Grace Pulli '25
“Hey! HEY! Break it up!” I yelled.
I shove my way into the brawl of the middle of the club. These idioti come in here weekly, I'd think they were maffia if they weren't dressed like two chooches. I grabbed them by the shirts and hauled the two men outside, tossing them onto the sidewalk.
“Levati di dosso, amico!” they shouted at me.
“E non tornare!” I yelled.
I turned and sighed before stepping back in, staring back up at the sign that reads Sons of Italy; The Italian club I’m managing in Ambler, Pennsylvania. Two weeks in and I’m still not used to the hustle and bustle of so many Italians weaving in between one another: pushing, yelling, laughing. As I walked back into the bar, the sound of loud Italian voices burst into the street. I think another set of men came in off the train because I’ve never seen it this packed. Though I cannot lie, this is my favorite time of day. The sounds of Italian rolling off tongues to flow through my ears; warmth spreads through my chest. My favorite part of the job: speaking Italian with people from all over Italy. I once met a man who was my family’s neighbor from Calabria. He shared his knowledge about our town from the landscape and scenery to details about different food and families. I was born in America so hearing his recount seemed familiar and new at the same time. It’s incredible, all of our invisible strings attached to connect us back to each other.
Another Italian man who came from my village—my close friend, Alonzo—and I met through being milkmen together. He would drive and I’d run the milk to the customer's doors as fast as I could. Eventually, he and I made a game of timing me with his grandfather's pocket watch. He and I used to come to this bar since the day it opened in 1930 and meet every Friday after dinner to catch up. He’s much older than me even though he refuses to reveal his age. Though you can tell by the lines on his forehead when he laughs, he’s seen much more of life than myself. Now that I’m the bar manager, he waits till the end of my shift to chat. I start wiping down the main bar and then walk to his lone table with two new drinks in my hand.
“How are you, my friend?” I ask.
“Well I’m…. hanging in, you know how it is,” He shrugs.
“Thank goodness, I don’t anymore. What’s it like finally being the boss?” I laugh, Alonzo is now the boss of his own milk distribution company.
“Business isn’t going as well as I hoped. These ice boxes are getting better and better, milks lasting longer and deliveries are no longer daily. I’ve had to let some of my men go. It’s tough living in the industrial age, John.”
“Better than life in Calabria from what I've heard. My father's aunt just passed away, another earthquake.”
“Ah amico mio, mi dispiace tanto. That’s terrible," he tells me. I shrug,
“She could’ve come with us but the family has lived there for centuries,” I explain.
“Speaking of, how’s the family?” he asks.
My family has been demanding I find a wife since the milk company offered me a house at cost. The club is men only so it’s difficult to meet a good Italian woman.
“They’ve been pestering me about finding a brava donna italiana. Does Alma have any friends-” Alonzo belts out a laugh before I can finish my sentence. His wife is one of the noisiest, boisterous Italian women I’ve ever met.
“What? Perché ridi, eh?” I demand.
“Oh John, I love Alma to pieces but you know as well as I do that any of her boccalone friends would be no good for a patient man like yourself.” I fiddle with the water on the side of my drink, he knows me too well.
“Well, where do my parents expect me to meet an Italian woman!” I exclaim.
“Church, probably,” he prompts.
I swipe my hand through the air, annoyed, “How have your children been? Carolyn still acting up?”
"Per favore, quando non lo è?? That child will be the death of me,” Alonzo tells me. He has six children, all girls, beneditelo, “The club was quite busy tonight eh, word has really spread to those city folk,” he gestures to the door, smiling.
“It’s been great, a lot louder than we’re used to,” I laugh. Alonzo had to be deathly silent when making the milk deliveries each morning.
“Though I’ve seen more and more customers that have immigrated from Italy to Ambler, each day it’s more and more people, soon the crowds will be so large we’ll need to close the streets,” I explained.
“All because Keasbey & Mattison have imploded thanks to the stock market, now the town is going full industrial, and the city folk are moving in,” he frowns.
“So many good men put out of work thanks to the poor trading of those heathens,” I comment. It’s devastating how many men were put out of work once the stock for K&M plummeted and was bought out by those British mongers Turner and Newall. Hopefully, they’ll revive what's left of the company.
“Well if-,” Alonzo pauses, his eyes looking towards the window behind me.
“What are you-,” I turn to see, and my my. This woman is peeking in the window, her face pressed up against the glass, nose scrunched. She is… enchanting. Her shoulders covered in some sort of knitted shawl.
“I’m going to, uh, see if she needs help,” I whisper. Alonzo begins to chuckle.
“You do that, my friend,” he comments. I walk through the large double door and slowly approach the woman.
“Hello, may I help you miss?” I ask. She turns to look at me and I'm… speechless. Her eyes are the color of emeralds, glittering beneath her bangs. Her face looks so gentle, kind even.
“Oh! My sincerest apologies I was- just looking for a restroom do you have one inside,” She looks upwards towards the sign, “The Sons of Italy?” she questions.
“Unfortunately the club is men only,” her face falls right before I finish, “But fortunately I’m the club's manager and can make an exception for you,” I tell her.
“I am Italian, se questo fa la differenza,” she laughs. Oh mio. She is wonderful. I show her to my office and let her use my private restroom.
“Grazie mille....,” she sends me a pointed look, searching for my name.
“John, I’m John,” I reply.
“John, grazie mille, I’m Rose,” she tells me and shakes my hand before she disappears. I don't believe a woman has ever shaken my hand before, yet I wish she’d do it again. I walk back out to Alonzo who has a wide grin he’s attempting to mask.
“Well, I think you’ve found her my friend,” he tells me. I smile back at him. Yes, I think I have.
Works Cited
Celona, Thomas. "Ambler forms twinship with Maida, Italy." Ambler Gazette, The Reporter, Sept. 2021, www.thereporteronline.com/2010/09/22/ambler-forms-twinship-with-maida-italy/. Accessed 18 Nov. 2024.
La Camera, Claudio, and Lorenzo Bodrero. "Italy." Transnational Organized Crime: Analyses of a Global Challenge to Democracy, by Heinrich-Böll-Stiftung and Regine Schönenberg, Transcript Verlag, 2013, pp. 267-84. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctv1fxh0d.19. Accessed 18 Nov. 2024.
Reilly, Ethan. The White Mountains of Ambler. Wissahickon Valley Historical Society, www.wvalleyhs.org/the-white-mountains-of-ambler/. Accessed 18 Nov. 2024.
Reiny, Samson. "Living in the Town Asbestos Built." Science History Institute Museum and Library, Science History Institute, 25 June 2015, www.sciencehistory.org/stories/magazine/living-in-the-town-asbestos-built/. Accessed 18 Nov. 2024.
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