and push us on unplanned paths.
The beginnings that impact on Greg and Charly unfold in the pages to come. Yet, these are not necessarily unique experiences and readers can relate to their own beginnings and beginnings of the end. However, I am getting ahead of myself. I would like to tell you about the circumstances of my world just before my beginning and the woman in my life, Charly . . .
Chapter 1 The Sum of the Parts
They say you cannot understand the whole of anything without putting together and understanding its parts—sort of the jigsaw puzzle of life. Although one’s memory might fade and specific reminiscences are forgotten with age, each generation owes the richness of their lives and perhaps their life’s paths to the beliefs and events of their era; even though at the time of their happening they may have gone unnoticed or unappreciated. The events of our times give testimony that no matter how hard we try or protest we are neither isolated nor living in a vacuum. No people are an island. Indeed, no man, woman, or child is an island.
The decade before my own beginning that influenced my parents’ lives and choices was the 1940s. Franklin D. Roosevelt was president of the United States. World War II dominated half of this decade and perceptibly defined the decade’s entirety. My mother, Roberta, who was born and lived in Carrara in northern Italy at the time, was in her late teens and trying to live to tell the tale of World War II. Italy was part of the Axis powers until they changed alliances to the Allies, as the Allies prepared their Sicily campaign in 1943. Italy also changed alliances shortly after the start of World War I in 1914 from the German-Austria-Hungarian alliance to the Great Britain-France-Russia coalition. Indecisiveness is typically not beneficial for a person or a people, but Italy defied the odds each time.
What is part of my mother’s fortitude, willful nature, and tenacity of today likely had much of its roots in her survival during World War II. The aerial bombings of Italy by the Allies and Axis powers not only reduced Italian cites and towns to rubble, but also reduced the survival rate of the Italian people. The bombings forced mother and her family to run into the local caves, as they were the natural and only bomb shelters of the time. Her family also had to hide her two brothers in their home’s attic from time to time, much like Anne Frank and her family, as the Nazis often came to town looking for male volunteers to swell the ranks of the German army… or to suffer a much worse fate. What humans can do to each other under the banner of hatred defies the imagination. Mother often related her fears and anger brought about by these world events seemingly never able to escape them.
My father, William, was born in Memphis, Tennessee after his parents immigrated to America from Carrara, Italy—born American, forever Italian. He was a clerk and draftsman at the time of his induction in the U.S. armed services on March 11, 1942 at the age 27. My father served as a corporal in the U.S. army having achieved this noncommissioned rank on May 21, 1942. He served in the 347th Air Base Squadron, 5th Ferrying Group stationed at Love Field in Dallas, Texas. His army specialty was identified as “Artist (296).” My father was discharged honorably on February 22, 1944.
Prior to the world war, the people of America and all humanity had been suffering deeply from the Great Depression of the 1930s. The stock market had crashed on Black Tuesday, October 29, 1929. War production of the 1940s helped significantly to lift the Great Depression in the United States. It was during this period that my family experienced for the first time what to all Americans was unparalleled and mandatory life adjustments during the war: rationing. Many products were rationed during World War II: coffee; meat; sugar; shoes; typewriters; fuel oil; gasoline; cars; and rubber. Even certain fabrics like silk and synthetic fibers were not made available to ordinary civilians.
During the war years, my father shared that food rationing was the most difficult experience to balance for his family. Each American was issued a monthly book of ration coupons. Rationed goods were assigned a price and point worth, but not restricted as to how much of each rationed goods one could purchase. Once families depleted their allotted coupons, however, rationed goods could not be purchased again until the next month at which time new ration coupons were distributed. Family members in the same household were allowed to pool their ration coupons, which indeed helped to stretch a family’s budget each month. I guess at the time there was more than just safety in numbers. With rationing, families were also encouraged to plant what were popularly called Victory Gardens. These gardens supplied most of the vegetables for each family, including my father’s.
Rubber and gas were the most essential products rationed during the war, and restriction of these products affected American driving habits. Driving for enjoyment was considered nonessential and prohibited in America. Automobile owners were required to display a sticker on their car windshields to enforce the restriction that they were not simply driving for pleasure, but for some strategic grounds supportive of the war effort.
During this decade, the U.S. Allied troops created their own impetus for the War’s beginning of the end with the D-Day beach landings in Normandy on June 6, 1944. We, as a people, should be thankful that the 24/7 news coverage and analysis of today were not in place for project Overlord. The plan would never have maintained its secret success of steaming nearly 4000 ships and 133,000 troops to the beaches of Normandy. The landings would have occurred much later if at all while congress argued about whether such a landing had merit—across party lines, of course. Political correctness may signal the beginning of the end of life in America, as envisioned by our insightful forefathers.
By mid-decade, President Roosevelt died from a cerebral hemorrhage in April 1945 without experiencing the victory that would soon be celebrated by each and every American. Following Roosevelt’s death, Vice President Harry S. Truman was sworn in as our president. It was said that Truman attempted to comfort Mrs. Roosevelt; however, she reportedly returned the favor by replying, “You are the one in trouble now!” How perceptive Mrs. Roosevelt was and how clueless Mr. Truman would be about the complexity of the trouble ahead.
Yet, the world war was brought to its methodical conclusion. V-E Day, Victory over Europe, was celebrated on May 8, 1945. Japan later surrendered on V-J Day, September 2, 1945 after two atomic bombs decimated Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945. With the Allied victory, the United States emerged as a superpower that militarily could only be challenged by the U.S.S.R. With the end of World War II, The North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) was created in 1949 in response to the emerging tensions of the Cold War between Russia and the United States.
Well, now you have a slice of my parents’ life as well as many people of the era. The value of the dollar and scrimping were lessons taught to them by the world depression, a lesson they bestowed daily upon us whether through the sharing of a nickel ice cream cone among 3 children or sustaining a weekly food budget of $30.00 for 5 family members. The value of rationing and sacrificing for the common good were taught to them by world war. The violence and death of war was thrust upon my mother, as a matter of the time and place in which she lived. My father, like many other fathers and sons, volunteered for the armed forces to serve his country. My father came home a proud veteran—many others did not. My mother survived in Europe—many others did not. Yet, survival had its price. To this day, mother becomes quite angry with presidents and other government officials who make decisions to wage wars and conflicts that put our young men and women in harms way.
World events aside, my mother and father were introduced to each other by a ‘mutual friend of sorts’ and married in early 1948. My beginning was in 1951—the decade of the 50s, three years after the birth of my sister Diane and four years before the birth of my brother Rick. Yes, I can say it now… I am a middle child. I know some of you are nodding empathetically, but more of you are snickering, “Oh, a middle child!” Anyway, if I count backwards correctly, I became more than a gleam in my parents’ eyes in cold February of that
