My family arrived here 100 years ago as poor masons and seamstresses from central Italy searching for more opportunities in the United States. Although they were not world-renowned explorers, I imagine the east coast seemed as foreign to them as the Americas did to Christopher Columbus in 1492.
After traveling to Sulmona in the Abruzzo region this summer, I was newly inspired to dig deeper into the Notarmuzi’s journey from the idyllic hilltop town of Sulmona to tenement housing in Brooklyn, New York. I had known my Great-Grandmother Dora and Great-Grandfather Guido as a child; both of them living past their 100th birthdays. But like so many teenagers, the last thing on my mind was asking my aging grandparents about their journey to the United States.
As I got older and my interest in my roots became somewhat of a hobby, I started collecting the stories of my Italian family from my parents and grandparents before eventually building out my family tree on Ancestry.com. Like so many Italian immigrants that came here in the early 1900s, my family’s journey from Naples to Ellis Island was no fairytale.
My great-grandmother, Dora DiPanfilis, was born in Sulmona in 1904. She was the oldest of 7 children. When she was 17, her father Giosue DiPanfilis accompanied her from Abruzzo to the Port of Naples and set sail for New York. At the time, there were strict laws about bringing disease into the US. Giosue’s hand was bruised from his bricklaying work back in Italy which was enough for them to refuse his entry. As the story goes, Dora was tragically left to navigate this new country alone and sent to live with distant family in Brooklyn. Her mother and siblings remained in Sulmona. The only record I can find of her returning to Italy was on a ship in 1952, almost 40 years after she said goodbye to her homeland.
My great-grandfather, Guido Notarmuzi, was born one of 11 children in 1899 in Sulmona to Concezio Notarmuzi and Maria Picini. There are two records of Guido arriving in the United States. In 1915 he landed in Boston, MA as an unaccompanied 16-year-old. He pops up in immigration records again in 1917 when he arrives at Ellis Island from Bordeaux, France. Although traveling between European countries today is a quick flight, a trip between Italy and France in 1917 would not have been common at all, especially for a poor teenage laborer.
The family story we all told about Pop was that he arrived in the United States as a stowaway. The two immigration records showing an arrival from Naples and then from France two years later, only added to the mystery of just what my teenage great-grandfather was up to.
One day I logged into Ancestry.com to find a family tree “hint” linking to an article from a local Long Island newspaper. When I opened it, I saw a picture of Assunta Maria Notarmuzzi Piazza, Guido’s younger sister, and my great-great aunt. Assunta, or Susie as she was known in the US, was interviewed by a local paper in Queens, New York about her family’s journey – MY family’s journey – from Sulmona to NYC between 1913 and 1918.
Assunta was born in Sulmona in 1906. She was the 6th child out of 10, although two would pass away before she was born. In 1913, her father left for America, followed by her brother Albert in 1914 before it was finally Assunta’s turn to travel to the US with her mother, her two brothers, including my Pop Guido, and her sisters. They made the train journey from Sulmona on the east coast of Italy, southwest to the port of Naples. When they arrived at the ship they had to pass a health examination. Since her mother had an eye infection, she was ordered to leave with her children on a small boat and return to port.
Except 16-year-old Guido didn’t get on that small boat, instead staying behind on the large vessel and sailing to the US, alone. Later on, Guido would go to work on a ship traveling to France to help support his family in the US. He found himself stranded in Bordeaux, France after being dismissed from his job. Fortunately for him (and for my eventual arrival), an Italian crew hid him on their ship so he could get back to his family in Boston.
But Guido never made it back to Boston. The ship landed in New York and when his family saw that there was more work there, they all relocated. It was here in Brooklyn where Guido and Dora would meet and later marry.
Their life was difficult in New York. Dora was still a teenager when she married Guido. My Aunt Diana, the first of her four children, was born when she was only 20. Census records show that Pop frequently changed jobs. Court records show my great-grandmother visiting him in jail several times. I would ask my grandfather, Ramo, about this years ago during a school ancestry project. He was embarrassed to talk about situations that were clearly painful childhood memories. The family, struggling from the start, had oftentimes moved in the middle of the night to dodge rent and bill collectors. Sometimes this would lead to my great-grandfather’s arrest.
Guido and Dora eventually left New York and moved to California after my grandpa returned from World War II. Life seemed better there in the sunshine. I have pictures of the family gathered around the backyard pizza oven with fruit trees and green spaces that I imagine brought back images of the fertile Abruzzo landscape.
Both Guido and Dora lived past their 100th birthdays. Three of their children have since passed away including my grandfather Ramo and my uncles Guido and Roy. My Aunt Diana just celebrated her 100th birthday, proving that longevity certainly runs in the family.
I think of Guido and Dora often. My trip to Abruzzo this summer was more emotional than I had expected it to be. The villages and towns they left behind were breathtaking. I visited the church where Dora was baptized and the home where Guido was born. I ate the food and drank the wine that has been a part of the Abruzzese culture for hundreds of years. And I reflect on the fact that where I now vacation was once a place with so little opportunity that my teenage great-grandparents navigated cross-Atlantic journeys to make a better life for themselves and their future children.
More than anything, I am grateful for their bravery. Their trip, like so many Italians of that time, brought so much to the United States, including future generations that would enrich our country with food, music, and wine. Dalla Fonte, in part, is a love letter to those like Guido and Dora that came before me and my children. And I do my best to honor their memory through a constant celebration of my own Italian heritage.