Most people today would question why after being shunned by your own brother and sister-in-law at such a critical time in your life would a person then be so obliging to them? The answer is in understanding the old-school southern Italian culture…it was simply expected of them, especially if you were a female, and the baby of the family. This may be hard to understand today, but back then it was understood. This even was expected of the children. A good example is when I moved away from home and made my visits to Mama, the first thing Mama would want me to do is to "go say hello to Aunt Lucy." So I did…even before dinner. Days later, when I was leaving it was, "go say goodbye to Aunt Lucy." Which I did. Mama paid respect to others, too bad others didn't do the same.

We were living at 50 Spring Street when Papa died and I believe Uncle Pete, Mama's other brother, was living with us. Mama had other brothers who never left Italy. I know nothing about them. Uncle Pete had a family in Italy; a wife, son and daughter. He was working hard to save money to bring his family to America and lived with us until they came here.

Although there are more social service programs today than in the mid-forties, there were some in existence then, especially for a widow with three children. Mama wanted none of it. Like most of the Italians of that time, she was too proud to take a handout. Sonny and I were too young for school so Mama found work that she could do at home. Other than farming the only other skill Mama had was to use a foot-pedal sewing machine. She found work sewing parts of garments for a clothing factory, also known as sweat-shops but the work was done at home. This was not unusual in those days, they actually called it homework. Women wanting to earn money at home would pick-up cut patterns of parts of garments, say like several hundred sleeves, backs, etc., sew them at home, bring them back to the factory the next day and pick-up a new batch. It was piece-work and the women got paid by the dozen. Mama had a slightly better deal. She arranged, either on her own or through the factory owner, to have a young boy do the pick-up and delivery of the garment pieces. I remember sitting at the window looking to the left towards the Spring Street subway exit, the same exit I used to wait for Papa. I was looking for when this young boy would come up from the subway station carrying the new work. I would tell Mama and then light the burner under the coffee pot. It seems Mama had something for this boy to eat everyday he made a pick-up. Even then, as poor as we were, Mama always wanted to feed everyone walking through the front door...that never changed.

I remember Mama sewing on that foot-pedal machine. She would have to get it started, by hand, by first spinning the chrome fly-wheel on the right-side of the machine. At the right time she would use her foot to push the flat pedal to power the machine. Mama would swear quietly in Italian whenever the thread broke. After it broke three or four times she started talking to the machine.

Mama eventually got an electric sewing machine. It was black with gold lettering -- a Singer. I used to oil it for Mama. The motor and moving parts all had oil ports. I think I over-did the oiling because with all the fabric being tossed around a lot of lint collected on the oily surface of the motor and levers. It looked like the bottom of the machine was growing this gray fuzz.

Mama couldn't make much money this way. If she wanted to make more she had to work in the factory. But what to do with us? That was resolved when our family of four made a move that no doubt changed our lives significantly for the better. We moved across the East River to Long Island City, in the borough of Queens.

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