Where We Land
Part One
Written by Dominic Caruso
Copyright 2011 by Dominic Caruso
Smashwords Edition
PREFACE
Since the beginning of time, man has been described as a thinking animal, an animal able to think for himself on any subject, at any time, able to make decisions, able to make things better for himself.
Unfortunately, for every step he’s taken forward, he has stepped backwards almost as many times.To many times, he has chosen to walk in other men’s foot steps rather than create steps of his own so that others might follow, making himself a follower more times than a leader.
The life of man is a constant struggle complicated by many detours, sudden stops and deceiving advances that often turn out to be steps of regression or lateral slides.
Somewhere between his thinking mind, aggressive sole and his gentle heart lies the potential to endure the bad times so that he might live to enjoy the good times,………. and the place in life, ‘Where We Land’.
CHAPTER 1
If we ourselves could choose how, where or when we enter this life, I'm not so sure things would be much different for us than they are. We would of course, choose nothing but the best for ourselves and then when things went wrong, as we know they most certainly could, we would not have the character, normally taught us of trying times that it takes to survive in this less than perfect life. So as the proverbial arrow that was shot into the air and it's where about is not known, neither is ‘where we land’.
However, once we have landed, we find ourselves on a road of discovery that often lasts our whole life through and other times is cut short by circumstances beyond our control, before we have the opportunity to satisfy our hunger to understand life and most of all ourselves.
Among some of the things that happen to us is the name we're given, the place we're born, the religion of our parents and their nationalities. But, perhaps the most important thing is the genes that we're born with. Their genes, our parents. Consider that we acquire not only the genes of our parents, but all of their ancestors going back to the creation of the earth.
Sometimes we arrive at our space in time because our parents wanted off springs to carry on after they have lived their lives. Other times they have a need for a family to share their life, their journey. Some time's we arrive quite by accident and too often unwanted. There are other times. Time’s when burdens are placed on us too impossible to carry. Acceptance by our sponsors, our parents, regardless of the reason, make's life allot less complicated for us and offers us the opportunity and the necessary feelings of being loved and of belonging.
So I chronicle my life from the time and place of my birth to the day when faith stepped in and gave me a choice. The choice of self-destruction or the gift of a future with all of its uncertainty and hope.
A time in my life when I finally realized that throughout all of the problems, all the good and bad times I had been through, and all of the disappointments, I had not made the journey alone and all of a sudden a purpose was clear.
There is no apparent explanation for my survival, and most assuredly I cannot take credit for reaching this point in my life. Even though I very seldom made the right choice, when given the opportunity, somehow I always made it to the next plateau. Through out my youth there had to be some sort of guidance to purpose that I unknowingly followed. A guiding hand that allowed me to do only that which would not result in the total demise of my being.
To my daughters, and to my granddaughters, I offer this permanent record of the early years of my life, in hopes that in times to come, especially when I can no longer respond to their inquiries, they might grow to understand how I came to be their father and grandfather and further on. That they will grow to understand as I do now, that they were my purpose in surviving. They were my reason for being.
Since the beginning of time as we know it, man has thought on every conceivable subject. However when it comes to what we are, where we came from or even where we go when we leave this life, man has been less than able to satisfy his curiosity.
Rather than cope with something he is unable to explain, when an opinion is asked of him, he finds it easier to follow in other men’s footprints than create his own. He'll protect his flank and agree with the majority rather than offer his heart felt thoughts in the minority.
Judging by the many abuses man has inflicted upon himself and his environment, perhaps it is best that we don't know too much. Only in the decisions we make or decide not to make, during our life times lays some measure of control in our arrival, existence or departure.Perhaps ignorance truly is bliss.
If we are to believe that man has a destiny, its not at all clear and most certainly not guaranteed.Quite often, for one of many reasons it is not fulfilled.Hopefully, if there is divine intervention, it is at the hands of the creator despite our mortal faults.
He gives us youth and later on, some times much later on wisdom, in the hopes that we of our own accord will produce the type of world he would want for us. Despite our short comings, he time after time, allows us to multiply in the hopes that we ourselves will bring about the type of being he would have us be.
So a young man with his entire life ahead of him one day sees a beautiful young lady and with his decision to meet her, most certainly has altered the course of his life.As she turns and sees him, their lives touch for the first time.
Within sight of each other their eyes meet and all the pleasantries of speech are secondary to what's gong on in their hearts. At the instant their eyes met, even though they might not have realized it, they each had agreed to meet, greet and surrender to the much-anticipated courting procedure. This is one of creations shining moments.
With the engagement, plans and preparations are made for the inevitable wedding.After the festive occasion they gaze at each other and begin to realize that they have embarked on a journey from which they can never ever return a journey that they each have made a commitment to travel together. No matter how far, for better or worst, where ever it takes them, they can never return home.
If it were not for these journeys of no return that we take during our lives here on this earth there would be no need for memories. Being able to return to the past as we left it would all but eliminate the needs for memories, as we know them. Without memories we would have nothing to build on and nothing to look forward to. There would be no personal record of our being, no personal history.
