Flavia: E Sempre Troppo Presto Per Arrenders (It’s Always Too Soon to Give Up)

By Daniel R Hogan Jr

Flavia, a young Italian girl conceived in Palermo, born in America, journeys to maturity through a transformative country. Accompanied by love, faith, and persistence, with her brother, husband, aunts, and other family and friends she endures the hardships of life. Sharing and finding joy with all she encounters.

Together they wander through a maze of death, illness, gambling, horses, ships, and women. Intertwined with the greed and seduction of those about her to survive in this new land, she endured through inherent innocence, goodness, love, and faith.

The men in her life, a stately father, a carefree brother, and a stoic husband greatly influenced her demeanor and outlook on life. Without failure with the never-wavering belief and faith in the Blessed Mother, she continued and always derived and shared hope, kindness and happiness.

Through diversity and difficulties, she is persistent with a never-give-up attitude. Always looking for and expecting the best in people and events.


E SEMPRE TROPPO PRESTO PER ARRENDERS

(It’s always too soon to give up.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665551908

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© 2022 Daniel R Hogan Jr. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  02/10/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5188-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5189-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-5190-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022902946

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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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.

DEDICATION

FLAVIA MARULLO HOGAN

Thanks for everything.

CONTENTS

Prologo

I               Girolamo

II              Amelia

III             Cistoria

IV             Victor

V              Dan

VI             Mickey

VII            Fran

VIII          Hank

VIIII         Proposal

X              Union Hall

XI             India Queen

XII            Flavia and Victor

XIII          Nettie

XIIII         Cherry Hill

XV           Corinne

XVI          Anticipation

XVII        Engine Room

XVIII       Death

XVIIII      Return Home

XX           Card Game

XXI          Mr. Sullivan

XXII        Racetrack

XXIII       Clubhouse and Paddock

XXIIII     Cat Lady

XXV        St. Agnes Hospital

XXVI       Home

XXVII      Curley’s Gym

XXVIII     Marriage

XXVIIII    Mother Project

XXX         Dannie

About the Author

PROLOGO

Three bells, all’s calm tonight mate. Said the Captain.

All’s calm, Sir. Answered the First Mate Girolamo somewhat distracted as his thoughts were not upon the calmness of the sea nor the tranquil night but on his family in Palermo. The ship glided effortlessly cutting a smooth wake on the mirror-like surface reflecting the full moon above. Back home Maria, his wife, was given birth to their seventh child, a son, the third, to be named Guiappe Vincenza Ciro after an Uncle.

Five years later found Girolamo on another ship bound for America. He stood along the rail, not as a crewman but as a passenger, his growing family clustered about him. All but Vincenza, now addressed as Victor since there were several Vincenza in Girolamo’s extended family. He was trying to convince the ship’s nurse for the flower in her hair to give to his mother, Mama-Zita as he called her. She, also not by the rail, but was directly below giving birth to Victor’s sister, Flavia.

It was a cold hostile wind blowing vigorously that night the ship docked. They were hustled to shore, hustled through customs, hustled through the port area, and rapidly found themselves upon the frigid street with many others all looking back at the tall Lady Liberty gazing with indifference. Moments ago they were in stoic efficient warm government buildings now closed to them. Girolamo had family here, but there was no one to greet them.

Victor pulled his thin coat about his neck, removed his scarf, an old ship’s towel, and stuffed it into the bundle carried gently in his mother’s arms which looked backed at him wide-eyed.

They found their way from the docks to 63rd street. A tenant section mainly inhabited by Italian and Irish immigrants. Some of Girolamo’s family was still located here where they had first arrived in this new country of New York City. He was to learn that most had relocated to another sea-faring town further south, New Orleans. Generously they were simply fed and bedded for their first night in this wonderous but frighteningly land.

I

GIROLAMO

Time passed. They too had followed the bulk of the family and moved to New Orleans. Flavia was now thirteen years old and Victor eighteen. A man in any environment but particularly in this new land which he was growing to like very much, a land where you took what you wanted.

