Joanna

By Anna Manganaro and JoAnna Manganaro Juneau

Jo Anna is the story about a woman's tumultuous life that has the ability to inspire and bless the lives of other's with its innate wisdom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Mar 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781426957222

Anna Manganaro

1) Virginia M. Bredbenner has a Bachelor of Science degree in Elementary Education with a concentration in Psychology, a Master of Science degree in Special Education. Experience includes 11 years of teaching experience in Arizona and Pennsylvania with students K-12 in a variety of teaching formats, subject areas, and cultural perspectives and 2 years of training and experience in the child welfare system. 2) Virginia has an eclectic life experience which includes grown children and five grandchildren, an eclectic work experience, in addition to her professional experience, which includes working with the public in offices, stores, restaurants, and farming. 3) Virginia is now traveling throughout the United States and writing the stories she encournters.

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Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

1947 to 1951

Chapter 5

1949

Chapter 6

1950 – 1951

Chapter 7

1953 – 1955

Chapter 8

1955

Chapter 9

1957

Chapter 10

1957 – 1958…………

Chapter 11

1958 – 1959

Chapter 12

1959

Chapter 13

1960 – 1962

Chapter 14

1962………

Chapter 15

1967

Chapter 16

1968 – 1969

Chapter 17

1970 – 1974

Chapter 18

1975 – 1977

Chapter 19

1977 – 1979

Chapter 20

1979 – 1980

Chapter 21

1980 – 1981

Chapter 22

1981 – 1982

Chapter 23

1983

Chapter 24

1986

Chapter 25

1986 – 1987

Chapter 26

1987 – 1990

Chapter 27

1990 – 1993

Chapter 28

1993

Chapter 29

1993 – 1995

Chapter 30

1996

Chapter 31

1998 – 1999

Chapter 32

Appendices

Time Line

Dates of Birth

List of Characters

Reader Notes

Preface

JoAnna Phyllis Manganaro Juneau, the heroine of this saga, was my first cousin. JoAnna and I were children of brothers born to Giovanna and Salvatore Manganaro. Giovanna and Salvatore were an Italian couple who came from Sicily to America with their baby son, Phillip, who was their fourth, but only surviving child. They arrived at Ellis Island in 1910, one hundred years ago from the year of this writing.

JoAnna was her father’s oldest child, and I was my father’s only child. JoAnna, thirteen years older than I with a life of her own by the time I came along, intermittently entered and left the periphery of my life as I grew. I knew who she was, but had no conscious connection with her as a person until I was thirteen and she was twenty-six in 1961.

JoAnna was living in New York by then, and family members and I had gone to visit her. I remember watching her waitress in a high end restaurant. I was with family, and she waited on us, of course, but I watched as she also took care of her other customers. I was enthralled by her presence. Her demeanor and sense of purpose with the people she ‘took care of’ were inspiring, and I took that image of her with me. In 1979, JoAnna opened a restaurant in what had once been our hometown, and I worked there with her for awhile. I watched her closely and was rewarded by her wisdom and insight.

Our paths did not cross again until we were living 3000 miles apart, she in Rochester, New York, and I in Mesa, Arizona. In that final year of her life (2005-2006) through frequent phone conversations, she and I renewed our relationship.

It was during one of these conversations that JoAnna told me she had written a book about her life. When I asked why she wrote the book, JoAnna said she wanted people to know what really happened in her life. The desire to read that book burned within me from that moment on.

On December 21, 2006, I received a call from Joe, JoAnna’s husband, informing me that JoAnna had passed away at seven p.m. the evening before. How grateful I was that she and I had shared that final year, and her book remained in the shadows of my mind.

In July 2010, the year of this writing, I wrote Joe a letter. The following is an excerpt from that letter:

It is my belief that everything happens for a reason, and the time I spent on the phone chatting with JoAnna for the months before she passed is no exception. I enjoyed them, of course, but the subject of a book she had written about her life kept coming up in conversation.

Once I asked her why she wrote it, and she said she wanted people to know what really happened, because she knew that other people had their own versions of her life. I believe that story needs to be told, because her life to me had always been an amazing one. I think that so many people could value from her experiences.

So, I have a request. Would you consider sending me a copy of her book? I would like to review her story with the background she and I shared in our family, and co-author it with her.

A week later, I received a phone call from Joe. He said the book was in the mail to me. I cried in gratitude as I hung up the phone. Such an opportunity comes but once in a lifetime.