Life is full of moments of realizations and with the day of that blessed event as they hold their first born, their tiny baby for the first time, they begin to know that if it were not for this child, they would never ever be anymore than strangers to each other.No more than strangers who met, fell in love and decided to spend their time on earth together.Only in this baby do they truly always and forever become one. Only in this new life, this infant, have they given of themselves so some one else might have, someone else might be, and someone else might belong. As they gaze in amazement at this child in their likeness, they cannot help but think if not say, "I hope you're happy where you landed."
There was a time when the world was as perfect as it was meant to be. That was when it was first created.There was one and only one demand placed upon the only two human beings created to exist in it. He said, "You must never eat of the forbidden fruit."
Curiosity being one of mans compelling traits, Adam and Eve ate of the forbidden fruit and bestowed upon man and the world of the beast on the face of the earth, happiness and sadness, joy and pain, and love and hate.They soon grew to understand insecurity, uncertainty and the slings and arrows of misfortune. All of a sudden, there were questions to be pondered, questions like how we came to be here, how and when we would leave and the profound question of what life itself is.
There was and still is a glimmer of hope that there is somewhere a force or intelligence far superior to our species.A hope that this creator has not abandoned us and that he play's a role in our development and destiny.
If we live long enough, sooner or later we find ourselves asking or praying for some kind of guidance. Eventually, during our lives, if we’re lucky we realize that there is very little in this life that we actually have complete control over.
Many men have deceived themselves into believing that they are in control of their affairs and lives. Life's winding road some times treats them gently and other time’s treats them cruelly.
To come to the realization that our very own destiny may not be in our hands is not a sign of weakness and is not at all fatal. It is a sign of wisdom. Deprived is the poor fool who deceives himself into believing that he is always in control. Placing that burden, where it belongs in the hands of faith, allows us to free our limited time on earth to proceed with choices that we all must make one time or another that will affect our destiny. To think that we are masters of our own faith and destiny, is deceiving and eventually can lead to one's demise.
Spending our lives searching for answers to question's best left to faith and the Almighty, is a waist of our time here on earth and most likely not the way he would have us use our energies. The short time allotted our life is too precious and can never be retrieved once expired.
Choosing to take a more passionate, more hopeful approach to some of these unanswerable questions such as how and why I came to land where I did, I submit the following.
On this April afternoon, in the Lords year of nineteen hundred and thirty - six, you my newest creation, of the masculine gender, will see the first light of the rest of your life. You will land in the midst of a young family in turmoil. A young family suffering the terrible trauma of the loss of a child,.... a son of six years old, a child who was named after his grandfather and the apple of his father’s eye, an extension of your father’s heart and a second breath of hope for him.
A dark cloud will umbrella all of the members of this family. This cloud that casts its shadow over your family will never be lifted. For the rest of their lives your family will find little relief, but will learn to cope with it, each in their own way, for better or worst as long as they are on earth and beyond.
There will have been many discussions and many arguments in the months prior to your birth. In an attempt, on this day to name you after your brother Joseph, your father in a futile effort, a heart full of hope will through you, try to have his son Joey back. Even though after your birth it will become obvious that you could never replace your blond hair, blue eyed brother. You will have brown eyes and brown hair.Though he will come to accept it, your father will never forgive your mother for her stand.
Your mother will not often take stands in contradiction to your father, but on this issue she will be a fiercely driven soul. She will explain to you later in life when you are a young man, that she would never allow him to place a burden of that magnitude on any child.
Not being an outwardly religious man by nature and finding himself at this time to be in deep despair, a broken heart will not allow him to realize the bitter seeds he has sowed until it’s to late. The time will come when he will show his affections of love for you, but it will be to late and upon seeing them displayed, you will not recognize them for what they are. Unaccustomed to seeing them displayed and a bit taken aback, you will turn away from them and not accept your father’s heart felt effort.
Your birth certificate will bear the scars of the encounters between your Mother and Father. Because of the controversy over what you should be named, the mid-wife delivering you, for the lack of a better name, will call you ‘Male Caruso’ and your birth certificate will remain unchanged for the rest of your life. Though there will be many uses and requests for your birth certificate, it will never be questioned by anyone. The members of your family will not be aware of it until the subject is initiated by you later in your life when as a young man you will try to learn more about your family history.
You will never be able to fill the void in the sad and broken heart of your father. Every parent has a special place in his or her heart for each of their children and no child can fill the place allotted to another. Once that spot is vacated and the chain of life is broken, it can never be restored or filled. You are not created for that purpose and although not verbally expressed to him, you will cross that empty space and touch your father’s heart. Only time can diminish the pain sorrow and anger in your father’s heart and in time, he in his own way, will grow to accept it.
Turning away from him, in your ignorance and stubbornness of youth, you will create walls of division that will divide you both for your entire lives. The burden will come to rest on you at the time of your father’s death.
At the word of his death you will come to realize for the first time in your life, that you never paid him the honor and respect of telling him that you loved him. That you were younger and stronger than he was and that you and you alone had the gift of love to offer to him. This will be your cross to carry. The cross of intolerance, the cross of ignorance. The weight of this cross will come to bear on the rest of your life and because of its existence; you will shower your spouse and children with many affections. Affections learned on your own and not from your family’s teachings and not from the environment of your home life as a child.
