Dear Clark & Margaret,

Joanne showed me the amodeofamily.com website and I was so impressed. First of all, a special thanks to you for putting it on the "web"--and also renewing some wonderful memories in me of my father & mother and family. I think I could contribute a special anecdote for each person, but I am just going to recall some of my favourite talks with my parents.

Meals were always very special at our house and my father always had a glass of wine (which he mixed with water and kept in the fridge). It was homemade wine, and not very good, but that's a story in itself.

My father was the oldest child of Francesco & Maria. I am not accurate about the age and year, but I think it was about the time he should have been in school (which I think he attended for 1 month). His father, Francesco, went to New Orleans to possibly make his fortune and come home rich. However, I don't think it happened, and my father must have had a very deep hurt about this. He never talked about it. He must have been gone for 3 or 4 years and in the meantime, his wife died.

My father must have been around nine years old, and Mariano younger, and the girls & Diego were much younger. Their uncle (Francesco's brother) took charge of the family and made Biagio & Mariano go to work with him at the farm, and the rest stayed home and tended themselves. He talked about his uncle, and I think he was very kind to them, but they had to work. Some days they got up very early--4 or 5 in the morning, and walked to the farms which were at least 5-10 miles away, in order to be there for sunrise, so that they could plow & sew the fields. At harvest time they would sleep over, on the ground, no shelter.

I think at this time another sister, Antonina, died--but I'm not sure. That's another thing he didn't talk about much.

The timing was all very obscure, but my father was very proud to say that when he was twelve years old he wrote to his father "Don't bother coming home--you weren't here when we needed you. I am head of the family now and I am looking after my brothers & sisters, so please don't come back. We don't need you." He did go back to Termini, but I don't know what year.

The uncle was still responsible, and tried to help them. He was the one who talked Mariano into going to Kingston--he came to Canada first. He must have been about 15 years of age. The uncle then suggested my father come to Toronto, and I know he was 17 years old. He went to live in a house on Beverley Street, corner of Queen, with a family from Termini.

He got his first job working on the railway for 50 cents a day. He always related this story--that they gave him a pick & shovel (a zapuni, in Italian) and he said, "this is what I came to Canada to get away from." Then he asked the other emigrants what they did, and someone said that they peddled, and they told him to get a basket and go to the market and buy fruit and peddle it from door to door. He didn't like that very much either, but he persisted, and bought non-perishable fruits--oranges, grapefruit, lemons. One day he went to one of the big hotels--German Hotel--"Rathskeller" I think it was. And they asked him if he had any lemons & limes. He had a few--but the chef told him "if you get me lemons & limes I'll take all you've got every day". He did, and then decided to go to the other hotels, restaurants, little box lunch places that were his specialty. He kept the box lunch places, personally, after they were established in business.

He made enough money to buy a horse & cart and a place of his own, but I'm not sure where. By this time he had saved enough money to get married, and went back to Termini & married Maria Coniglio.

I'm not sure what year he bought 564 Queen St., but as far as I know that was the only store he bought. The whole family worked in it, and when Uncle Frank grew, he took over the wholesale, hotels, restaurants, etc.--and sold more than lemons & limes. They must have prospered and retired for 2 years back to Termini, leasing the store to the Faciano's. Zia Pepina was Maria Coniglio's sister.

They went to Termini, stayed with Maria's mother, and he became lazy and didn't like it. Also, Uncle Frank was a teenager and he wanted him to work. So, they came back. Then Tragedy occurred. Business was booming. It was the Christmas season and they sold Christmas trees. Uncle Frank would tell the story of how his mother just loved to stay outside selling trees, and chalking up another sale. He said that he and his father would tell her to go inside but she persisted and caught pneumonia. There were no antibiotics or cure, and she died. Here was a widower with 5 children. His brother & sister-in-law were still living there and he couldn't cope alone.

He went back to Italy to his mother-in-law and told her he wanted to find a wife. He remembered meeting Rosa Bova when he was there with his wife and wondered why she had reached the ripe old age of 27 without getting married. Rosa was Maria Coniglio's first cousin. Rosa's mother & Maria's father were brother & sister. Truth being, that Rosa's mother married Pietro Bova against her father's will (I think she eloped, but I'm not sure), and she was disowned by her father and family. Except for her oldest brother Francesco Coniglio, who would feel so sorry for his sister that he would send her food.

Rosa Coniglio Bova paid dearly for her mistake. She had to work all her life, after being used to living with plenty (the Coniglio's were landowners & comparatively wealthy). Her only concern was that she wanted her last daughter to marry well, and to a good worker.

So, when she was asked for the hand of her daughter in marriage (after having seen the whole family living in the lap of luxury in Italy), she quickly said "yes"--and talked my mother into marrying him. In the meantime, my father made it quite clear that his children came first. He told her she could buy anything she wanted, but "look after his children first". When he told her this, my mother wanted to back down but my grandmother insisted that "money covered a multitude of sins". So they were married in Termini in September 1927.

I remember fondly Zio Mariano & Zia Marie. They were an extended part of our household. The two couples visited each other at least twice a week. No words were lost between the two brothers. Shall we have a "pastita"--game of cards? Nothing else said and they would sit quietly and play (Tre-Septe) Three Sevens. It was a game that required great concentration, as they showed each other each card they picked.

Often we would hear a very low mumbling between the two and they would be discussing something. They never talked, but afterwards my Father would come out with some bit of information and my mother would ask "where he heard that?" He's say, "my brother Mariano told me". It was always my "Frati Mariano", never just "Mariano". The relationship was quite clear. I never once heard a harsh word spoken between the two of them.

Mariano was a very mild mannered, kind, considerate man. And everyone could see the couple, Mariano & Marie, were devoted to each other. Marie was 16 years old when she was married, and Mariano I don't think, was too much older. Zia Marie was the most cheerful, patient, up-beat person I had ever met. She bore her problems silently. Zio Mariano was epileptic and when they first married he took fits (he didn't know he took them). She took him to doctors for help. And later, when he continued with no help, he would feel so badly when told he had another seizure, she stopped telling him about them. And look after him quietly the rest of their lives. She very rarely left him alone, and as he couldn't drive a car, they walked over to our house. Often she would confide in my mother. I don't think she bothered to tell her sons about it--perhaps later on in life she did, but not when they were young.

So many more thoughts come to mind, but I will send you this to see if you can understand my writing. I can't master the computer myself, and the kids are so busy. If you have any questions, please ask. I would try to help. I do hope you can understand my writing. My girls say it is a real challenge.