Penny from Heaven (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A Regular Norman Rockwell Family

I still think of Heaven sometimes. These days my idea of Heaven is different, although it still involves butter pecan ice cream.

I want to say that my father’s family came over all the time after that night, that we ate dinner and celebrated holidays together and everything. I want to say that we were like a picture postcard, a regular Norman Rockwell family, but that’s not what happened. We just continued on as we always had, but it was all right somehow.

And Uncle Dominic? In my Heaven, Uncle Dominic’s pulled himself together and is playing ball again. In my Heaven, he lives in a house and has a wife and a baby. In my Heaven, he’s always smiling.

But real life isn’t like my Heaven, so none of that happened. He did move out of the car, though, and into Nonny’s basement, which was kind of an improvement depending on how you look at it, although the car stayed in the yard.

Every once in a while I’ll find him there, listening to the radio, watching the world pass by. And I always ask him the same thing.

“Remember that time we saw Dem Bums play at Ebbets Field?” I’ll say.

“Sure,” he’ll say.

“Those were some good seats, right?”

He’ll grin and say, “Best seats in the house.”

And they were.

Author’s Note

Although this book is a work of fiction, it was inspired by many stories from my Italian American family.

I was named after my great-grandmother Genevieve (Rosati) Scaccia. My great-grandfather Rafael Scaccia emigrated from Italy and entered the United States through Ellis Island. My uncles owned butcher shops and clothing factories and played bocce ball and their instruments after dinner. My great-grandmother had a “downstairs kitchen” in the basement of the house and sprayed Tabu perfume on the dogs and wore black. I had an eccentric cousin who lived in a car in the yard and carried “lucky beans.” I remember many meals that took all afternoon to eat. Ricotta-ball soup and a dish we called
pastiera,
which was probably a variation of
pastiera rustica,
were family favorites.

The Penny naming story is a family legend. My maternal grandfather, Alfred Scaccia, tragically died when my grandmother was pregnant with my mother. Although my mother was named Beverly Ann, she was called Penny by her family. She was always told as a child that this was because her late father loved Bing Crosby and “Pennies from Heaven” was his favorite song. However, we learned the truth a few years ago. Apparently my grandfather knew he was dying and was heartbroken that he would never know his child. In his final days, he told everyone “That baby is just like a lost penny I’ll never hold. A lost penny.” But as in this book, my mother’s story had a happy ending. My grandmother Mildred eventually got remarried to a wonderful man. Our very own Irish American grandfather, Mike Hearn is known for his sense of humor and love of ice cream.

The story of Penny’s father is a hidden piece of American history. During World War II, President Franklin Roosevelt signed Proclamation 2527, which designated six hundred thousand non-naturalized Italians “enemy aliens.” All “enemy aliens” of Italian descent were obliged to carry pink “enemy identification” booklets and turn in “contraband,” including weapons, shortwave radios, cameras, and flashlights. In addition, they were warned against speaking Italian, “the enemy’s language.”

Poster issued by the U.S. government.

Although many of these Italian immigrants, like those of German and Japanese descent, were longtime residents and respected members of their communities and had American spouses and children, they were still under suspicion that they might conspire with the enemy. Many had their homes searched, over three thousand were arrested, and hundreds were sent to internment camps.

Records such as this one were kept on those in internment camps.

On the West Coast, all 52,000 Italian “enemy aliens” were put under a dusk-to-dawn curfew, and thousands were forced to move out of mainly coastal “prohibited zones.” Famed baseball player Joe DiMaggio’s father was not permitted to fish off the coast of California and was even forbidden to go to his own son’s restaurant on Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco.

Historian Lawrence DiStasi’s book
Una Storia Segreta: The Secret History of the Italian American Evacuation and Internment During World War II
gives personal accounts of these painful experiences. It was not until 2000, after an exhibit called
Una Storia Segreta,
created by the Western Chapter of the American Italian Historical Association, drew national attention to this “secret story” and sparked intense lobbying by the Italian American community, that the U.S. government formally acknowledged these events when President Clinton signed Public Law 106-451, the Wartime Violation of Italian American Civil Liberties Act.

The story of the translator was inspired by a tale I heard years ago from a gentleman who claimed to have been Admiral Byrd’s translator at the signing of the Japanese surrender at Tokyo Bay. He said he had interrogated Japanese POWs during World War II, and the information he learned had helped in choosing Nagasaki as a city on which to drop the atomic bomb. My uncle James Hearn was stationed in Burma, now known as Myanmar, during World War II, and his experiences form the basis for Mr. Mulligan’s story. Likewise, my great-grandfather Ernest Peck was a block captain during World War II, and my mother recalls having to put yellow-orange coloring in margarine during the war.

“Wringer arm” was an injury I first heard about from my father, a pediatrician. He said it was “the curse” of the pediatrician because it could be such a debilitating injury. Children could lose their arms as well as suffer extreme skin abrasions. I knew a woman who had lost her entire arm, up to the shoulder, when she was a child due to just such an injury.

Penny’s mother’s fears about polio mirrored the fears of many in the early 1950s, when the horror of polio was a reality. My mother was forbidden to go swimming in public pools for this very reason. Also, my mother had a terrible burn on her back from the tub, like Penny, and was treated with Scarlet Red.

Tales Calculated to Drive You MAD
eventually became the infamous
MAD
magazine.

After their devastating loss in 1953, Dem Bums from Brooklyn went on to win the World Series in 1955. My grandfather saw several games at Ebbets Field as a young man and remarked that it was one of the “smaller ballparks.” In 1957, the Dodgers moved to Los Angeles, and soon after, Ebbets Field was torn down. But it still lives on in the hearts and memories of Bums fans everywhere.

A Family Album

My Italian great-grandmother Genevieve Scaccia (Grandma Jenny), in her signature black.

Penny’s parents: my grandmother Mildred Hearn (Grandma) and grandfather Dr. Alfred Scaccia. This photo was taken on their honeymoon in Atlantic City, New Jersey, in 1938.

The postcard Grandma sent her parents from her honeymoon.

Grandma posing in her nursing uniform.

My mother, Beverly Ann Scaccia Holm (Penny), with her mother (far right) and her maternal grandparents—my great-grandmother Jennie Peck (Nana) and my great-grandfather Ernest Peck (Poppy).

Penny and her mother, my grandma.

Penny in one of the famous coats that her uncle Al DeGennaro had made for her at his factory.

Grandma with her second husband, Mike Hearn (Grampa), and my mother all dressed up for Easter.

Grampa Mike (at left) and his brother Jack playing college ball.

Penny with Poppy and Nana. This photo was taken on a vacation to Key West, Florida, where Nana was from.

Penny’s cousin and best friend growing up, Henry Scaccia, Jr. (as an adult). He was an accomplished practical joker and once sent her a pair of lamb’s eyes!

My mother, Penny, at about eleven.