One day after his death, when you and your mother are alone, you will convey to her how carrying this cross has affected your life. She will assure you that it’s alright, that she understood, that he understood, that he knew you loved him and that he loved you. Though her wise warm words of assurance are nice and warm to hear they will not lift the burden. The burden will never be lifted. This is the burden of a lost precious moment. Precious moments in life once lived, cannot be relived and like your fathers lost moments, you will have yours.
As a young child you will begin to exhibit mischievous and deceitful behavior that will become worst, as you grow older. Although head strong and ignorant of the cost, under the gentle guidance of a number of guardians you will not be allowed to reach the point of no return.
You will reach a period in your young life of low self-esteem and broken spirit. It will be at this time that you will select a path that will take you far away from your home and all that is familiar to you. A path from which you can never return. A direction that will never allow you to come home again.
As in the earth’s animal kingdom, when the mother severs her ties to her cubs, so will you be released. When you return from your journey, having changed of manner, so will everything around you have changed. Your father will embrace you, your mother’s heart will be lifted and you will have learned to love and respect your parents.
It is at the end of this journey that you will meet the mate that I have created for you. The mate of your purpose. You will make your life and your home in her heart. You will give your heart to her and she will caress it and give your life its intended purpose. Her heart will be your constant desire for a near lifetime and she will embrace your love.
Having survived the trials and tribulations of your youth, you will now embark on a new life.A life that will be good to you, but one that you through no fault of your own will not always understand. You will show more affection and understanding than you are accustomed to receiving and the true ways of your heart will become more apparent as your life unfolds.
You will sow your seeds two times and your spouse will bless you with two beautiful, healthy children. Your garden will further grow when your children mature and reproduce of their seeds.
Your life on earth, after all that you have endured will be fruitful and you will be of a generous nature, such as your father before you.All of your traits’ both good and bad will be passed to all future generations.
Alas, at the end of your life, your time spent, you will leave all you have come to understand of love and all you know of worldly things. Having achieved all I have asked of you, your place in my kingdom will be awaiting your return. All God's children return. In my image, you will be recognized at my gate.
Now the time for you to leave my house has arrived my child. Upon your departure you will forget all you know of my kingdom, my home and even what I look like, the sound of my voice. During your time on earth, there will be many instances when you think that you were created in my image, when you wonder what your purpose in life is, but assurances will only come through faith. Take of my blood, share of my bone, beat of my heart and make your presence known. Your family awaits your arrival, your birth.
And so I made my appearance on earth for the first time. All ten toes and ten fingers and every other thing that came with being a boy. I was normal! I think. At three o'clock in the afternoon April 24th 1936. I was born in the bedroom of my parent’s second floor cold water flat in Harlem, New York on 1579 Madison Avenue, between 106th Street and 107th Street, apartment 2b. My parents were two people called Francesco and Maria Caruso.
Papa came through the gates of Ellis Island in 1911, from Caltagirone, Sicily when he was nineteen years old.He had in his possession one suitcase, some lire in his pocket and the clothes on his back. Upon being asked by the port authorities what his destination would be, he replied, "New Jersey” with a heavy Italian accent and after a physical examination he was off to his new life in America. It was there that he met Grandpa, Mama's father. Being uneducated and not being able to speak English, Papa found work as a laborer and eventually became a plasterer and a cement finish man.
Grandpa liked papa from the instant they met.Grandma didn't like papa at all and she never grew to like him.She was the kind of woman who demanded respect and always got it, especially from people who didn't like her. They might talk behind her back but wouldn't whisper a negative word around her.
Papa disliked grandma with a passion, but never said a word to her face. Until her dying day she was the dominant figure in our family. Grandpa allowed him to court Mama against Grandma's wishes and before long even Grandma couldn't stop the wedding.
Grandma met Grandpa in Sicily as a young girl and fell in love with him. He was tall dark and handsome. A carabineer, an Italian policeman on horseback, he swept Grandma off her feet. Grandpa came from a poor family and was not considered suitable for grandma by her parents. Grandma's family was educated and well to do. When it was realized by her parents that she was serious about the young man, they told her that if she married him she would be dishonored and disowned as a daughter. Neither she nor any of her descendants would receive any of the family’s wealth when they passed away.
Grandma and Grandpa were married with no members of her family present at the wedding. After ten years and six children later, it became obvious that there would be no change in Grandma's family’s attitude towards her and her husband, so Grandpa and Grandma decided that they would leave Sicily for America. Grandma did not object, but they had no money to make the journey. It cost a small fortune for eight people to cross the ocean. Upon arrival Grandpa couldn’t make enough money fast enough and decided to go to Argentina to earn the money it would cost for his family to take the trip.