Girolamo was having difficulty providing for his large family and had never adjusted to this new life. He missed the old country and the old ways where family was the core of all. Maria had died three years ago, he was lonely, scared, and confused. The children had all seemed to find their place in this strange land but not him. There was weakness with the language, and he was not able to secure jobs aboard ships. The seaman’s union system alluded him and seemed to be based on favoritism and bribes rather than on skill and experience. The rest of his family already immersed in their new lives were of little help other than Sunday spaghetti and wine. His children had raised themselves and were acclimated in this new world primarily with gambling activities and other undesirable employment. To them this life was easy. To Girolamo it was unbearable. He hated the cold, the filth, and the Cans as he called the Americans.

He remarried the daughter of a distant cousins’ niece named Amelia. She was a widow whose husband had died on the wharves of New Orleans. She had no children of her own and assumed little responsibility for Girolamo’s as only Flavia was home and Victor was seldom there. She was a woman of substantial proportions as are most of the Sicilian women and was no more than a companion to Girolamo as Flavia tendered to most of the household chores. The relationship between her, Flavia, and especially Victor was of tolerable coexistence. Amelia was a piece of the old world that seemed to satisfy Girolamo.

Victor, Victor, where you’re going tonight? Flavia besieged her ever wayward brother. There still some gravy in the pot. Want some more spaghetti?

The tall handsome young man with wavy hair and an attractive toothy smile replied, "No ‘Noots’, his pet name for Flavia which was a shorter version of her longer family nick-name of ‘Nootsie’. Pet names were necessary as the family had the habit of using the same name over and over. There were several Flavias, Victors, Josephs, Anthonys, Franks, Marias, Rositas, and Amelias. Making necessary such nick-names as Nootsie, Minnie, Nettie, Tonti, Mush, Monte, and others.

I had enough he said while wiping a piece of bread through the gravy. I won’t be late tonight. I will be back, and we will go get some spumoni and a cannoli.

A trip to the ice cream parlor was always his way of calming his sister’s fears. And she always enjoyed going. Not just for the ice cream which she relished enormously as evidenced by her growing proportions, but because she genuinely delighted in his company and loved him dearly. An outing with him was always an adventure. Since their mother had passed away and Girolamo appeared so distance as if back in the old country, Victor had become her whole world. In her small and limited existence he was larger than life. A hero, fighter, scholar, and protector as she ignored the womanizer scoundrel, gambler, and opportunist within him. His world was ever expanding, and her place in it grew smaller daily.

You promised that last time and you didn’t return for a week. Where do you go? What do you eat? Where do you sleep? she pleaded.

Don’t worry about me Noots. There is always a bed for me.

II

AMELIA

Girolamo never liked this unfeeling city, never cared for the strangeness of this world, and longed for his tiny village in Palermo. It seemed to swallow his family. He would walked the streets and never see family or friends only indifferent selfish fools.

He never sailed again and found employment as a night watchman at the museum. He was handsome with his regal mustache and goatee in the unaccustomed uniform not at all similar to his seafaring one. However, he wore it with pride as he had the First Mate attire. He was a throwback to another time. A time remembered as he walked the dark corridors of the huge museum. There he thought of Maria and there in the solitude he felt close to her again. As he felt in church. Walking he missed the undulation of the waves on the deck of a ship and was never comfortable with the stable unmoving floor below his feet. He also longed for the sea-air finding the occasional burst of conditioned-air unpleasant.

He felt detached from his children and no longer knew them. It was as if they were sperm from somebody else. But he was glad that they had adjusted and appeared to be flourishing with the ‘Cans’.

Maria kept him company in these reflections.

One rainy cold November morning, Girolamo was relieved at the museum. He proceeded to catch a street-car to make his way home on Mystery street where he knew Flavia and Amelia were still asleep. Entering the home, he was greeted by the comfortable aroma of his pipe and Amelia’s garlic-laced stuffed artichokes and fried egg-plant. After a glass of Chianti and an Ava Maria pray, he climbed into bed, careful not to disturb a snoring Amelia. That night, before late morning light, he joined his beloved Maria.

Amelia had a beautiful funeral for Girolamo. A large gathering of family and friends all of whom barely knew each other. They eat well, drank much, told lies, and played cards. The dutiful rotund women rotating the mourning duty and supplied amply amounts of the required wailing as tradition dictated. Children ran about unsupervised and had a grand time.

