Shoemaker’s Son: How Rocky Marciano Ignited Italian America

As a boy, I vaguely remember the older Italian men, inside and outside my circle, having discussions of famous athletes of the day, and their inspiring rise to fame.

No doubt you’ve heard of some of them.

Names like Berra, Williams, Rizzuto.

Mantle. DiMaggio.

One that stands out in particular was Rocky Marciano. If the name sounds unfamiliar, he retired as the undefeated heavyweight boxing champion. I grew more curious as I heard the name Marciano in those influential circles.

To describe his rise to glory to that pinnacle as unlikely would be a kind assessment.

Unlikely to survive illness as an infant.

Unlikely to escape the factory life that consumed his father’s life.

Unlikely to become great in a brutally physical sport with his raw, limited skills.

With one sledgehammer of a right hand, the unlikely story no longer resembled a fairy tale, but the ignition of a suppressed culture and an inspiration to millions of immigrants looking for a ray of light, a shred of hope.

An American with Italian roots became heavyweight champion.

According to a piece by writer Al Bruno in La Gazzetta Italiana:

(Marciano) achieved the unthinkable and unimaginable to become boxing world champion. “Get out of this factory and be somebody important,” Marciano’s father, Pierino, a native of Abruzzo, would repeatedly urge and remind his oldest son: fueling him emotionally to do something “special” and rid himself of oppressive factory work and imminent poverty. Young Marciano feared poverty most for his parents and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

I often compared the physical and mental makeup of my grandfather, Sebastian, to Marciano: a short, compact frame, always moving forward, in a relentless space of grit and determination.

Like my grandfather, Marciano’s work ethic may have been the single determining factor in the successes of his life. According to Bruno, “Marciano was on a ‘no-lose’ mission to achieving greatness and he did so by simply out-working and out-conditioning all foes.”

Marciano, remarkably consistent and disciplined, spent hours in the gym, sparring, performing hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups, and putting at least seven miles of roadwork a day.

Similarly, Sebastian performed his jobs like a man possessed: as any true Calabrian would.

As Stanley Tucci described his Calabrese grandparents in his best seller, Taste – “my grandparents left the extreme poverty of Calabria and… knew nothing but labor. All of that labor was dedicated to survival and creating a life with only the most minimal of creature comforts. Nothing went to waste, and luxuries were unheard of.”

Sebastian, as well as my Sicilian grandmother, went through a similar arduous journey.

I’m unsure if my grandfather was at all influenced by Marciano. He was a man of few words and many deeds. A true representative of the “old-school” way of thinking.

I do know that he, after finishing a shift at the factory, would quickly move to our family’s first restaurant, Jack’s in Troy: a bartending shift awaited, to occupy his night.

Was he, in fact, under a subtle influence of the Friday Night Fights of the day? Watching boxers struggle to the apex of the maximum fifteen rounds, as he fought through never ending hours of shift work?

I’d like to think that, in a quieter moment, he stood behind that bar capturing renewed inspiration, watching the athletic struggles of the small screen.

Marciano, against all odds, became heavyweight champion, igniting a culture into social prominence. Sebastian became the champion of his family, determined to leave the poverty of Calabria behind.

For me, and others in our family, he transformed himself from a poor Italian immigrant into the heavyweight of our times.

Like this article? Please share on your favorite social media channel. For additional articles, see the related content below. To be notified of future posts, please enter your email in the space provided.

In Times of Anxiety and Stress, a Grandmother’s Comfort Food Solution

Whether it was for a happy celebration, or aid to get through a painstaking ordeal, comfort food has always been there for me. We have a long, storied history together.

When I was younger, my side of the relationship was just a little too dependent: to the point where I needed to call on outside resources to help me do some damage to existing fat cells, improve my long term outlook, and lose weight.

Both my grandmother and her sisters were partners in keeping me a well fed boy throughout most of my life. To this day, I still enjoy many of those dishes with a familiar gusto and passion: albeit in smaller portions.

As we move through what looks like the “middle chapters” of an incredibly stress inducing time for many people, to stay mentally healthy and engaged we will all be searching for comfort – as much as we can in a state of self imposed isolation.