Not much is known about this period of time. It took grandpa about six months to earn the necessary funds for the entire family to move their roots. Not much is known about Grandpa's earning capabilities either. We know that he knew allot about horses and was an excellent horseman. He was a fancy dresser and a serious gambler. The family’s fortunes more than once went from feast to famine on his luck or misfortune. He was a dedicated father and husband. Finally the time was at hand and without one single word from Grandma's family, they left Sicily and entered the United States of America in 1913.
I got to know Grandma quite well but I never got to meet Grandpa. He died before I was born. One day while they were living at New York, he was leaning against a door jam talking to Grandma who was cooking.She heard a moan and turned around to see him fall to the floor. He was sixty-seven years old.
Grandma was a tiny woman with a slender built. I've never seen pictures of her when she was a young girl, but judging by the way Grandpa chased after her she must have been beautiful. She was always stern and sad looking. I can't ever recall her smiling.
When Mama brought us kids over to visit with Grandma, she would always call me over to sit on her lap. She'd talk to me in Italian because she never learned English and she'd always give me a nickel for the movies. She would talk to me and we'd have conversations in Italian but I can only recall one.
One time when I was on her lap, she turned my hand palm up and kissed it right in the middle. I didn't understand the gesture, but she looked at me and said," Remember Dominic, always remember you're special, you are a special little boy."I remember turning to look at Mama and seeing that she had a smile on her face.
Mama had come through Ellis a few years earlier than her entire family. She was educated in Sicily and had intentions of becoming a schoolteacher. She had a boyfriend in her native town of Ramaca, Sicily but he was from a poor family and could not afford to go to the United States of America. Mama was not allowed to stay behind and marry him because Grandma would not permit it. The move to the United States of America changed Mama's life forever. Mama lost her boyfriend, the man she wanted to marry, never to see him again and would not be able to teach in America because she could not speak the English language and refused to learn.
The letters would continue between Mama and her boyfriend for a period of time, but came to an end by the time Mama and Papa married. Mama and Papa were married and by the time I was born in 1936 there were four children in the Caruso family.Lena was the oldest at eighteen, Josie was sixteen, Anna was twelve and Salvatore was eleven.Mama and Papa had suffered the terrible loss of a son named Joey at age six and a daughter named Ira at three months, about nine years before I was born.
Coldwater flats were common at the time I was born.The term cold water flat meant that there was no heat and no hot water.Water had to be boiled on the kitchen stove for everything from cooking to bathing. The only source of heat was from Kerosene stove burners or the oven.
A mid-wife was in attendance at our flat as Mama had me by natural birth in their bedroom.Most new immigrants, like my parents couldn't afford to have their children delivered at the neighborhood hospital.
Chapter 2
I was born early in the evening and weighed nine pounds and eight ounces.The tradition in Catholic families in those days was not to allow an infant out of their home until the child was baptized.The reason being that the church wanted to make sure the child was baptized should some misfortune befall it.For that reason my name was first uttered by Mama approximately two weeks later at my baptismal.
Mama and papa had fought over what I should be named since the day mama told him she was pregnant. Papa wanted to call me Joseph after my brother who had died nine years earlier of diphtheria. Papa had named my brother after his father who died just prior to papa leaving Sicily to come to America.
Fearing that Papa would never accept Joey's death and expect me to fill the void left by his death, mama refused to say what name was to be used on the birth certificate when asked by the mid-wife, so the woman was unable to place a name on my birth certificate.The mid-wife having no recourse and being required to fill out the certificate and sign it, signed my birth certificate ‘Male Caruso’.
Anyway, I didn't look anything like Joey.I had brown eyes, brown hair and a dark complexion.Joey had blue eyes, blond hair and a complexion of peaches and cream. He looked just like his Grandpa in Sicily. For papa, according to Mama's accounting, the sun rose and fell with Joey.Weeks after my birth I was finally named. My birth certificate has never been changed and most likely never will be.
Once, shortly after Papa had passed away while visiting with Mama, I asked her why my birth certificate read ‘Male Caruso’.She told me the whole story about why my birth certificate had no first name on it.
I know Mama didn't find it easy to discuss the subject, so I never brought the subject up again. For me it wasn't necessary. Years later, when I mentioned it at a family gathering, I was surprised to find that no one knew anything about Papa and Mama’s disagreement over my name and that my birth certificate was void of a first name.
If it were not for me asking Mama, no one would have known why my name was not on my birth certificate, leaving me with a question I could have never found the answer to.
During that stay with Mama, she told me many things about Papa and herself. Things about his life at Sicily and after he came to America. Arguments and disagreements erupted at family gatherings when I brought up some of the things Mama told me. No one believed me when I mentioned that my birth certificate had no name on it. I remember what she told me and I believe her. She had no reason to lie. I know some of the things she told me were hard for her to say to me. More than once she had tears in her eyes.
I told her that it was important, that when she died, there would be no one who would know the truth if she didn't take the time to tell me while she could. I told her I cared and wanted to know how I came to be and that my children would one day want to know. She understood and in her heart she knew that I should know. We as humans need to know all there is to know about ourselves whether it’s good or bad, so we can go on with our lives. So we can learn from our mistakes. So we can help ourselves, our children and so we can make the best of our lives.
