Family Histories -- Sometimes It Takes a Village

Many of you know at least some of the story of my paternal grandparents. For those interested in the unabridged version, go to http://www.searchformygrandparents.com. 

The Reader’s Digest Condensed Version goes like this:

1. My father’s parents were named Frank and Elizabeth. 

2. My grandmother’s maiden name was deFabritus.

3. They were from Italy, part of a chain migration of many Mancini and deFabritus relatives.

4. They came to the United States in the 1920s and settled in New York City.

5. My father had a brother named Vincent.

6. My father’s parents died in the 1930s.

7. He lived after that with relatives and worked in a fruit stand.

8. He served in World War 2 in the Navy on the USS Simpson.

All true.

Oops, well except for number 6.

Number 6 [Spoiler Alert] should read, 

My father’s parents were committed to the Rockland State Asylum in 1932 and 1938 respectively, and were never heard from or referenced again. And by the way, Frank lived until 1990 and Elizabeth until 2002, unknown to any of us.

A corollary to number 6 -- perhaps 6a -- would be,

Sometime around 1951, ALL of the Mancini and deFabritus relatives disappeared from view. At least to OUR nuclear family’s view, because we didn’t know any of them existed.”

My father and his brother appear in the 1940 Census -- two years after my grandmother disappeared -- living with their Aunt Theresa (the sister of my grandmother Elizabeth) and Uncle Frank at 55 St. Mark’s Place in lower Manhattan. The Census confuses my father and his brother (my father was actually the older of the two). Frank has his own business -- a candy store -- but is listed as being unemployed for the past 52 weeks. Alex is working full-time as a shipping clerk, and the three sisters -- Josephine, Rose, and Mafalda -- all work as machine operators at a ladies garment factory. I’m sure the extra two cousin mouths to feed weren’t easy.

In the same apartment building, another sister of my grandmother’s -- Adrianna -- and her family. Married to a Mancini not even related to us, at least as far as we know.

And there’s more members of this family village! Still in the SAME apartment building, the Sinapi family, with connections of their own to the deFabritus clan. Jumping ahead, the 16 year old on line 7 -- Alfred -- will marry Marie Frances, the daughter of my grandmother’s brother Dominick (living just down the street).

What happened? Who were all these people? What happened to my father to make him walk away from his family? Why all the secrecy? But that’s a story for another day.

Thinking about this crazy village of relatives makes me think about the stories on the news this week of more recent arrivals to the United States who are struggling this Thanksgiving. These are the folks who are in those long snaking lines of cars at food banks and are relying on their own villages to try and survive and find their way.

What IS on my mind this Thanksgiving -- this totally weird Thanksgiving without my own family around the table -- are the family members that WERE around the table for my father after his parents disappeared in the 1930s. A village of mystery family members who undoubtedly had problems of their own, but somehow gave my father a home and a safety net that allowed him to survive.