My wife and I are not “social isolation” types. But we are managing quite well through her working hours being slashed (like all restaurant workers), my son about to partake in distance learning for his college courses, and my own acclimation to a makeshift office with laptop and mobile phone that will, most likely, now be headquartered at our dining room table.

Gratefully, we are all healthy. Although we know people have the virus, COVID-19 has not darkened our door.

There are Students, There are Masters

When Rosina and Nicolina were alive, my wife paid attention: their kitchen tips, tricks, and habits were absorbed by the student, and now she has become the master. We, even in what we would call “normal” times, have always reached to the unwritten recipes and generational traditions that these women shared with us. We don’t want to forget, and they need to stay alive in spirit: My godmother has been gone for several years, and my Nonna passed away 10 years ago, this past January.

Their gifts to us, whether gastronomical or inspirational through their fascinating stories, keep on giving: and they will be well appreciated in this challenging time period that is to come.

One lesson my wife learned well is that of La Cucina Povera, or Kitchen of the Poor. The skill proved to be important when our kids were young and we had little money, and it will more than likely prove to be effective now that we are certain to face roadblocks in this uncertain year.

The Kitchen of the Poor for me, however, reads more like a menu of luxury items: the ultimate in my grandmother’s comfort food arsenal. The list might include a silky vegetable minestrone, greens and beans spiced appropriately with hot pepper, an egg frittata, or as pictured above, a simple dish of pasta with tomato, onions, and peas.

They’re inherently easy dishes to prepare, and would include ingredients you would probably already find in your fridge or pantry: no need to visit a store with your mask and tape measure, to ensure you are six feet from the closest fellow human.

My wife and I have recently broken our longstanding commitment to any broadcast news exposure to stay informed here – and as you might expect, our anxiety levels increased dramatically with that exposure. Aside from staying home and in isolation in the attempt to stay healthy, the comfort foods from the past provide much needed respites from the effects of your local/national talking heads.

There is much more to Sicilian comfort/ resilience than what you can eat, as you might imagine. Nonna could very well, as you were eating, tell you not to worry: that dark clouds will disperse (she knew that better than anybody), ask you to express gratitude, work through the challenges that you face, and create some happiness in others by making them smile.

By the time I would have reached the bottom of the bowl, I would have absorbed at least a few lessons in good living.

And in this house, that’s why it’s called “comfort food.”

To make your own delectable entree like the one pictured here, see below:

“Can’t get much simpler” Easy, peasy pasta with peas

Simple, simple, simple: that’s what our menu reflects. You’re stressed enough – who needs complications? First, grab a box of dried pasta. If the market still isn’t sold out. Thin spaghetti or Angel Hair. Barilla brand is fine, or better yet, DeCecco.

You’ll need a tomato sauce. I’m usually against sauce in jars, but we’re trying to keep stress at bay here. Just buy a quality/local brand: no Ragu or Prego, please. For a simple sauce recipe you can prepare, use this easy one made famous by chef Marcella Hazan:

Find a large white onion. Cut it in half. Put the one half flat side down in a deep pan. Heat the pan, adding butter (I use a little olive oil in the pan, as well). Half stick, whole stick, depending on how decadent you feel or how much comfort you need. Take a can of San Marzano tomatoes, crush them with your hands, and once butter is melted, throw them in the pan. Bring it to a boil, then let it roll on simmer for a half hour.

That’s it. Your sauce is done.

While the sauce is cooking, boil a pot of water, salting it liberally once heated. Cook your macaroni according to the directions.

Take that other onion half, and dice it. Add that to a smaller pan with a little olive oil, and throw some frozen peas in. Let them roll until they shrink up a bit and start to caramelize. Add the pasta to the pan with some of the sauce, and sprinkle grated cheese on top.

You’re done. Dinner is served!

Like this article? Please share on your favorite social media channel. Or better yet… read some more, with the related content below. To be notified of future posts, please enter your email in the space provided.

Immigrant Influence: The Trickle Down Effect of Work Ethic

img_0703-1 — My great uncle Mariano – gardener extraordinaire

As I stood in the kitchen, awaiting my instructions, the elderly cook ambled over. A gentleman named Frank, he had worked in restaurants for a long time. His chore now was to help me, an out of shape 12 year old, showing up for his “first shift.”

“That dish rack is kind of heavy, let me help you with that.”