In my heart of hearts, I know that Papa loved me.There is no question in my mind that he knew I loved him, although neither one of us were able to find the courage to say it. At one time or another, both of us in different ways tried to reach across the generation gap. We both tried to reach across our burden, but neither of us was able to touch the other in that special way. Being the younger of the two and not having been through the trauma he went through, I consider it my fault that we never really touched. I will forever consider it to have been my responsibility to do so, my fault, for not having the courage to act on my emotions. Perhaps that's why I seem to act erratically at times, quick to express my emotions, many time's at an inappropriate moment. Not so much for that one act but more so for the nature that permitted it.
We never argued, because I like everyone else was afraid of him. He criticized me many time. Many times he hurt my feelings. I can remember like it was yesterday the way he used to say to me, "Go ahead Dominic fix it!"It was his way of saying that once I got my hands on something in an attempt to fix it, it would never work again. Nothing I did would ever satisfy him and nothing I did would ever surprise him. He and I never agreed on anything. We never did anything together. He never gave me any confidence and after a while I started looking elsewhere for it.
The only exception was my decision to join the Navy. He was happy when I decided to join the Navy. I think he was proud of me. I'd like to believe that. I remember him accompanying me to the Trailways Bus Terminal. We embrace just before I boarded the bus and he said, "Be a good boy." in my ear.I was twenty years old. I will forever remember him waving to me and having tears in his eyes as the bus backed out of the station. It’s hard for me to explain, hard for me to understand, it’s hard for me to say why I didn't want to get off of the bus and give him one last embrace, but the thought didn't enter my mind until years later, unfortunately.
After that day, out of respect, I always embraced Papa when we came together or said our farewells. Often when I think back, I can feel us embracing each other. I can feel his warm chest pressing against mine; I can some times smell him near me. There's an odor a body gives off, not an offensive smell but rather one of an identifying nature.
I remember shortly after papa had died, I had occasion to sleep in his bed, something I looked forward to doing and something Mama wanted me to do. I think Mama felt it necessary that I sleep in Papa’s bed. I felt that perhaps there would be some sort of bonding between us that never happened while he was alive. As soon as I lay down, I felt close to him again. I could smell him. I could identify his odor. It was on his pillow and on the sheets, even though mama had washed them. I lay there and cried myself to sleep in silence. They were tears of wanting, tears of the soul.
I recall very little of my pre-school years. From time to time things seem to come back to me in bits and pieces.Sometimes as fast as thoughts appear they disappear. Many times my thoughts have been confirmed by one family member or another, during a discussion.
Mama often told me about the cold water flat we lived in on Madison Avenue across from Central Park. 1579 Madison Avenue, Manhattan between 106 and 107th street, the apartment was on the second floor.According to Mama, if the weather was nice, before we went food shopping on the avenue, we would go to the park for a while. I don't remember my carriage, but I'm sure I remember my stroller.I'm not sure about the color, I think it was blue and white, but I recall it had beads on the front of it around the tray and it was made of metal. Some time's I can visualize myself being pushed by the sidewalk stores on the avenue and other times I can see me being pushed through the park.
In those days, there were no large food stores.People who lived in the larger cities like New York only had to go up or down the avenue to do all their shopping.Even today people in the city need only go a block or two to find everything they need. Almost every food product had and for that matter still does have a store such as the bread store, the fish store, the meat store, the fruit store, the pastry shop and so forth. Merchants use to and still do display their non-perishable goods on wooden boxes placed on the sidewalk directly in front of their store so that people afoot could see them.
According to Mama I used to love pears. Mama would buy one for me from the sidewalk stand outside the fruit store whenever we went by the fruit stand. I remember the streets busy with people, streetcars, buses and peddlers on their horse drawn wagons, but I can't recall any automobiles.
I recall a Jewish man who would come to our apartment with a suitcase full of wearing apparel. He would spread everything out on the table and floor so that Mama could see everything from shoes to hats. Mama would buy what she needed and pay for them on time payments. He would stop by once a week to pick up that weeks payment.
I also remember the iceman delivering ice. The iceman that serviced our block delivered his ice on a horse drawn wagon. I remember that the back of the ice wagon was always covered by a dark colored tarp. In those days very few people had refrigerators. With all the convenient stores no one had a need for freezers. I'm not even sure freezers were in existence at that time. Iceboxes were more common. Ice had to be delivered every couple of days or so. Most people bought their food by the day. These few memories and a few others are as much as I can remember about this period of my life. One memory is of an incident that I've never been able to get out of my mind. It happened before we left Madison Avenue for Prospect Avenue in the upper Bronx.
New York had and still has cast iron streetlights in some of the older parts of the city. They have large bases and a sculptured post that goes up to two or three lighted beautiful glass balls. They're often painted in green, brown or even black.