Subsequently, I spent nearly two months with JoAnna’s family asking questions, verifying information, and receiving their input, as they read each chapter as it was rewritten. This book is technically a biographical novel, because JoAnna’s original manuscript has been expanded and the names of people beyond immediate family members have been changed.

J.D. Joseph Juneau, Deborah Juneau Beman, and Kevin Juneau are to be congratulated for their bravery and candor. This book is a labor of love from JoAnna to her family and from her family to the families of the world who can value from her story.

Co-author,

Anna Manganaro

Chapter 1

My father sent my mother a letter dated September 7, 1932.

Sept. 7, 1932

Dear Flo..

I have just received your most welcome letter and was glad to hear from you. Really, I had never expected to hear from you any-more. It has been over a whole week since I wrote to you. I was just about going to give up hope, when at last I got an answer from you.

Well, I am very glad that you had enjoyed yourself immensely at the fire-works. You know we had some fire-works on Saturday of last week. I think that they were just as good as the other ones down here. I expected to see you down here on account of you not answering my letter. But you weren’t, and I didn’t enjoy my-self so much.

I expect to make a visit to your dear old town in the near future. I don’t know exactly when, but it will be soon. So don’t be a bit at all surprised if I drop in on you.

Listen sweet, as far as your being disappointed in not receiving my photo, I am just as disappointed in not receiving yours. This time though, I will not disappoint you. I have finally found one around the house, that I must have taken some time ago. I guess it will do until I have another made. It can’t much to look at, but I hope you will like it. In the mean time I hope you will get one for me.

Thank you for conveying my message to the other three musketeers. I hope they took heed to what you told them. Well sweet, I guess I haven’t much more to say. One thing though, I want to compliment you on your handwriting. You sure have it. I guess I’ll close with lots of Love and Kisses.

Your Friend

Phil

P.S. You will find a little snap shot of me in this letter. Don’t forget to answer soon and a nice long letter.

(I got a new pen)

The envelope in which this letter was sent was marked with two lip prints. Both the letter and the envelope were found among my mother’s Important Papers after her death. It seemed she loved him from that day on.

Ponderings of a Co-author

Phil had a fine hand, both in penmanship and grammar. This would have been impressive to a young woman of Flo’s time. Fine penmanship and the ability to express oneself well were considered great assets.

Phil called her Sweet and complimented her, as well as, seeming to be modest about himself….a young man hoping, yet never dreaming, that she would want to see him again.

Did she read the letter often over the years to remind herself that they had once shared a special love? Maybe merely possessing it was enough. She may have read it so many times, she already knew it by heart.

Information gathered from another family member revealed that Phil Manganaro and his cousin, Thomas Trapani, his cousin, went to Hazelton. Phil met Florence there and wrote the letter that appears here. They were married the following year and lived in Hazelton where JoAnna was born.

Chapter 2

Born in Hazelton, Pennsylvania on July 3, 1935 as JoAnna Phyllis Manganaro, I would be the first of four children born to parents of Italian decent, Florence De Lash and Phillip Manganaro. When I was born, my father had a meager job as a door-to-door salesman. In 1936, my dad got a job working in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania on the railroad, which was a hundred miles away. He moved my mom and me to Berwick near his family, because he only came home weekends.

Dad arrived late Friday night, laundry in hand, and returned Sunday afternoon.

No matter what amount of money he brought home, my father demanded the most expensive meats. As a child, I remember he ate pork chops while the rest of us ate bologna on the day old bread my mother bought. There were also times when there was nothing to eat. When that happened, my mother took us to visit a neighbor at dinner time in hopes that the neighbor would offer us something to eat.

Dad’s Saturday at home was spent sleeping on the sofa for much of the day while my mother did his laundry. He always had at lease five white dress shirts that had to be washed, starched, and ironed to perfection. I remember one Friday night in particular when he arrived home. He walked in the door with a white shirt in hand and threw it into my mother’s face. She had forgotten to starch one of the sleeves.

Looking back, I wondered why my father, who was a welder at the time, wore white shirts on the job. Of course, those weren’t his work shirts. I later learned they were his cheating shirts.

My father did not physically abuse us, but he certainly knew how to mentally abuse my mother. One Saturday morning, he came downstairs after awakening, sat at the kitchen table, and said to my mother, Where’s my coffee, Lady?