The dishwasher, obviously of the industrial variety, had racks that were just as heavy duty. Frank lifted it gently, probably thinking that this kid with the soft body wasn’t going to handle it.

And so began my work life. At the age of 12. Very part time to be sure, but physical work nonetheless. Helping out in my family’s restaurant just wasn’t a job for me to do – it was time for me to be indoctrinated into the work ethic of my family, my community.

School work, and hanging out with my friends, was going to be the focus for me at that age. But in an Italian American family, that didn’t mean you couldn’t supplement it with little jobs here and there – or helping out with the family business.

My family never pushed me to adopt a work ethic… but I had plenty of examples of watching them work jobs or run businesses, then go back to the well for more toil, including:

My great uncle Tony, tilling the soil of a large garden after finishing his day at his city job (he was a beast – with forearms of titanium and even stronger grip).

My grandfather, going to tend bar at the family restaurant after a shift at the factory.

His brother, Mariano, trimming and pruning grape vines and branches until his white tee shirt was soaked with sweat (photo at left).

My grandmother, cooking for her family after hours spent prepping meals for hundreds of restaurant customers.

For years, I attempted to follow in the footsteps of my role models with unbridled enthusiasm – working double shifts at the family restaurant, years later spending 60-70 hours a week in sales as a road warrior, and during one period having two or three gigs just to cover ridiculous health insurance costs right before my son was born in a local hospital.

I was always tired, but I was satisfied. No one could question my capability for work. I proved to have the same stamina as the immigrants that paved our way.

“Success is my only…option, failure is not!” – Eminem

If it’s a theory that some kids may lack work ethic today, doing nothing but constantly immersing themselves via Netflix, social media, or other forms of entertainment.

Don’t blame the children for this, as adult role models are hard to find. If their parent(s) aren’t themselves relying on constant entertainment or wasting time scrolling and swiping through their (“smart”) phones, they could still be tagged with letting their children get away with not developing a work ethic.

Which, in the long run, helps no one.

Our kids knew (if not on their first day, shortly thereafter) that kind of thing would not fly. That taking the easy way out was not an acceptable option. Whether it was doing the work to excel in their classes, picking up after themselves, or doing chores/ holding jobs to earn their own money, they got the message that their work was going to matter.

We were, and are, teaching them the same work habits as we were taught by parents, grandparents, and extended family – who I assume would be happy with the acceptance of their way of the working life.

Italian American Podcast founder Anthony Fasano wrote in an article: “I am confident our ancestors would never tell us to let up on our aggressive and passionate approach to life,” as well as:

“Our ancestors had to hustle to survive. They worked themselves to the bone every day; their families depended on it. We are here because of their hustle, and now that same forceful work ethic is ingrained within us.”

Don’t like the word “hustle?” No problem – a lot of people don’t. For those that think the word’s been overused, feel free to use success, grit, determination, diligent, persevering, relentless.

I’m comfortable with them all – for my Sicilians and Southern Italians embodied the words.

And… leave a comment! We love reading them!

8 Happiness Rules (That You Can Use) From My Italian Grandmother

“Don’t worry. Be happy.”

In case you lived under a rock during the late 80’s, the song by that name became the first a cappella tune to reach number one status on the old school Hot 100 chart in this country. Performed by artist Bobby McFerrin, it flooded American airwaves, and by chance, the old transistor radio in my grandmother’s kitchen.

To say that she liked the song would be an understatement, singing along with every opportunity when it played, and often repeating the mantra when it didn’t. Don’t worry. Be happy.

Even before the song became a common listen, she seemed to have it as a life rule that she followed without question. “Nonna” didn’t discover the concept of being happy first (before looking for stuff to make you happy), but no one exemplified this rule more than my grandmother.

In a life lived as an immigrant where “Don’t worry, be happy” was a creed, she taught us many examples of how to get it done ourselves:

“Everything you need to be happy is within you today, right now” – Mark Manson

Create the life you want with hard work – It’s pretty official: from conversations, both online and off, that I’ve had or overheard with other Italian Americans, the consensus is in – we can all learn from the unreal work ethic of the generation(s) before us.

Truth be told, I’m a touch embarrassed by the way I work these days in my little office cubicle – it’s nothing like the schedules from the past, where I would put in a punishing number of hours just to keep up with my parents, or my grandparents.