Flavia served everyone assuming the role of host and servant to all for she knew no other way.

Victor met an engaging but not so pretty brunette named Rosita. Who he called Rosie and in a waiting limousine promptly made love with the eager cousin as the coffin was closed.

After the ‘wake’, mass, and burial, Amelia, with Flavia, moved into Frank’s, her brother, house. It was large containing much of Frank’s family with little room for Flavia and none for Victor. Amelia had no interest in Victor since he was never home and little in Flavia, yet she was welcome as a contributor to the housework.

Without any formal exit or leaving, Victor no longer lived at home with Flavia. He would see his sister sporadically. But always on a Sunday. She would fill a bowl with spaghetti and meatballs lavishly covered with red gravy from the family meal that she prepared and meet him on the corner by the mailbox beneath the street light. She looked forward to these times for Victor was her life. Her existence was dull and mundane but through him she knew adventure and excitement. She thought him so grand and destined for greatness. She loved him dearly. In later years she would learn that the reason he moved away was to assure that she had a place to stay. He weekly paid Amelia’s brother Frank thirty dollars for her board and keep. He loved his sister dearly.

III

CISTORIA

Six months after Flavia’s eighteen birthday found her on a bus moving to live with her Aunt Cis on Iberville street.

Amelia had caught pneumonia and died. Her brother Frank considered keeping Flavia with him but felt appearance would forbid it. Besides, Victor, he rationed, was not regular with the weekly payments.

Cistoria Gallora, an ex-wife of Flavia’s father half-brother Anthony was a victim of adult polio. She was afflicted many years ago shortly after marrying Anthony. At the time, an uninformed Doctor, described it as a blood clot in her brain paralyzing the left side of her body. He was wrong. It was polio which was now starting to rear its ugly head in the community of immigrants. Upon partial recovery she was left with permanent paralyzes and no husband. Anthony had abandoned her with all their cash and most of her jewelry.

Cis’s father, a retired importer, had left a life-time trust administered by the Canal Bank & Trust. Her father had been prosperous as a ship-chandler and an importer of Olive Oil. She was well-off financially. Physically, she had great difficulty depending upon a wheel-chair for mobility. The insidious polio affected her legs and most of the right side of her body. Half of her face drooped. Her right eye contrasted with the ever alert left eye accentuated the sharpness of the brain within. She was intelligent, fiercely independent, and extremely bitter especially toward Flavia’s family. Her speech was somewhat slurred and her patience short with those who could not understand her. Originally right-handed, she taught herself to write with the left. It was crude but enhanced her ability to communicate. Flavia would definitely be of assistance to her, and she welcomed her into the house as a live-in aid and servant rather than a member of the family.

Prior to her affliction and at the time of her marriage, she was a beautiful Italian princess with a doting father. Her own mother had died shortly after giving birth and her father lavished all his affection on his daughter. He had care little for Anthony but felt that his daughter loved him and would be happy with him. Soon after the wedding he had suffered a massive heart-attack and passed away. Anthony was distraught that he could not get his hands on his wealth as all was well entrusted for Cistoria throughout her life. When she contracted polio and was a burden on Anthony, he took off.

She had always enjoyed a privileged life full of joy. Now her home was joyless thick with the bitter smell of stale air as she shut herself tightly in away from all. The house was void of mirrors and filled with aging pictures of the beautiful young girl she once was and stately portraits of her father.

The family, knowing Cis was well-off, and not knowing what to do with Flavia, sent her to Cistoria’s home on Iberville. They were motivated out of a veiled guilt from Anthony’s desertion with the rationale that Flavia would be indispensable to Aunt Cis. Also was the desired to rid themselves of two burdens. Cis was gravely neglected by them and Flavia needed a place to live. Thus in a grand benevolent gesture recalling their mutual need, Flavia was sent to Cis. They were correct. Cis, who could use and did need the assistance although ever-reluctant to admit it, accepted Flavia into her home.

With little personal possessions and clothes she had all packed in grocery shopping bags