One day while mama was pushing me up the avenue in my stroller, we approached a corner and saw two men arguing.One man pushed the other man and they both started running, one chasing the other.One man pulled a knife.As the man that was being chased reached the corner of the block where mama and I were waiting to cross the street. He jumped up on the base of the streetlight and started kicking at the man with the knife. The man with the knife started slashing at him with the knife. I remember the man’s pants being cut apart and blood running from the tears in his pants. When she realized what was happening, Mama turned the stroller around to get us away from the corner.I remember turning around to see that the man holding on to the street light post had fallen to the sidewalk and the man with the knife was sitting on top of him stabbing him repeatedly in the chest. Both men were soaked with blood.
After all these years I can still remember the scared look on his face, his shouting for help and his cries of pain. I asked Mama about that incident one time and she told me that things like that happened so often that Papa told her that as long as she made an attempt to avoid things like that, that no harm would come to her.She said she didn't recall that happening, but she recalled other happening's that were similar, some stabbings, some shootings.
Another recollection is of a locomotive, a toy locomotive. I must have had a train set while we lived in Harlem although I can't remember it. I do remember the locomotive. It was a key wind up locomotive. Like the other children, I used to play on the stoop and sidewalk outside our building. We were not allowed to play on the curb or in the street. One or more of the women living in the building was always there to watch over us as we played. The children were never left unattended.
One day while I was playing out front with my locomotive, I wound it up and set it down on the sidewalk. Walking behind it, I followed it until it made a turn and ran off the curb and into the gutter. It turned over and righted itself and kept going until it was in the middle of the street. I shouted to the woman that my train was in the street, but I guess she didn't hear me. I knew I wasn't allowed off the sidewalk and I started crying. Then I saw a colored kid on roller skates skating in the street. I yelled to him that my train was in the street and I saw him go after it. As he reached the locomotive he leaned over scooped it up and kept on going. I watched him disappear down the street with my locomotive.
The lady watching us heard me crying and came over to the curb where I was standing. When I explained to her what had happened she shouted up to my mother from the sidewalk. Mama looked out of the window and told me to come up stairs. I ran up the stoop steps, into the apartment building, up to our second story apartment and into the kitchen where Grandma and Mama were preparing some food.
I cried all the way up the stairs, and it seemed that every door I passed, someone was opening their door and asking me what the matter was, what had happened. I couldn't get into our apartment fast enough. I was crying uncontrollably and it was embarrassing to have everyone in the building see me crying. Mama consoled me, but there was nothing she could do about my locomotive. It was gone.Grandma sat me on her lap and told me that one-day I was going to have a new train, a better train. One that made real smoke. I remember her making me laugh, making me forget about my locomotive.
That was the last thing I remember about Madison Avenue and some time after that we moved away. Although I don't remember the move from Harlem to the Bronx, I do recall papa giving a neighbor on the same floor, our piano so we wouldn't have to take it with us when we left. It was a player piano, it played music rolls and we had a closet half full of rolls. The stack of piano rolls was well over my head.
I was four years old when we moved to the Bronx. Papa had accepted an offer to be a building superintendent on 189th Street in the Bronx. He would be taking care of the cleaning and maintenance of a building owned by a Mrs. Smarter. The building was located one block from the school I would be attending and two blocks away from the Bronx Zoo.
As far back as I can remember Papa always was a heavy drinker. Most of all, his favorite alcoholic beverage was red wine, but if wine were not available he would resort to what ever else was available, such as hard liquor or beer.When sober he was the perfect gentleman and a complete introvert. Given the slightest reason while under the influence, he would become extremely aggressive, capable of violent behavior and given to fits of rage. Rages that would almost always be of a destructive nature.
The verbal abuse was always directed at Mama. He would call her dirty names, terrible names and make many threatening gestures as if to strike her but I can't ever recall him actually hitting her. It was frightening to my sisters Josey, Theresa and I. I think that the abuse I witnessed of Mama by Papa when he was drunk as a child had a direct relationship to some of the violent behavior I would exhibit later on as a young man. I don't mean to make it sound as if I'm shirking responsibility for my own actions, but when a person is raised in a violent environment and has a nature that will go from very gentle to very violent in a split second, the use of violence to handle difficult situations becomes common. When violence becomes common, it becomes difficult to see the error of one's ways. That is until it is too late.
Mama would dress us kids and take us to church every Sunday. Papa didn't attend church. He always seemed to have something harsh to say about the church. He hated priest and nuns and he thought the pope was useless. After he discovered that Jesus was a Jew it was all over. When he got drunk and spoke of the church he would start in about Jesus Christ being a Jew.
With all his dislike for the church and the Catholic religion, every Christmas his religious belief would manifest itself in the setting up of the Christmas manger. The Nativity Scene, comprising of Joseph, Mary and the Baby Jesus surrounded by shepherds, their flocks of animals and the three wise men.There were never gifts such as toys for Christmas, but rather gifts of foods such as apples, oranges, nuts or clothing. The Nativity scenes became larger and larger each year and I can't help but think that this might have been one of the traditions Papa brought with him when he left his native Sicily. Although I have no way of knowing for sure, I would prefer to believe that it was a tradition he decided to carry on here in America. Since the first Christmas I celebrated with my wife, it has been a traditional part of our families Christmas and now with both our children married with children of their own, they are carrying on the tradition in their own home. I split up what had become an enormous Nativity set and gave some of Papa's original set and many pieces I had purchased to my now adult daughters.
