“Wow, I can’t believe I found a parking spot right in front of the restaurant,” I thought to myself. I walked into Roberto’s Restaurant on Main Street, Bridgeport and I admired the ornate, elegant, and delicate carvings on the high ceiling.   Momentarily, I thought I was on Via Veneto in Rome, Italy as I was greeted by the Chef, Piergiorgio Nanni. Immediately, I noticed a stylish-looking man with neatly combed hair sitting at the bar. I sensed his warmth and honesty as he greeted me. Len’s eyes were full of love, wisdom, passion, and appreciation of life. “Do you want a drink?” Len asked. “I am not a big drinker, but I will have my usual, which is a Campari on the rocks with a slice of lemon.” A lot of people in Fairfield County notice my brightly colored journal. If you see me drinking a Campari, it means that I am ready to write a great story. My pen and Campari go hand in hand.

 

I felt like I was back in Italy, sitting around a campfire in the compagna for a couple of hours of storytelling. It did not take long for Len to open his heart to me. I know you will enjoy this journey to Castelfranco in Miscano, which is located in the Province of Benevento, Region of Campania, Italy. We will land in Italy for a little while and then we will travel to the East Side of Bridgeport, CT. 

 

There were a few women carrying fresh water from the fontana, or fountain. The teenagers in town were gathering tomatoes and reading under the nut trees. Some of the men were playing cards on the small, wooden picnic tables. However, there was a lot of commotion at the home of Lenny’s maternal grandparents, Leonardo Scinto and Maria Grazie-Scinto and they put their suitcases near the curb of their home in Castelfranco. The people in town embraced Maria and Leonardo and said, “buona fortuna,” or “good luck” before they embarked on a ship. It was the vessel that brought them to Ellis Island in the 1920’s. Although there was sadness in their hearts, the Scintos were ready to seek new opportunities in America.  

 

However, Len told me that his paternal grandparents, Antoinette and Joseph Paoletta chose to stay in Castelfranco. Len’s love for his family was evident as he started to speak about his mother, Giovanina (Jenny) Scinto Paoletta, and his father, Silvio Paoletta.

 

Len’s father worked as a tailor and stitched handbags in Norwalk, CT. Eventually, he worked on the assembly line at Remington Arms. Len’s mother raised the family. I imagined the sights and sounds of the Paoletta household. I heard his mother’s voice, “get ready for dinner, the marinara sauce is almost ready” and “come inside, the pasta is on the table” echoed through the house. Len looked at me and I knew that there was an interesting twist to the story. He told me that his mother and father did not know each other in Castelfranco. They actually met in America. A man named Joseph Morcone introduced them. I envisioned Len’s father fussing with his hair and the jacket of his suit as he traveled to Hartford, CT to meet Giovanina.

 

“Tell me about your special Italian traditions during the holidays,” I said, as I ate the freshly made arancini.   Len gave me a glimpse of his kitchen. I heard the sounds of the pans rattling back in Len’s kitchen. He told me that every Sunday morning his mother would make fresh marinara sauce. I started to picture the neatly pressed tablecloth laying perfectly across the table. Also, I pictured the men playing bocce in the yard next to the pink rose bushes. Some of the men were dressed in their Sunday clothes, with the sleeves of their white shirts rolled up. “Come and eat,” the women yelled across the yard. Len said, “we made sauce, veal, meatballs, bracciole, pork, and veal around 1pm every Sunday. I laughed when Len told me that his mother had a weekly meal schedule. “We ate pasta on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. There was enough sauce for 3 days! Every Saturday, we ate cube steaks.” Len’s eyes lit up when he talked about his mother’s delicious marinated eggplant. I envisioned his mother carrying capicolla, salami, and prosciutto in perfectly wrapped white paper from Gemma’s Market in Bridgeport. 