I’m still astonished by the hours they kept, to provide for themselves and their family. They worked. They didn’t need to be entertained. And they would make many sacrifices of their own time to help those who needed it.

The present moment? It’s all that you’ve got – One of her favorite quotes was, “It’s later than you think.” I’d like to think it was her way of saying the future is coming, but it’s length and quality is an unknown. The past is nice to visit, but don’t dwell on it. This is a talent that seems to be lost in our modern days, as we all make our big plans in the coming months, or years – rather than focus on being happy right now, in the present moment. Is there really any guarantee of the future?

As I’ve heard many times in my past, “It’s later than you think.”

“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.” – St. Mother Teresa of Calcutta

Be relentless – The default option for most people is to sit back, waiting for life to happen to them. Instead of learning and improving themselves, they keep plodding along, wondering why things never change.

I’ve written here before about my grandfather’s relentless nature, comparing him to the champion boxer who always moved forward with constant action, throwing punches, never relenting – always on the offense.

He, and his wife of 66 years, were an inspiration on this front. They consistently pursued, over decades, what they wanted – success and inclusion for their family in this new country, their new home.

They captured a true secret of happiness, or purpose: know what you want, and never cease in your journey to achieve it.

Create meaningful, memorable moments – A particular trait in the Italian American household is creating traditions from what other folks may consider mundane – taking every day moments and making them unforgettable.

My grandmother was a master of taking a pedestrian (for her) chore of making meatballs and turning it into an event to be remembered years later. The eating of the food she cooked made the moments even more transcendent: and it’s not just me – other family members, old and younger, can recall vivid details of visits in the kitchen, and the setting of a Sunday dinner table.

The little family picnics, cups of coffee at the table, the unexpected “drop in” (everybody loved the drop in back then) of a family member or close friend – they were all memorable moments made so by the enthusiasm for life that I was brought up with.

Don’t try to keep up with the Joneses – Jealousy and envy are incompatible with happiness, so if you’re constantly comparing yourself with others, it’s time to stop.

Everyone’s experience is different. What looks to be all shiny and bright to the outside world could have been riddled with bumps, bruises, and obstacles along the way. No matter what type of success you see or perceive, you can be sure of that.

The immigrants from my past rarely spoke in envious tones. If they were jealous of someone else’s possessions, it was probably the fact that the other party had more food (or god forbid, better food) in a celebratory spread. Or perhaps, nicer linens on a dinner table.

My grandmother would make 90 to 100 meatballs at a clip, just to make sure she wasn’t outdone by a friend or neighbor.

They were hard working people who had little time to concern themselves with what others had – even if they were at all interested. My grandmother thrived on living a simple life, with few extravagances but many relationships to keep cultivating. Her one luxury was a fur coat she would proudly wear to Sunday Mass during the chillier weather.

We’d all be a little happier if we avoided the comparison trap. It’s one of the most important lessons that I’ve been taught.

“Comparison is the death of joy.” – Mark Twain

Stay positive in a negative world – I really don’t know how they did it. Their lives were physically challenging and, at times, emotionally apocalyptic with deaths of family members well before their time.

I rarely saw my grandmother in a sad, melancholy mood. Especially in the kitchen. Smiling, singing, dancing, stirring, tending the oven – she seemed to be uplifted all of time. I have no doubt her faith in God was part of this.

If you had negativity or troubles in your life – well, that steaming cup of coffee and a table side chat when you visited would soon be the focus, and the remedy.

Don’t get distracted – I recently attended the funeral service of the mother of a dear friend of mine. While giving a eulogy at her graveside, my friend implored those standing in the cemetery to be more connected – but in a more human, dare I say old fashioned, way of ditching constant social media and showing up with a phone call or visit.

Look, we’re all guilty of the zombie-like obsession with our phones and devices – myself included. And I think the social is a fantastic way to communicate and keep up with family and friends (as long as you refrain from diving into the deep end of negativity).

My trick is to supplement that, getting a kick out of sneaking in a phone call or text in addition to Facebook comments. It’s way more fun to talk to Uncle Tony or cousin Frankie than it is to just click the “like” button. We all need more of that – again, myself included.

Get yourself out there, and socialize –

My grandmother knew the secret – if she was happy (or at least acted happy), everyone around her couldn’t but help to be happy as well. Her attitude was infectious.

