| Chapter 2: | Street Life |
saw me looking at the book.
“That my boy is a copy of Alessandro Dumas, I Tre Moschettieri,” he told me. “When you learn Italian in school, you may wish to buy it.”
“He will learn Italian in school and he will then buy the book,” grandma replied.
“Mamma” is the song of an immigrant who wants to see his mother and never again wants to leave her. She represents life itself. Grandma played it so often on the Victrola that when I learned how to play the clarinet I had no difficulty playing the tune from memory. Like many other Italian women of her generation, she enjoyed the singing of Carlo Buti. She liked to hear his singing of such tunes as “Menestrello Vagabondo” and “Stella Alpina.” I preferred Bing Crosby, Perry Como and Frank Sinatra. I also liked the singing of Al Jolson.
At the corner of First Avenue and One Hundred and Eighth Street there were two vendors of treats. One old man sold roasted chestnuts. The other man had a yellow and red pushcart and sold roasted franks. Grandma liked the chestnuts and I liked the franks. Eating these treats delayed our grocery shopping but they were worth the delay. Sometimes she would take out her handkerchief to wipe the mustard off my face. “Come on, my son.”
Small stores lined the side of the street with buildings and merchants with horse drawn wagons lined the curb. Some merchants sold clothing but most sold food. Grandma had her vinyl bag and her pocketbook and was prepared to make her purchases.
Sometimes we would visit Mr. Nicola at his cappuzzelle store.