My father normally drank his coffee black. My mother poured his coffee and put it in front of him. My father looked into the cup, shoved it across the table, and said, You know I drink my coffee with milk.

The only time my dad ever hit my mother was when she told him, You need to use your head for something other than a hat rack. He was very self-conscious about his hair. You see, he began to lose it at an early age, and he always wore a hat.

When he left on Sunday, he often threw a five dollar bill on the table and said to my mother, If you like it, Lady, all right; if not, you know what you can do. This seemed to be one of his favorite expressions.

My mother always cried when he left. She did the best she could to raise her children on the five dollars he threw at her. She was expected to feed their four children and pay the rent, which was ten dollars a month.

My father’s mother owned the house we lived in, and she lived directly across the yard from us. The rent was always behind, and my grandmother watched everything we did. If my mother bought anything other than bologna or cooked something other than fried potatoes or some kind of macaroni, my grandmother told her she was spending money foolishly.

When I was four and my brother, Sammy, was three, my mother did work for a local sweater factory setting sleeves in sweaters by hand. The sweater pieces were delivered to our home, and my mother worked on those sweaters every moment she could. She was paid piece work wages, which meant she was paid for each sweater she completed. I still see her in my mind’s eye working on those sweaters well into the midnight hours.

Our mother was an excellent seamstress who often took in money sewing for other people. She could literally spread out a piece of material someone brought to her, look at the person, and cut out a dress to fit perfectly when it was sewn together. And we, as her children, benefited from that talent of hers.

Our mother always made a new outfit for us to start the school year. She sewed dresses for my sister, Carole, and me, as well as, shirts and trousers for my brothers, Sammy and Lucian. We went to school with children who had store-bought clothes. We wore homemade clothes, but they were always the latest style. My sister and I proudly wore Gibson Girl blouses and Ballerina skirts. In the summer. I picked strawberries to earn money to buy the fashionable black and white Saddle Shoes to go with our outfits.

My dad had a sister, our Aunt Mary, who also lived in the apartment house across the yard from us. I always looked forward to her vacation, because she went to Atlantic City every year for a week; and she always came back with a new outfit for each of us. I especially remember the year she bought me a pair of black patent leather shoes. I was so proud of those shoes.

Every Easter, my mother made sure we had a new Homemade Easter outfit and a basket full of Homemade Easter candies. She also made sure we had a birthday party. We were allowed to invite our school classmates, which usually totaled between thirty-five to forty children. Mom baked a cake, and we had ice cream, pretzels, potato chips, and Kool-Aide. There were usually four or five classmates that brought money as a gift. There were times when the birthday cards were opened before the ice cream could be purchased for the party.

Before my father left us, he put up the Christmas tree. After he left, it was my duty to put up the tree. My mother always managed a nice Christmas, and I have always looked forward to and loved the holiday season ever since. Carole and I always found a doll under the tree, and Lucian and Sammy always found a truck. All of us found the usual socks, underwear, and new homemade clothes; and the stockings were filled with candy and an orange.

On the Fourth of July, we always got to see the fireworks from our house. The fireworks were held at a carnival three blocks from where we lived, but my mother couldn’t afford to take us to the carnival. So, we viewed the fireworks from our back porch.

Every summer, our town had The Pet and Toy Parade with floats and prizes. The children in town dressed up in costumes and participated in the parade. My mother made our costumes, and we entered every year in hopes of winning a prize.

When my mother had the money, our treats consisted of a penny or two to stop at the corner store for candy on the way to school. Every so often, my mother was able to afford ten cents to buy two twin popsicles which were shared by the four of us children. We also looked forward to the potato chip truck that delivered to the store across the street. The man who delivered had sample bags of potato chips for us.

Every Sunday my mother dressed us up and sent us off to church. The church was three blocks from where we lived. The four of us each got a nickel to put into the collection plate. We were all dressed to perfection. Our socks had to match our outfits, and the ribbons Carole and I wore in our hair matched our dresses.

We didn’t always make it to church, being the kids that we were. The local playground was on the way to the church. That was a temptation that we couldn’t resist. It went something like this:

It’s such a nice day. I wish we didn’t have to be cooped up in that church, complained nine year old Sammy as he scuffed his feet along the sidewalk.

Yeah, I’d rather play in the park, seven year old Lucian added as he gazed across the street.

You know we can’t do that, I, the boss at ten years of age, reminded them, What if Mom finds out?

I wanna play on the swings, I wanna play on the swings, begged four year old Carole.

