Chapter 1 Coppa Monte
John Mango


Writing a book about Italians in America began as I researched my own beginnings. Memories of a childhood long gone caused me to drive east, back to the scene of those early years. When my wife Pia and I, drove from our home in California to those eastern cities, I secretly hoped to recapture my childhood feelings and memories.

I vividly remember the years of the Great Depression in Susquehanna Pennsylvania, and the hardships my family faced. I also recall the Erie Railroad and the part it played in our family, and many others in that small Pennsylvania community.

Susquehanna was a division terminal. It had repair shops, a roundhouse, coal pockets, and both westbound and eastbound yards. On the other side of the Susquehanna River, and west of town at the eastbound yards, pusher engines were added to the eastbound freight trains.

The freights strained to attain the speed needed to make it nine miles up the hill to Gulf Summit. When they reached the station, they were already going 50 mph. Even though we lived four blocks up the mountain from the station, we could hear the eastbound freight trains leaving town. The slow chug, chug, chug, coming across the valley as they labored to push the freight trains over the hill, still lingers in my memory.

My childhood home on Prospect Street is still there, although it's been remodeled more than once through the years. Fill dirt covers the well where we used to get cool water to drink. The big red barn where we kept a cow, and stored dad's tools, was torn down years ago. Weeds cover the garden area where vegetables, so necessary during the depression, were grown. Washington Street School still stands, as does St. John's Catholic Church. But it was at the church cemetery that old feelings surfaced as I remembered my little sister who died and was buried there, so many years ago.

Susquehanna is still a small community with a population of 2,500, which is about the same as it had so long ago. When the railroad left, Susquehanna failed to thrive and grow. The Erie Railroad no longer exists. Its successor Conrail, runs a couple of freight trains each way daily. There is nothing to indicate that this was a thriving railroad community in the early part of the 20th century.

The town of Hornell, New York, 149 miles to the other end of the division, was our next stop. My old house on Front Street is gone. The River Street bridge is old and dilapidated, though I remember when it was built. Bryant school, where I once attended, looks entirely different. I would have liked to thank my 6th grade teacher Miss Kemp, because she was a special person in my life, but I can't. She's just another part of a childhood memory.

The Erie Railroad roundhouse is gone but the back shops are still there and from the outside it looks the same. The passenger station is boarded up and abandoned. So many changes, so many people gone, I sadly realized that I could never recapture those childhood feelings, not even for a moment.

I remember well my Italian heritage. Almost 70 years have passed, but I remember my parents and their friends sharing experiences of leaving their hometowns in Italy. They left hardships in the old country only to encounter even more problems here with the Great Depression and two World Wars. They boarded the ships with high hopes for a better life. They came to America, and through very hard work, succeeded in making a better life for all of us, the first generation of Italian Americans.

My story, Coppa Monte, starts with a visit to a small Italian village, not far from Naples, where my parents and grandparents lived.

The year is 1883. The scene is a tiny and obscure Italian village, Moiano, nestled beneath Tuburno Mountain, which looms 1,980 feet above it. Moiano is 21 miles from Naples. It is easily found by heading 18 miles northeast from Naples to the village of Arpaia, then three more miles straight north.

The terrain of the village and surrounding area is one of rolling hills. In winter the snow covered caps of the Apennine Mountains can be seen in the east. The climate of Moiano is similar to southern California. There is enough rain during the growing season (March-November), to sustain many food crops.

Dusty roads lead to the village square where the well, which supplies fresh water for the 400 inhabitants, is located. Small stone huts dot the countryside, but the agricultural land is located coppa monte (up the mountain), where the rocky soil is fertile and rich. It is coppa monte, where the farmers of Moiano eke out a meager living raising grains and vegetables.

There was nothing exceptional about this village; it had the usual percentage of petty thieves, wife beaters, child abusers and drunks. The important part was that everyone knew who these people were. Primarily, because there was nothing of great value to steal or extort from anyone in town, the feared mano nera (black hand) was absent.

The only doctor in town had to compete with "mal occhio" (evil eye) rituals and many other local cures. There was no dentist, but one day every month, two men (who called themselves dentists) arrived in the town square on a two-wheel cart pulled by a "ciuccio" (jackass). The cart carried a supply of wine and one chair.

Customers who bravely lined up were given a glass of wine. Taking turns, each was seated in the chair when one "dentist" held the patient's head, while the other extracted the ailing tooth. On those days you could hear the screaming and wailing all over town, according to my mother.

The town had one small stone school building with three elementary grades. The prevailing opinion in Moiano was that schooling did not teach boys the skills to work the land coppa monte, nor teach girls how to sew, cook, keep house, or raise children. Also, the children's help was needed coppa monte. Thus, only a child who was physically weak, or sick, or the children of the few wealthy families were sent to school.

Parents were fiercely proud of their children. They instilled in them a belief in God, and reared them as good Catholics. Attending Mass every Sunday was usually a family affair. Children were free to play after church, while men went to the cantina, to talk and drink.

Also on Sunday afternoon women could be seen grooming their long hair that went halfway down their backs. After washing and combing it, each woman fashioned one long braid down her back, rolled it into a bun and pinned it on the back of her head.

Parents taught their children to respect all adults and to call them Zia and Zio (Aunt and Uncle). A family friend named Maria was "Zia Maria" to the young child.

(Note: those from Moiano dropped the vowels from the end of many words and names. Moiano was pronounced "Moi-on," paisano became "pai-saan." Names such as Giovanni became "Giovon", Giuseppe became "Giusepp" Zia, and Zio became "Zi." For that reason in this tale Zia and Zio are referred to as Zi).
Cristoforo Colombo, a fellow Italian, sailed from Spain in 1492, intending to find