FaceBook sometimes feels like just another chore and then some photo or post will smack me in the face and send my memory cells careening around my brain. On April 15, 2025, my testa dura got smacked hard. Into my otherwise boring feed popped a picture of a handsome young man at his thirtieth birthday celebration. I started to sob. Not because, I wanted to be thirty and at that party – though that thought did enter my mind – but because I first met the now thirty year old Valerio Mancini in 1995. The year that changed our lives.
1995 – Jack and I accompanied my Aunt Catherine back the village she was born in, Pontelandolfo, Italy. That year, I had started a family tree and the three of us were on a quest to find more information.
Just to put 1995 in perspective, this is before we had a cell phone with a magic app that did instant translation. We had to get by on Jersey Girl balls and a big smile. Aunt Cat had had polio In Italy and at 80 something smiled like a wee elf sporting a big brace. Jack wheeled her to the municipal building and stopped. There were two flights of stairs to the anagrafe office. No worry, Aunt Cat beamed that magical smile at two local policemen who carried her up two flights of stairs in the chair. (This is what the Italian heart is all about.)
The woman responsible for vital records spent about three hours with us going through all these old books dating back to the 1860s. Aunt Cat started speaking in an arcane Italian dialect and everybody understood her. Her face lit up. It was like she had just found heaven. This was a language that was entrenched in her soul. A language that she never spoke at home and suddenly here she is and it’s possible again. We find all kinds of information. Like my Great Grandfather, Salvatore Guerrera, was married to Caterina Guerrera. Italian women keep their own names so my imagination went wild. Did he marry his cousin/sister – euuuch? Is that why I am just a little pazzo? Guerrera, we discovered, is a super common name. I licked my pencil point and kept on writing. We thanked everyone and found our way down the stairs and back to our car.
Now, we have about 6 handwritten pages of family tree and I haven’t the foggiest idea what we’re going to do with it. While staring at each other and standing in the almost empty Piazza Roma another vigile comes up to us. Having lived in Waterbury, Connecticut, He speaks English. Side Note – After World War Two, the lack of jobs and demolished towns were a catalyst for a mass exodus. There are more Pontelandolfese in Connecticut today than there are in Pontelandolfo.
Pietro Perugini, sporting his vigile uniform, walked right up to us. Asking if he could see the family tree, he pulled the notes from my hand, stared at them, got into the town police car and left. He left with all my notes. He just freaking left. Three hours’ worth of notes and he gets in his car and he leaves. What the f*&$? I threw the biggest hissy fit imaginable. All that work. All that time going through the dusty books. Had I unearthed a horrible town secret?
The tantrum chock full of English curses started drawing a crowd. Aunt Cat smacks me with her cane. I’m thinking, OK OK, maybe like we’re related to really bad people and they don’t want us to know that we’re part of the baddest of bad evil people. Or maybe we’re royalty. That must be it – and and and and and they don’t want us to know because we really own this freaking Piazza.
I swear we waited for 3 ½ or 4 hours. but Jack said it was probably maybe 15 minutes. I don’t know. All that pacing was making me insane. Officer Perugini finally came back and said, “I think I found your relatives follow me.”
We get Anne Catherine back in the car and we followed to row houses on a side hilly street. I found out later that after a devastating earthquake that eradicated homes dating back to the 1600s, this public housing was built. Since the houses were crammed next to each other, it was tongue in cheek branded as Shanghai. The vigile and I knocked on a door. A little old lady tentatively opens the door and with a fierce look stares at us. I’m holding the family tree and pointing I say here I am and there you are. The policeman says it in Italian. Actually, I have no idea what he’s saying but I’m guessing it’s ‘here she is and there you are.’ Bamm, the door was slammed in our faces.
Jack had parked and Aunt Catherine is, with great difficulty, dragging her leg, holding on to Jack and walking toward this house. I knock on the door again. Again, I’m greeted by a scowling woman, but also a smiling younger woman holding a baby saying “come on in for coffee.” Obviously mother and daughter don’t agree about what to do with these strange Americans. The old woman is essentially saying we know no one in America and we don’t want to. The young woman with an adventuresome gleam in her eye is curious. They see and hear Catherine say in her little voice from the road “are you my cousin?”
The three of us were in the doorway. Aunt Cat asked again, “tu e mia cugina?”
The old woman replied, Jesu e Maria. Ora e sempre, Caterina Guerrera had recalled the ancient greeting. Both women started to cry and hugged.
Suddenly, Giuseppina Guerrera, who we discovered was indeed Aunt Cat’s first cousin, starts to ask her 20 questions. It was better than any of those quiz shows. The million dollar question was – Libero Capporosso. Conosci libero caparoso? I’m thinking who the hell is Libero Capparoso? A light went off, the audience cheered as Anne Catherine said – “bookie.” Libero means book in Italian. He had left the village and come to New Jersey and stayed with our family. Bookie was the magic answer that opened the door to our hearts and love for Pontelandolfo.
That day, we also found another family and first cousin, Carmine Manna. Both families have embraced us. Because of them we became part of the greater Pontelandolfo family.
Thank you Valerio for posting your birthday bash on Facebook. Thank you for being part of our extended family. Thank you for reminding me how blessed we are to have found our roots in Pontelandolfo. That you for being that wee baby boy who smiled and welcomed us home.
Ci Vediamo
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 