The first thing I remember about 189th street in the Bronx was having a dog. Spotty was his name. He was shorthaired, white with black and brown spots all over his body. I think he was a mutt, because his legs were to short for a dog his size. He used to sleep by the foot of Papa's bed. None of us kids were allowed into Mama and Papa's bedroom unless we were invited in. In the morning we'd call for Spotty to come out. If Papa was still asleep we'd call Spotty very quietly as not to wake him up.
Although it’s customary for the superintendent to have an apartment on the first floor of the building, when papa took the job the only apartment available was on the fifth floor. There was no elevator, so groceries as well as everything else had to be carried up the stairs. It did however have hot and cold running water. There was a fire escape on the outside of the building on every floor for every apartment; to be used for emergences but the tenants would use them for all kinds of things. Sitting on them to enjoy the fresh air, airing out mattresses or even doing little jobs on them.
Mama used to keep plants on the fire escape during the spring and summer months. Besides flowers she used to grow parsley and mint. Weather permitting Mama used to clean vegetables and make other preparations for meals on the fire escape while watching me play on it. To one side of our fire escape was the kitchen window. We used to keep the kitchen window open in warm weather, so as to let the breeze blow through the apartment. There was no air conditioning and the breeze was always welcome.
One day while Mama and I were on the fire escape, Spotty came to the kitchen window. He had his front paws on the windowsill and was barking at something outside. Mama yelled "No!" to him but he kept on barking. She yelled again at him, "No Spotty no no!" In Italian she yelled at Spotty to get back in the kitchen, but he didn't pay any attention to her. All of a sudden he jumped up on to the sill. Mama got up from the wooden box she was sitting on and as Mama and I watched, he slipped off of the sill and toppled out of the window. I remember it as though it was yesterday. I can see it as clearly as if I were watching it for the first time. People had their freshly washed clothes hanging on clothes lines strung out of their kitchen windows and as Spotty fell he hit every clothes line from the forth floor to the first floor. Each time he hit a clothes line it would stop him short, spin him around and he would fall to the next clothes line. He gave out a cry every time he hit a clothes line.Hitting all four clothes lines he landed on the concrete walk way leading to the sidewalk at the front of the building. Mama started yelling in a crying voice. Seeing Mama, I started crying. All of the neighbors below us and across our building started looking out of their windows. Mama was crying and yelling for papa. She grabbed me and put me in the house, the she climbed through the window. She ran to the kitchen window and started calling for Papa.
People were starting to look out of all the windows. I followed mama to the window, but she wouldn't let me look out. One of the tenants must have called papa and told him what had happened, because before long he was at Spotty's side. A crowd started to form around Spotty as Mama looked out of the window, both of us crying.
When Papa brought Spotty back into the apartment, Spotty had blood all over his body and he was whimpering in a low tone. He was bleeding from his eye’s nose and mouth. I don't remember if he was moving but I remember his eye's blinking. Papa laid him on a towel he had placed on the floor and started attending to him. Mama got some rags and warm water and Papa started placing splints on his back and at least two of Spotty’s legs. Mama was crying and Papa looked like he was about to start. It was obvious that he was hurting for Spotty. Papa stayed with Spotty the rest of that day and into the night and half the next day until he had to leave. Days turned into weeks and Spotty started doing better. He wouldn't let anyone touch him but Papa, biting him once and other times just grasping Papa's hand in his mouth. I saw him bite Papa and although Papa had to grit his teeth in pain he didn't pull his hand out of Spotty’s mouth.
Papa kept him alive with raw eggs and liquids like soups and wine on a spoon.All of Spotty’s wounds healed with the exception of one of his broken legs. There must have been damage to his joint, because he could never bend his rear leg after the accident.He would hop around on three legs dragging his damaged leg behind him. He never climbed up on the windowsill again on his own, but every so often when he wanted to look out of the window Mama or I would hold him on it so he could look outside.
I can't recall how long after Spotty’s fall that an apartment became available to us on the first floor.It was after we moved into the first floor apartment that Spotty ran out into the street and was run over by a bus.I don't remember anything about it.I guess I wasn't around and they felt I shouldn't be told.Later Mama would tell me what happened to spotty. She said that Papa had to go out into the street with a box and a shovel, stop traffic and retrieve Spotty's remains so he could be buried.
There was a nine-year difference between the rest of the children in our family and I with the exception of my sister Theresa who was born two years after me. Papa had been in prison for seven years and after his release, I was born, to be followed by my sister Theresa two years later.
One of the earliest things I remember about my older brother Sal is in this period of time. As a young man, Sal was very talented and quite creative.Mama, Papa and even members who were not part of the immediate part of our family, considered Sal to be the gifted member of the family. Artistically, mechanically and every other way. He never seemed to disappoint anyone. Sal always rose to the occasion. When ever there was a problem, the cry went out, "Call Sal."