She was the life of the party wherever she went, loving to socialize whenever she had the time. You have to remember, her work schedule, whether for family or her restaurants, didn’t allow for much leisure time – but when she had it, made good use of it.

The impromptu party or picnic was frequently on her radar – and her grandson has picked up on this as well.

I wasn’t what you would call “super sociable” by any stretch back in the day, being just as comfortable with alone time as I was hanging with friends.

This was solved by getting married to the (perfect) woman I’ve nicknamed Suzie Satellite for her uncanny ability to throw the perfect party or turn complete strangers into friends within the hour. Now it’s rubbed off on me, as I’m more likely to approach new faces as easily as lurking around the outskirts of a room, just observing.

You need time with me? You’ll have to talk to Suzie – otherwise known as my cruise director or booking agent.

Don’t Worry – Be Happy

In the end, one little Sicilian immigrant knew the secret to be, and be happy: to believe that everything works itself out. To not take yourself (or others) so seriously. To know how to laugh, situation appropriate or not. To avoid really negative chatter, and to lighten up the world and those around you at every opportunity. And to have faith that you have a special offering, regardless of the inner voices or outside forces.

Like this article? Please share on your favorite social media channel. Or better yet… read some more, with the related content below. Leave a comment if you enjoyed this post.

Stop Trying to Make It Easy

Back in the summer months of 2014, I decided to break one of my financial commandments – no spending money on a gym membership. I started to be bored working out at home, in the very sparse and dungeon-like confines of the basement, where I keep my heavy bag, jump rope, and a variety of weights. No longer inspired to exercise by myself, I needed a change of scenery.

Although it was hard to commit to the monthly payment at first (my frugal grandmother would have thought this a very frivolous expense), I jumped in and was quickly happy with the decision. My gym is clean, the staff is friendly, and there is more than enough variety of equipment to get in any type of workout that you choose. And the fact that it is extremely close to my house makes it all the more appealing.

On the surface, total win.

The only issue so far? The months of January and February. After the New Years cocktails are a fleeting memory to most people, stampeding crowds of fitness wannabees descend on gyms and fitness centers, with dreams of getting in better shape, taking every parking spot in the lot and leaving not a treadmill open.

It’s enough to make me look forward to the “dungeon” again.

The sad part, or perhaps not so sad, is that by mid March at the latest, the massive crowds will have fizzled out. Hopes and dreams for the quick fix will have been dashed. The monthly payments will be still taken from their bank accounts, even if they never show up again.

In time, I’ll be able to park anywhere I want, and every dumbbell and elliptical will be there for the taking.

New Year’s resolutions will be abandoned, and there will be clear sailing for the rest of us until next January.

Quitting is the easiest option when you realize the quick fix and the short cut will not work. They will never work. Leaves me wondering why everybody wants it so easy.

Stop trying to make it easy.

There are plenty of images of my grandparents that remind me of how they got where they needed to be. By working their asses off. By continually grinding.

Once they had their minds set on becoming responsible, productive American citizens who would eventually employ fellow citizens, they became unstoppable.

They never looked for the easy way to do anything. With my grandparents, the very thought of “the easy way out” or less than maximum effort would have been laughable.

I don’t even need to bring to detail their early years, the years of the factory jobs and building their own businesses from practically nothing. I can just use an example of when they were in their 70s and 80s, working every day. Rosina, in a restaurant kitchen for half of her day, then in her private kitchen for the other half. Twelve hours. Without consideration of “making things easy.”

I had prime role models growing up.

With their help and guidance, it’s now easy for me to get through the months of January and February at the gym, sailing right through the spring. It’s easy to feel privileged and blessed with abundance when money is tight for some, because of the way they taught me to spend and save.

In car crazy America, I have no problem driving less because they never drove at all. I’m inspired to keep my small mortgage instead of “moving up”, as they never needed a bank to give them one in the first place.

My route to the gym passes on the road to the cemetery where my grandparents are now. Done purposefully or not, I don’t know. I do know I can’t pass by without a signal that the hard work is about to commence.

As I drive by, I remind myself to try and embody the lifestyle that they embraced. Go hard. Be fast. Don’t stop.

And for Heaven’s sake, stop trying to make it easy.