Famiglia History

“Life is a combination of magic and pasta.” Federico Fellini

Okay, so I may have more than a few decades on my resume and, unbelievably, I clearly remember the 60s. Yeah, I recall a time when it was either me getting into dental school or taking a government sponsored trip to the jungle. My draft lottery number was 18.

For me, the sixties spanned middle school through high school and college. I protested the Vietnam war, had a warehouse job, and struggled through the loss of JFK in 1963, as well as the loss of Martin Luther King in April, RFK in June, and my brother Jay in August of 1968. I saw Dad cry for the first time. On July 20, 1969, Dad and I watched Giants pitcher Gaylord Perry hit a home run minutes after Apollo 11 landed on the moon (Neil Armstrong later climbed down a ladder, taking “one small step for (a) man and one giant step for mankind.”) Dodger announcer Vin Scully added, “Giants manager Alvin Dark always said there’ll be a man on the moon before Gaylord Perry hits a home run.” Later that year, I started dental school.

Something also happened during the early 60s and my wonder years. At every family gathering, including holidays, weddings, and funerals, my Mom’s great big Italian family of aunts, uncles, and cousins would gather and reminisce, debate, celebrate, and regale over their early years in Los Angeles. The stories covered the Blandino ranch out in the Valley (currently Canoga Park-don’t sell the ranch!!!), my Uncle Tony’s bar (Tony’s Nightmare), Uncle Joe playing baseball with my dad long before I was a thought, and the occasional remembrance of the Black Hand branch of the mafia shootout with Uncle Giacomo. And there was the time Uncle Joe and Dad walked into Tony’s Nightmare when Mom, sitting at the bar with Aunt Clara, saw Dad for the first time and knew she’d marry him.

I was mesmerized by all the shared history, storytelling, laughter, and warmth, not to mention the amazing home-cooked Sicilian food I never, for even a tenth of a second, took for granted. I had my first sips of red wine, acquired a serious taste for cannoli, and learned about the Blandino produce business and a day’s trip out to Glendora and another day back to Los Angeles and the market. We began a culinary relationship with Claro’s Italian Deli that continues to this day.

I was fascinated by all the family photos, some of which showed up on headstones in Calvary Cemetery in East Los Angeles. I couldn’t believe my namesake, Uncle Giacomo, chose to shoot it out with the mob at his successful pool hall. As the story goes, Giacomo was visited a second time by two Black Hand button men demanding extortion money. When my uncle declined, the mobsters shot him; Uncle G returned fire and killed them both on the spot. Giacomo somehow made it home where he hung onto life for three days. Out at Calvary, on visiting my uncle’s grave, I still remember being shocked. Out of all my uncles, Giacomo was the only one who looked like me. “Mom, he was born in Sicily, why didn’t he just pay them?”

I wanted to know more. My curiosity worked overtime. These days, I’m one of two surviving first cousins to my aunts and uncles, a few of whom were immigrants arriving in Los Angeles during the turn of the 20^th century (most, including Mom, were birthright Americans). I have so many photos and they all tell a story. And I still include my lasting curiosity and imagination as part of my daily morning spoken right-out-loud gratitude inventory.

I never met my maternal grandparents; they passed away before I was born. From early on, I marveled at their courage, leaving everything behind and making it to Los Angeles by way of New Orleans. I know Grandma Blandino baked bread that brought orders from various important LA politicians of The Day; she also had healing abilities and taught Mom her way around the kitchen. My brother, Jay, used to mimic Grandpa who would curse in Italian over his arthritis and not allow any punishment coming from Mom. Tony’s Nightmare would feature a young Nat King Cole as weekend entertainment and Uncle Tony would later have his childhood buddy, legendary Los Angeles County Supervisor Kenneth Hahn, write a letter of recommendation to USC for his nephew Jack, who wanted to be a dentist.

I couldn’t learn enough about my Sicilian roots. I dreamed about visiting Sicily and Piana deglis Albanesi, where it all began. I knew it was a long shot, but all things considered, so was my becoming a dentist.