My mother-in-law is a Baroness, which in Italy is more common than it is over here. It took me years to find out, since my mother-in-law would never mention it. Being a Baroness is something she takes for granted, like we’re all Barons and Baronesses. When she dies, I think my wife becomes a Baroness, which is all I need. But since she’s a lot like her mother, I doubt it will ever come up.
A lot of people don’t know it, but my grandfather was Carmine the Barber, which also gives my family a certain responsibility. That’s why they call my mother Regina, especially now that all her sisters are gone. Everybody from back then is gone. But when my grandfather died, back in ‘64, I had 40 first cousins living in this parish, and that’s not counting the ones in the northeast, or out in Jersey. We owned the ten o’clock Mass. And we all looked alike. All those aunts and uncles and extra cousins who married into my family had to surrender their genes at the altar. It’s a good thing my grandfather was so handsome.
My mother-in-law loves to hear about my grandfather, a 15-year-old boy from Marsico, alone in America. Her own father wore spats and had a factotum. He had a cook, a driver, a groom, two chambermaids, and a nurse. My grandfather became a barber, got married, and had eight children just before the Great Depression.
I often overhear my mother-in-law talking about my grandfather to her friends, who may be inquiring just where it is I come from. They look confused, like my mother-in-law should be complaining, or dismissive. But they figure that I must belong there, otherwise I wouldn’t be there. She tells the story like a fairy tale, and Carmine is the prince. He gave haircuts for free, she says, as if never charging for a haircut was a sure sign of nobility.
When my grandfather got his barber’s license, he had every intention of getting paid, since everybody needed a haircut and there was no better way he could think of for getting 15 cents from each one of them. There was an endless supply of hair. It was a no-brainer - a win, win. But suddenly, just after he screwed his chair into the floor, nobody had 15 cents. So he just cut their hair for free and left it at that. This was an act of genius, since by the time they bombed Pearl Harbor he was the richest guy in the parish. People paid a dollar for a shave, which was like putting money in the collection basket - as much for pride as anything. And they found a thousand other ways to give back. And they came to him for everything. By the time my mother had her First Communion, he owned the four corners.
Back in Naples, during the Depression, my wife’s grandfather came up with another genius idea - every Italian’s dream, which is making money out of thin air (which the Italians pronounce ‘hair’). He bought a compressor and began to make oxygen, which was the latest thing. He became a Fascist, employed mostly Jews, and befriended the Americans during the war through their proxies in Naples – refineries that were spared the bombing, as was the Baron. By the time the war was over, he was set. And everybody in the family had jobs.
Carmine likewise kept his family busy. His two sons became barbers, eventually taking over Center City, the Northeast, and most of Jersey, what with everything they were up to, which was all legal, except for the numbers, which never hurt anybody. The girls worked shifts at the candy store, dipping ice cream and eating chocolate while the rest of the world was on the breadline. My grandmother ran the tailor shop, where a lot of other people worked. She had a cook and a maid too, but in her case it was an absolute necessity, since there was always a gang of cousins and in-laws crowding the front steps of the house and filling the first floor, over for lunch or ready for dinner. It was the Depression, after all, and everybody had to eat.
After the war, my grandfather pulled out of the four corners and moved into the big house on the other side of Broad St. He put his chair in the basement, where they all came - Frankie, Dino, and all Four Seasons – to get a free haircut. Everybody who was anybody sat in that chair, including me, and I didn’t like it one bit. But the big boys got shaves, and God only knows what they paid for that.
In Naples they’re still selling oxygen. But those American friends turned out to be not so friendly. They’ve been trying to choke the life out of my in-laws for 60 years, doing every dirty trick possible to drive them out of business. But in Naples, it pays to be Neapolitan. They all want to turn air into money. But like my father-in-law says, it’s much easier to go the other way.