One of his hobbies was building stick model airplanes.He used to hang them from the ceiling or decorate his dresser top with them. I had no idea how fragile they were.One day I took one off the top of his dresser to play with it, thinking I'd put it back before he got home. While playing with it I guess I got too ruff with it and broke one of the wings. I put it back on his dresser hoping that he wouldn't see it but he did. When he did, I could hear him yell from the next room. He came running through the living room into the bedroom where I was. I jumped over the bed and ran into the living room where Papa was standing.
When I reached Papa I started running around him with Sal chasing after me until Papa grabbed me and held Sal off with his arm. Sal told Papa that I had just broken his airplane and that I was always breaking his things, but I don't remember breaking anything but the plane. Papa told Sal not to be fighting with me and told me not to touch his things anymore. Not anything. Pointing his finger at me he said in Italian, "Do you understand me Dominic?"When I didn't respond, he grabbed me by the back of my collar almost lifting me off the floor and repeated himself. This time I said, "Yes Papa!"I can't remember how much time after that, Sal left for the Bainbridge Naval Training Center at Baltimore Maryland.He saw action in the Pacific with the seventh fleet and after the war ended, returned with his ship to Little Creek Amphibious base at Norfolk Virginia.
I remember him coming home on weekend liberty a few times, bringing shipmates with him. He never seemed to stay home when on leave. It used to upset me because I missed him and wanted to be with him. I remember him sending me two gifts while he was in the Navy. The first gift I received from Sal was an oil painting set. I always wanted to be like Sal and I wanted to try my hand at painting, but although he had gone through the trouble of making me up a set I never used it until years later when I was staying with him and his wife on Long Island, I was a teenager by then.I knew I could do it, even at that time. But for some reason, I never even tried. It was put away and forgotten for about fourteen years.
The other gift Sal sent me was a pair of boxing gloves and a punching bag. This was much later and just prior to his discharge from the Navy, when I was about eleven years old. The next recollection I have of Sal was when we lived on Long Island.Sal served a total of eight years in the navy before being discharged and returning home. Sal went into the house painting business and was doing allot of drinking. He was in a serious accident with his truck and was almost killed. He was intoxicated at the time of the accident and it didn't change his drinking habits. It wasn't to long before Sal was married and left home again.
At the time of Sal's leaving for the Navy, my sister Lena had been married and was out of the house for about five years. She was the most respected of all the Caruso children by Mama, Papa and everyone she came in contact with, but especially by Papa.She was not only intelligent, but also wise enough and strong enough to stand up to Papa. Although there were times I'm sure when she was intimidated by him, she knew she had his respect and that because of that he would only go so far. Unfortunately for Lena respect came with a price. More than once she was beaten by Papa for something that was not her fault. Something that was not her doing. Most of the time over someone that she tried to intervene for or protect. Whenever there was a problem that Papa couldn't handle, he would always involve Lena. Whenever he wanted to know what was going on, whenever he wanted to know the truth, he would contact Lena.
As time went on he became so dependent on her that he started becoming suspicious of Lena. Whenever something happened that he couldn’t deal with he would accuse her of being involved. At times he would accuse her of knowing about something and keeping it from him. He would start calling her all kinds of names.
The most notable situation that comes to mind happened just after the start of the United States involvement in the Second World War. It involved my sister Anna who was secretly dating a young man while we lived in the Bronx.
None of us had the courage that Lena had when it came to standing up to Papa and just being honest with him. When sober he was the perfect gentleman, but after the first drink, he started to change and got continuously worst until he fell asleep. His manner became over bearing and frightening. His appearance changed and he appeared enraged. Almost like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, except his serum was liquor.
So it stands to reason and should be appreciated that Lena's boyfriend Jim, had the courage and the will to come face to face with Papa to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Unlike Jim, Anna's boyfriend, like the rest of us could not muster up the courage to face Papa.
Everyone but Papa knew that Anna was dating Orlando. Orlando lived with his parents up the block from us. His parents knew their son was dating Anna and from all I can gather did not approve of Orlando seeing her. I'm quite sure it had to do with their knowing of Papa having served time in Sing Sing Prison. Papa's story was well known among Italian families in the New York and the New Jersey area.
Chapter 3
Anna would spend time with Orlando on the sly, taking every opportunity to be with him. Using different stories, different reasons and ways to get out, my Aunt Josephine would help her with alibi’s, always at a risk to herself. Always knowing what the penalty would be should she be caught. Mama would be her main cover and safety net. Although Mama helped Anna, I don't believe she conspired with Aunt Josephine. Mama told me that many nights she would pray to herself while Papa drank himself to sleep. Lena advised Anna against this type of behavior but without a doubt would have defended her younger sister if she had to.
As faith would have it, these were the war years and Orlando received his draft notice as many young men did to report to training camp on such and such a date. He was being drafted into the Army. By this time, Anna and Orlando were deeply in love and couldn't stand to be separated, so they decided to make the only decision that they could see at the time.They decided to elope. The plan was for Anna to sneak out of the house one night after Orlando had arrived at boot camp.She would find a room close to the base and they could get married by the base Chaplin and be together while he was in training. After the training ended, she was to follow him to Germany where Orlando felt he would be sent, and they would live on the base.