A Sicilian in East Harlem By Salvatore Mondello

recognition by a cymbals player in a marching band. That was the day our street became an Italian piazza with arches of colored lights creating evening rainbows. St. Benedict, a black man, was our patron saint and we honored him every year on that day. When the men who carried the saint stopped in front of our building, Rosalia would throw down a dollar or two wrapped in heavy cord to be pinned to the saint’s vestments. The cymbals player was the bandmaster and a man Rosalia had known in her youth in San Fratello. He would raise his cymbals to her in a protracted salute and then removing one of his cymbals he would tip his hat. A big smile from Rosalia from her fourth-story window was his reward.