothers served in the Italian army in the 1950s, but my father was discharged in 1955. That will serve as our opening shot.

Nuccio married my American mother and moved to New York. I was born shortly after, and we lived at first in the same neighborhood my mother called home, Brooklyn’s East New York. My father first worked in a shoe factory, and then, happily for me, found a job at a small, family owned toymaker. After obtaining U.S. citizenship in 1960, we moved to a little Cape Cod house on Staten Island. My sister had come along by then. The house was what was called a starter home, with an unfinished basement and attic. My parents were constant home improvers. The attic became terrific big bedrooms for my sister and me Patios were built and expanded. A huge garden supplied a lot of our vegetables.

Nuccio in sunglasses, with his brothers-in-law and my maternal grandfather on the right, sometime in the 1950s

Materially, we weren’t deprived of anything. My mother was really good at controlling the budget and my father got a better job after the toy company. (I was proud of him, but at the same time hated that I wouldn’t be a test subject for the toymaker’s new products.) The used cars eventually gave way to new, bigger models. And our backyard kiddie pool turned into a bigger one that we could actually swim in, so our childhood summers were basically spent in water and outdoors in general. It was a good life, and my father, while working hard, was living a version of the American Dream throughout the 1960s, into the early and 1970s.

Meanwhile in Italy, Ignazio was still in the army and he and Elena were a number, They had a kid but kept it on the down low because he wanted to stay in the army; Palermo at that time wasn’t a good place for a young guy to find a good job, In fact, the early 1960s, once he hung up the uniform, was a time of writing letters to employers and friends of friends who might help him get a job. The young family lived with my grandparents, which was not an easy situation for my aunt, who was used to the personal freedoms enjoyed by young women up north. Finally, at some point Ignazio got a job at a factory run by the Italian state telephone monopoly, and the family moved to apartments of their own, not far from where the two brothers grew up,

The two brothers during the last time they saw each other in person, November 2003

At this point, for my American friends, I should describe apartment living in Italy, Most Italians don’t live in freestanding houses; they live in apartments in cities and towns. But the dwellings aren’t transient places where young adults live while they save up for a house in the ‘burbs. They tend to be bigger than most New York apartments, which multiple bedrooms, baths, and terraces. A lot of them have doormen and gardens. Italians tend to be more social in their daily lives in general, with outdoor bars and spaces frequented as an integral part of daily life. You can almost say it’s the Italian Dream, except Italians are too realistic to think of everyday life as a dream; they believe that they’re fully entitled to what they have.

So at this point, the brothers are evenly matched. But not for long. Ignazio’s wife worked for some years too as the kids got older. They had family living in the same apartment complex who could keep an eye on them. They bought their apartment when it went up for sale; they accrued a nest egg. Regular raises and a new national healthcare system solidified these gains. One of Ignazio’s kids went to the local university, which was free to attend, except for fees and living expenses. He got a degree. In Italy, homeowners don’t pay real estate taxes on their primary dwelling. In general, Ignazio and his family were part of the general rise in the standard of living for most Europeans. He retired with most of his pre-retirement income, and was able to help his kids out.

My uncle Ignazio and his wife Elena, Palermo, 2003

Meanwhile, Nuccio saw his wages stagnate, like a lot of American workers did. The new cars became nearly unaffordable. My sister and I did go to college, but we went to the city university because our parents couldn’t afford to send us away Nuccio actually was subjected to a salary cut while the family-owned company he worked for sold its Soho headquarters for millions; he was eventually forced out and retired on Social Security with a small nest egg. It was a humiliating end to a lifetime of work. My parents sold their house in Staten Island and moved to a much cheaper one in the Poconos. Still, they had to pay hefty real estate taxes, largely because of the decentralized way schools are funded in the U.S. Life for my parents was much more of a struggle than it was for his brother, in general.

My father and me during a FaceTime session last year

Ignazio was part of Italy’s highly rated national healthcare system. Nuccio and his wife got Medicare, which they had to supplement with Part B insurance. My father, dutiful as always, was left paying a huge hospital bill for my mother’s terminal stay,

Every now and then my father would express regrets that he left his homeland. His English was never great, and I think that, along with a general fear of new environments, held him back. He did tell me once, “Maybe I would’ve lived better over there. But I made my choice with you and your mother, and I did my best to make sure we had a good life.”