 

I was curious about the rest of Len’s Italian traditions. “What else did your family do?" I asked. Len spoke about summer feasts and picnics. I envisioned small, white paper cups filled with Italian ice, pizza fritte with powdered sugar, and children holding each other’s hands as they twirled each other around to the sound of the Italian bands at the festivals. “The men wore wool suits and hats, even in the summer," Len said. I chuckled as I remembered my grandfather wearing his gray, wool suit during the Feast of San Donato in Italy. He never left the house without his stylish hat. Len triggered my own memories of the St. Anthony’s Feast at St. Margaret’s Shrine in Bridgeport. I remember how excited I felt when I heard the sounds of the Italian band the minute my white sandals hit the pavement which led to the grassy area of the festival.

 

“Do you want to eat?” Lenny asked. Now, there is a silly question for an Italian. “Yes, I am starving.” I decided to order Carpaccio with capers and arugula, while Len enjoyed mouthwatering pasta. “What else do you remember about growing up?” I asked Len. Suddenly, I heard the words to Ave Maria echo through Holy Rosary Church as Len told me that he was an altar boy. He still is a member of Holy Rosary Church. It is amazing how his words flowed from his heart to his mouth automatically. My curiosity was at its peak. 

 

Len continued to describe his childhood and teenage years. I heard his mother’s voice, “don’t play football, you’ll get hurt!” as Len walked to meet his friends. Len told me that “1/2 of his group of friends on the East Side were Italian and ½ of his friends were from other ethnic backgrounds." He looked forward to pulling on his sweatshirt and sneakers, playing basketball, baseball, volleyball, table tennis, billiards, and pool.  

 

The crescent moon appeared in the dark blue sky over the East Side of Bridgeport. Len sat with his friends, tossed the baseball into the air, and gripped the ball tightly in his leather baseball glove. “Where do you want to go tomorrow night?” Len asked his friends. They said that they o the “usual”, which was to go to the movies. “We used to go to the Colonial Theater, American Theater and Mayfair Theater. Sometimes the women would get free drinking glasses at one of the theaters," Len said.

 

The next morning, Len woke up and ate his breakfast. There was a beautiful, Spring breeze on the East Side as Lenny grabbed his apple, books, and baseball. Although it had started to drizzle, Len walked to school. “We walked to school in the rain and snow,” Len said.  I was reminded of my own school days and how much I dreaded taking the bus. I was usually the first one to be picked up in the morning and the last one off the bus in the afternoon. Also, I was not allowed to walk to school because things had changed and it was not safe for me to walk. However, I know that my parents walked to school while they grew up in Italy. Also, my sisters and brothers used to walk to school when they grew up on Amsterdam Ave in Bridgeport, CT.

 

Len’s memories are more than food and family gatherings. He said that he has an admiration and appreciation for “Dante, DaVinci, Boticelli, and Ghiberti. "As I grew, I gained an understanding of my Italian roots”, Len said. Therefore, it was not just holidays that had an important place in Len’s heart. Suddenly, I traveled with Len to the grape arbor on Hallet Street in Bridgeport. I was able to envision the old, wooden picnic table under the grape arbor. The yard was filled with laughter, children playing with their toys, and all of the families enjoying a leisurely meal.   They shared the 6 family house with the Scalzi family.

 

My daydream about the grape arbor while Lenny spoke was interrupted when he started to talk about Saturday afternoons as a child. “If you sell a few gallons, we will split the money,” his father said.   Len was talking about “star water” or bleach. His father always looked for ways to earn money, so he made star water. Some of the children in the neighborhood were riding their bicycles or sitting on the front porch steps. However, Len’s Saturday was different. He pulled out the wooden wagon which had metal wheels that his father had built for him. Len and his father placed the gallons of star water in the wagon.   Suddenly, Len disappeared into the streets as he went to sell the star water to people in the neighborhood.  If he was not selling star water, he was cleaning, slicing, coring and cooking 30 bushels of tomatoes. The September breezes and autumn air circle around the East Side, but Len was not playing outside. He had all of those tomatoes to prepare! Also, Len worked as the “pin boy” at a bowling alley at the Sons of Italy Hall on East Washington and Noble Avenue. All of the houses were dark as he passed his neighbors’ homes at midnight after working at the bowling alley.

 

Sometimes Len spent time at his father’s tailor shop. Every Saturday, there was a radio broadcast from the Metropolitan Opera.  Although Len’s father loved opera, Len was not a fan of opera music as he now is.

