Born to Survive - Will to Live

My first day of life began on August 11, 1924 on Swan Street in Buffalo, New York.  My father was a native of Italy but my mother was an Italian-American and was born in Raritan, New Jersey.

            Being the second born child, as well as a sickly baby, did not stop Mother from having eleven more children. My father’s trade was in fireworks. He couldn’t read or write English; he used an ink stamp with his name on it to sign papers. Dad knew his trade better than anyone I knew. His fireworks were usually of images. I remember vividly there were two roosters fighting each other, and one of Niagara Falls that showed the water running; he always ended his shows with the American flag that he was so proud of. Dad also worked for the Nickel Plate railroad. My mother once told me that Dad was well known and well liked, and that the Mayor of New York City carried him on his shoulder throughout the streets of New York City.

            Being the sick child that I was it took me until I was two years old to take my first steps. My mother used to tell me that I would cry day and night, and occasionally Dad

 would want to throw me out of the window. I remember her telling me there was one

doctor who wanted to perform surgery on my head to see if the problem stemmed from there. I was in such poor shape that I was given last rights twice.  One of those times, the doctor told my mother to get a priest because I would be dead by morning. If it wasn’t for my godmother, I may have not survived to tell my story. She told my mother to bathe me in a copper tub with hot water laced with dried mustard powder, in order to remove the “sickness” from me.  She and my mother wrapped me in towels and blankets and stayed up all night praying. My godmother, with her old Italian ways believed in the “evil eye” but my mother was afraid. By morning, the doctor arrived with the death certificate ready to sign, but instead he was surprised to find that I survived the night. My mother was afraid to tell the doctor what they did, so my godmother explained what transpired. The doctor told both of them that the procedure had saved my life but warned them that I would need a lot of care for a long time. This was my first escape from death. Not knowing at the time, I learned that there would be more close calls to follow in my lifetime.

            One sunny morning, I ran out across the streetcar’s tracks. I nearly got hit but luckily a young woman grabbed me.  The girl caught her dress on the car, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise.  If she hadn’t ripped her dress she would have been pulled under the car and we both might have been killed. I will never forget the spanking I received and for a long time I did not pull a stunt like that.

            Another time, I was heading to the store with my dad for an ice cream cone. It was the first time in my life that I saw a black person. The person stopped to say ‘hello’ to us, but I got scared, ran, and dropped my dessert. My dad called me back to tell me that the individual was his friend. The kind gentleman bought me another ice cream after the incident.