You can make your own judgment about this tale of two siblings. There are lots of variables, and the big one is how being an immigrant in the U.S. shapes the life you lead. But I also believe that it says a lot, and nothing great, about how a guy who worked hard all his life and did all the right things, found himself in much worse shape as he got older. He had to leave the home he raised his family in, and ended up living in a much harsher environment just to make ends meet.

With everything that’s happening in the world, my thoughts are trivial. Still, life goes on—and we even had a reason to celebrate

I HAVEN’T WRITTEN SINCE my father’s death. Actually, I haven’t published—my draft queue for this blog is full of half-finished posts. Some of them are stillborn for a good reason: They weren’t working out, or I didn’t like the tone. And others are just superseded by events. The proverbial gorilla in the room is, of course, Putin’s unconscionable invasion of Ukraine.

I’m not going to write anything about that. It’s what the big news outlets and military experts on Twitter are for. But life goes on here, even as I’m tempting to reach for happy pills after having read the news and sat here in my little office, paralyzed and nervous about what the mad Russian is thinking.

Our big news involves Daughter No. 1, Martina Maria Scozzare Paonita. After joining up with a guy named Daniel Cohen and living together for a couple of years on a tree-lined street in Bay Ridge, the two made it legal, declaring their union before about 100 people in a funky former rope factory in Paterson, New Jersey. Since this is MY blog and is about ME, ME, ME (never mind them…), I can tell you that I was thrilled. I had the feeling that Martina wanted to make their relationship a more formal thing. Still, as a family we’ve avoided big formal parties and I couldn’t help but be a little apprehensive if they chose to do that. The Spartan Woman and I had a kind of hippie wedding way too many years ago that involved a city hall ceremony and a raucous house party at TSW’s parents’ house.

FaceTime session: “We’re engaged!”

I needn’t have worried.

Sure, we were all dressed up, suited, gowned, ties, white shirt for me (the first collared shirt I’d worn in …. a year? Two years?) Okay, there were photographers buzzing around. Dan gave Martina an engagement ring (back in the old days, TSW pointedly told me not to get her a blood diamond, or anything. We wear simple gold wedding bands). There was some serious and delicious catering and great booze.

But #CohPao, as they called themselves, did a fine job of designing a big, loud, fun party that was free of the scripted nonsense that afflicts a lot of wedding celebrations ’round these parts. I think Martina learned her lesson from the former Time-Warner Cable’s public access TV show Joey G, which displayed the kitschiest Staten Island Italo-American weddings, complete with a zillion bridesmaids and grooms, limos, hectoring to get on the dance floor by bandleaders or DJs, and more Brooklyn accents in one hour than you’ve heard in your entire life. Think of those as Jersey Shore Goes to the Altar.

#CohPao deviated from that script from the get-go. They were legally married before a Universal Life minister, who led the ceremony. It was a nonreligious and funny exchange of vows, though Dan did break a glass at the end to seal the deal. (His glass was a light bulb—no one wants to chance not being able to break a thick tumbler.) No one aside from right after the cocktail hour did anyone tell the crowd what to do. There was no pasta—Martina’s enough of an Italian food snob to know that pasta for 100 does not turn out well. And they didn’t do a “bride cuts the cake” thing, with the attendant risk that an inebriated spouse may smash said cake on the other new spouse’s face.

There was, of course, another shadow lurking over the evening—Covid-19 and the possibility of throwing a superspreader event. The pair minimized that possibility as much as they could by specifying a PCR test a couple of days before and their wedding website had a place to upload the results. Everyone had to be fully vaccinated and boosted to attend. And just because, tables were widely spaced.

Alright, enough of that. We had fun. A lot of fun. Great music, great booze, and really good food. Friends, siblings, and cousins we haven’t seen in person in two years. And most importantly, a couple of people who adore one another and invited a bunch of happy, joyous and just plain nice friends to help them celebrate.

Dan came to see us in Italy and built us this beautiful fire pit.

So welcome, Dan, to the tribe. He’s been around a few years (at first, a private M kept his name secret, so we referred to him as “Seamus”). He’s a good guy who—we love this—knows how to do things.

I was thinking way back when, in the pre-Martina days, we took a long time to decide to raise a family. TSW and I had grad school to finish and careers to launch. But after a few years, curiosity about how a kid of ours would look and act got the better of us. We’re unabashedly proud of the result. You did good, kid, and I hope you don’t mind if I kvell a little.