 

Len was full of surprises.   I heard the words, “one step two” as he talked about his memory of taking dance lessons while he was a student at Fairfield University. Len said, “I had two left feet,” Len explained. After a few lessons, the owner of the dance school told Len that he was a pretty good dancer and that he should become a dance instructor. Len was not crazy about the idea at first, but then he decided to work a few hours a week at the dance school. One day, a beautiful woman named Dorothea walked in to the dance studio.   Len and Dorothea shared a smile and a few glances.   After a few lessons, Len and Dorothea went out on a date. He had taken her dancing at Alladin’s Terrace in Stamford, CT. It was love at first sight and they have enjoyed 50 beautiful years of marriage.

 

Len is a man of many accomplishments, but his most valuable treasures are his wife, Dorothea, and children, Gianine, Leonard, Jr.,T.J. (Thomas Justin) and Dea, and all 13 grandchildren. I can just imagine the commotion over at Len’s house every Sunday. “We still carry out the Sunday traditions”, Len said, which include a family gathering with a lot of food and laughter.

 

 

It had started to get late and I felt sorry for the Chef. He must have been exhausted, yet Len and I continued to chat. At that moment, I realized that I am blessed to meet so many kind, genuine and considerate people.   I have met so many people like Len who will always hold a seat for me at the bar, who will make room for me at their table, and invite me to spend time with them. All of my friends have that streak of kindness in them.  

 

Although I envisioned Len sitting behind his desk while he was the Mayor of Bridgeport between 1981 and 1985, I started to hear the sound of bagpipes.   No, there was not a band playing at Roberto’s that night. I heard bagpipes as Len told me that he created the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Bridgeport around 1982. 

 

Len Paoletta created BACIO (Bridgeport Area Cultural Italian Organization) an Italian organization with a focus on the greater Bridgeport area around 2002. He stays close to his traditions as his life is intertwined with the goal of the organization, which is to “preserve, enhance, pass on to the next generation our heritage, culture, traditions and customs,” Len said with a passionate voice. He enjoys the First Monday of the month event sponsored by BACIO. It is either an Italian movie or a lecture on some aspect of Italian heritage, culture or accomplishment. The biggest event of the year for BACIO is  “Big Night” named after the movie of the same name. As in that movie the entire focus of the evening is a great rustic Italian meal of the kind our parents and grandparents enjoyed in their native country.

 

Another BACIO event Len is proud of was the professional opera personnel who presented a concert of opera arias and Italian folk songs to the people of this area. The lead singer was Brendan Cooke and despite the fact that his name ends in a vowel, Brendan is through and through Irish.

 

It was time for me to head home to Trumbull, so Len had given me his last words, which were, “the only way to keep Italian traditions alive is to keep doing them!” It is always a challenge but you have to make the effort to keep them going. 

 

My evening with Len Paoletta showed me that no matter how busy our lives may be, we can keep the Italian traditions alive through our involvement with Italian-American organizations and by staying close to the Italian culture. As America slowly matures and will one day have its own culture – there will one day be no Italian-American, or Irish-Americans, or Polish-Americans or any hyphenated Americans – but that doesn’t mean that one’s roots and history and culture has to end. We can, and should, celebrate our heritage by carrying on those events and happenings which made us – Italians – distinct from all other ethnic groups. The contributions of Italians to the betterment of mankind is legend. Whatever field of human endeavor you explore you will discover either the creation or a significant contribution was made by our progenitors beginning with the Romans who trod the earth before Christ was born. Sometimes things change in life, and we may not always carry out all of our ancestors’ traditions, but there are threads permanently woven into our coats forever.   Dante, Botticelli, Ghiberti, and DaVinci. Puccini, Verdi, Michelangelo, and on and on, are our points of pride and they never go out of style. When we keep the accomplishments of these greats in the forefront of everyday living, we serve to keep our traditions alive as Italian Americans. When we celebrate Christmas, Easter and the feast days of St. Anthony and St. Joseph, we further serve to keep our traditions alive.