Out of the Rubble: From World War Ii Chaos to American Entrepreneurship

By Alicia J. Winget

Lino Borraccio was born in the Italian village of San Vittore del Lazio twenty days after Japan shocked the world with a devastating air raid on Pearl Harbor. Lino spent the first months of his life in a house nestled in the mountainous village, secure in the love of his parents and grandmother. World War II raged elsewhere, but not in Linos homeuntil the day his father was called into active duty in Mussolinis army.

In his biography, family friend Alicia Winget chronicles the fascinating life story of Borraccio as he embarked on a coming-of-age journey taking him from his Italian village through the difficulties and triumphs associated with World War II and post-war Italy. Eventually, he became an immigrant and moved to the United States; although he could barely understand English, he would later don an American military uniform in 1961. With incredible detail, photographs, and facts, Winget describes how Borraccio carved out a new life for himself as he became a licensed barber, an American citizen, and a husband who would eventually become a successful entrepreneur.

Out of the Rubble shares the inspiring life story of an Italian immigrant who stands as a model and memorial for perseverance, bravado, patience, and hard work.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Apr 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490823324

Alicia J. Winget

Alicia J. Winget was inspired to tell the rest of Lino Borraccio’s story after his World War II and immigration experiences were presented on a Detroit television station. She lives with her husband in Michigan, where she enjoys spending time with their family, serving on several boards and leading an adult Bible study class.

Book preview

Out of the Rubble

From World War II Chaos to American Entrepreneur

Alicia J. Winget

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Copyright © 2014 Alicia J. Winget.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-2331-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-2332-4 (e)

WestBow Press rev. date: 03/11/2014

Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Afterword

Acknowledgments

Notes

To my granddaughter, a lovely young lady who, during the writing of this book has waged a battle of her own with leukemia.

Natalie Cameron

Preface

Not to know what happened before one was born is always to be a child. — Cicero

In May 2012, Marc Santia, at that time an investigative reporter with WDIV Television in Detroit, dined at Lino’s Restaurant in Rochester Hills, Michigan. Lino Borraccio, owner and manager of the restaurant, knew Marc’s family was from the same area of Italy as his family. As they talked about the old country, they discovered Lino had worked in the barbershop in Sterling Heights with Marc’s cousin. Their conversation continued as Marc enjoyed his dinner.

The following day, Lino received a call from Marc saying he would like to do a feature story for Memorial Day weekend on Lino’s experiences with the American military and his immigration to America. The story aired a number of times throughout the weekend, and for the next week, it became the number-one story for WDIV on the Internet.

Feature stories, necessarily limited in scope, prompt readers and viewers to want to know more, and this book purports to satisfy that desire for more information. First, as a patron of the restaurant and then as a friend, I had heard Lino’s stories over the years and often encouraged him to write his story. In May 2012, I once again suggested he write his story, and he asked me to write it. I agreed, with the understanding we would need to go to Italy since I would need to see the area about which I would be writing.

The following October, Lino, his wife, Elvira, my husband, and I traveled to Italy, along with Benjamin and Justin, two of our grandsons. While there, we walked around Lino’s village, toured Monte Cassino Abbey, and visited military and civilian cemeteries. We climbed the steep stairs of Lino’s childhood home to see the old fireplace and view the valley below.

The beauty of the Liri Valley, the rugged terrain of the Apennine Mountains, and the narrow, winding, and steep streets of the village today lie as a blanket covering the tumult of the days during and after World War II. Not far beneath that covering lies the reality of an area and lives that had been reduced to rubble. But beneath that blanket also lie sacrifices—sacrifices of military from all over the world, sacrifices of civilian populations, and sacrifices of individuals.

Today, San Vittore is a modern village. The fountain in the piazza no longer flows, but the camaraderie of the villagers remains alive and well.

While Lino has a unique story, it is also representative of so many lives. He was not the only one to suffer due to World War II and its aftermath; indeed, his suffering pales when compared to that of others. His immigration experience likewise did not vary significantly from that of others of the time, but the fabric of his life woven from all his experiences stands as a model and memorial for perseverance, bravado, patience, and hard work.

Chapter 1

All is change; all yields its place and goes. —Euripides

You can’t get much more American than this, Lino thought as he looked down at his new uniform, a uniform of the US Army. Wow! If the guys back home could see me now!

Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, whose mission it was to develop Leaders and Warriors,¹ was Lino’s home for the next eight weeks in 1961. So many changes, so much to learn, so many adjustments to make. No family around, unless you counted Uncle Sam.

Joe, a short but incredibly strong Sicilian, had also made the railroad journey to Fort Leonard Wood from Detroit. He became Lino’s protector and friend. Joe was what you might call an independent thinker, especially in his approach to entrepreneurialism.

All the new recruits gathered in the camp’s reception area. A sergeant said, Anybody needs a toothbrush, paste, comb, whatever, you designate one guy, you tell him, and we’ll deal with him. Joe was the designee; he collected everyone’s money, got on a bus, and went home! He was back about a week later. Lino recalls much more of that time.

The first day we had a bivouac. Some sergeant barked, Company 10 … something, something, something. Everyone went except me. I had no idea. I’m thinking, You’ve got to talk a little slower, Sergeant. Once again, the command was given, and that time I went with everyone else. We had marched about a half a mile when my feet, encased in my new boots, threatened desertion. I sat down by the side of the road to inspect the blisters. I knew the sergeant was yelling at me, but I had no clue what he was saying. All I knew was that I wasn’t moving.

They took me to sick call, where a bald sergeant grunted, Where are your toiletries? Not Why are you here? or Where do you hurt? I had no idea what he was asking.

Where are your toiletries? The sergeant spoke a little more loudly this time.

I don’t know, I answered.

You don’t know? Get this smart aleck out of here!

I didn’t know what he was talking about

He wants to know if you have your toothbrush, toothpaste, that stuff, someone told me.

Well, why didn’t he say that? I asked.

That little exchange earned me KP duty, and I peeled potatoes all day long. As it turned out, the guy in the kitchen was also Italian, and we got along great.

My kitchen duty, however, didn’t help my ability in getting my meals. One morning, I was in the breakfast line watching the people in front of me. The guy ahead of me was handed a plate with beautiful over-easy eggs. I thought that looked good, so I listened carefully. As the server handed the plate over, he said something, and the guy in front of me said, Fine. So my turn, and the server asked something, and I said, Fine. I didn’t get beautiful eggs—or anything else.

I became sort of the scapegoat of the place. Anything went wrong, I’d hear, Lino did it.

There I was, trying to learn English, but new sounds bombarded my ears daily, words like y’all, wull, tars (those round, rubber things on vehicles), and par (as in electrical). One of the sergeants was Filipino, and he said things like, Put your peet together, and put your pinger on the trigger of the riple. He told us he had a wipe and pour kids and was from the Pilippines.

This sergeant had more than an accent; he had a beautiful daughter who took me to see Ben Hur six consecutive nights. I kept betting on the Roman guy to win the race.

Feeling like beans in a can over a campfire, we sat in an airplane hangar for class with some lieutenant pacing back and forth, saying, Wah, wah, wah. Apparently, part of what he was saying was, Anybody writing letters, anybody … Since I couldn’t understand him anyway, it seemed like a good opportunity to write to Mom. Then, whoosh, the lieutenant grabbed the letter from me, escorted me to the podium, handed me back my letter, and said, Read it. I began, Cara Mom, and the whole place erupted in laughter and I was told to sit down. They couldn’t wait for my time to be up!

They