We don’t have to tell. Carole, you won’t tell Mama we played in the park, will ya? Lucian asked in a pleading tone.

Carole stared at him with her big brown eyes, Oh, no.., I can keep a secret. I’m good at secrets.

Yeah, Sammy said as he rolled his eyes, like the time you just HAD to tell Grandmom about the ice cream Mom bought.

I won’t do it again, I promise, Carole looked near tears.

OK, that’s enough, I ordered, Don’t badger her! She’s only little.

Badger her! You always take her side! She has to grow up sometime, Sammy informed me.

Well, it doesn’t have to be today! I shouted at him.

While Sammy and I were arguing, Lucian and Carole were already heading for the sliding board.

Yep, that’s just what we need, I resigned myself to our not getting out of this one, The first pass, and they’ll both be full of mud.

Sammy smiled as we heard Carole and Lucian laughing with glee.

This is all your fault, you know, I reminded him.

Yeah, I know, he smirked, I hadda open my big mouth.

We watched for people to come out of church and started home when we saw them leaving. The nickel we got for the collection plate was often spent at the penny candy store along the way.

Hey, we can’t go home with the collection money! Mama will know for sure, Lucian reminded us.

That’s true, if we want to make this work, we have to have empty pockets, Sammy smiled directly at me.

Let’s buy candy! Carole suggested excitedly.

That’s a great idea! Lucian agreed wholeheartedly.

Yeah, with red mouths and sugar on our breaths, I’m sure it will all go unnoticed, I responded sarcastically.

Mama always forgives us…., Lucian said with a smile.

Besides the evidence we carried home with us, there was always someone who told on us. So, the following Sunday, we had our orders to go directly to church, or we wouldn’t get our pennies for school candy.

We didn’t have much, but we always had a clean house and clean clothes to wear. My mother was a very proud woman. She could have gone to the welfare office, but rather than that, she did the best she could for us without asking for what she called a handout.

Whenever someone told her she should go for welfare, she said, It’s not for the greedy; it’s for the needy. She said as long as she was able and with the help of God, she could take care of her family herself.

When my brother, Sammy, was old enough, he went to work delivering the local newspaper. He was barely big enough to pull the wagon that held the newspapers. This helped my mother immensely. He was paid for delivering the papers, and people he delivered to would often give him a few cents for himself. Because it was a small town, people knew what mother was going through to raise us; and I am sure it was their way of helping her.

When my brother, Sammy, became a teenager, he worked in a local Ma and Pa grocery store bagging groceries. It wasn’t our father, but rather my brother, who was concerned about our welfare. I can remember the first television we had. My brother was the one who bought it. He was so proud, because at that time, not everyone had a television set.

Ponderings of a Co-author

The beginning of JoAnna’s life took place when The Depression was being sorely felt since the Stock Market Crash of 1929. Those who survived, scrimped and saved and did without. Undoubtedly this is why JoAnna’s grandmother was so watchful of how Florence, JoAnna’s mother, used her financial resources.

It was an understood fact in our family that our grandmother did not approve of her daughter-in-law, Florence, Phil’s wife. Perhaps it was a personality conflict from the start. Maybe she thought that Phil needed a stronger woman to move him in a more positive direction and keep him from self-destructive behaviors. Or she may have merely felt guilty about the way her son did not take care of his family.

JoAnna’s brother, Sammy, shared at the time of this writing that in 1936, their father, Phil, went to Harrisburg to work on the Pennsylvania Railroad. There had been a major flood in the northeast, and much damage had been done to the railroad. This was an opportunity to earn a decent living, which would have been difficult to find at the time. Phil moved his family from Hazelton, where his wife’s family was, to a small double house owned by his mother in Berwick, where Florence and their children would live near his family while he was away working in Harrisburg.

JoAnna’s brother, Sammy remembers going to his grandmother’s home across the yard and being fed when they were hungry. Florence being the proud woman JoAnna reports her to be, may not have liked her mother-in-law knowing that there was a limited food supply in their home.

Sammy shared that his grandmother was not happy with his father’s irresponsibility, Yeah, our grandmother didn’t have much good to say about the ole’ man.

Chapter 3

I will never forget the Summer I was eight years old.

My only vacation was to visit with my Aunt Geraldine, my mother’s sister, and my cousins who lived in Hazelton eighteen miles away. Each year shortly after school vacation started, my mother put me on a bus, and I went to a place