Letters from Italy

By Mario DellOlio

"Letters from Italy is an astonishingly beautiful work of art. I encourage everyone to read it. Brimming with romance, comedy, drama, history, and family lines. It's everything." –Jeannie Gaffigan, Writer, Producer, New York Times Bestselling Author

 

Letters from Italy is a story of true love that spans an ocean. Against all odds, an orphaned girl and a young dreamer find solace in a romance sparked by a single photo and years of transatlantic letters. From a tiny Italian town in pre-WWII to New York City in her golden age, hopeful immigrants take a chance at living the American dream. Set on the Puglian coast, a world comes alive with images of a fishing village, families from different socio-economic classes, and a love born out of chance.

When they finally meet, Nicoletta and Orazio know they are destined to be together. Framed by the letters they wrote to each other, Letters from Italy takes us on a passage back through time with a romantic young couple whose devotion to one another prompted a bold journey in a foreign land.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mario DellOlio
• Release date: Apr 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781733075046

Mario DellOlio

As Chair of Music at Marymount New York, Mario Dell'Olio conducts the Marymount Singers, and Chamber Choir. Dr. Dell’Olio is responsible for all Liturgical celebrations for the Lower, Middle and Upper Schools. He led the Marymount Singers on annual international and domestic concert tours. Dr. Dell'Olio was director of music at Mission Dolores Basilica in San Francisco, California, from 1990 - 2000. He led the Basilica Choir on its first international concert tour to Italy in June 1999. Dr. Dell’Olio holds a Doctor of Sacred Music, a Master of Music in Vocal Performance, and Masters in Religious Education. He pursued postgraduate work in Theology at the Pontifical Gregorian University, Rome, Italy.

Book preview

Letter One

The Beginning

New York City

Jan 4, 1950

Orazio to Tina

Dear Signorina,

I truly hope that you permit me to write to you because I feel in my heart that I am so in love with you. That is why I pray that you accept this dream of love that has yet to begin between us. I would be so proud to have you write to me.

I have written directly to your cousin, Antonietta, to ask for her permission, and I pray that you accept my declaration of love. You should know that I have always dreamed of having a beautiful girl from my hometown—and see how that destiny has come to pass. I would love to write many beautiful words, but I cannot, since this is the first time I write to you. I would love to have a family, and my dream is to buy a home here in New York—not an apartment. It would be filled with fine furniture, a radio, television, and many beautiful things one can find in America. So to fulfill my dream of love, I pray that you accept this profound love that is open to us both.

When you come to America, you will see that I will take you anywhere you like. There is little left for me to say. Please give my love to Nina, Carlo, and my loved ones.

I send you my cordial regards, your dear friend,

Orazio Dell’Olio

I hope that you will write to me soon and that you will send me a photograph of yourself—and tell me your name.

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Chapter One

The First Photo—The Ask

Orazio’s first letter to Nicoletta, January 1950

New York City

He saw her face for the first time in New York City. The photo fell out of the airmail envelope that came from his brother, Carlo. Orazio hadn’t even read the letter when her smiling face entranced him. Walking beside his brother and his financée was a beautiful young woman. Her smile and joie de vivre came alive as if it jumped out of the photo from his hometown in Bisceglie. Without knowing who she was, he was utterly taken with her. There were two young men and three women walking arm in arm in the main piazza.

Gazing at the photo, memories of his childhood home flooded his mind. The girl from the photo looked awfully familiar, but he couldn’t place her. He tried to picture her several years younger when a faded memory came into focus. Each evening after work, as he wound his way through the ancient city streets, Orazio would see her leaning out the window. She waited with pasta in hand until she spotted her brother coming down the road, at which point she would disappear into the apartment to throw the pasta into the boiling water. Each night he would watch her as he passed by, but if she caught his eye, he’d quickly look away. Though he desperately wanted to talk to her, he was too shy to act on his desire. He contented himself with seeing her beautiful face in hopeful anticipation. Could this be the same girl at the balcony that I pined over as a teenager? he wondered.

In an age when arranged marriages were no longer in vogue, he hoped it might work for him. After all these years, his mystery girl reappeared in the photograph Carlo just sent. It had to be a sign. He immediately grabbed paper and pen.

Dear Sister-in-law,

Congratulations on your engagement. As you know, I am Carlo’s brother. The photo he sent includes a young woman. I believe I know her from my youth. I remember her waiting at her window for her brother to come home from work. Who is she? What is her name? Would you kindly ask her if I may write to her? She is beautiful, and I would like to correspond with her.

Cordially,

Orazio

He included a note for this beautiful young woman in his letter. Nina read his words and ran right over to her cousin Nicoletta’s house.

Here, look what you got from America. Read it. It’s for you.

Me? I don’t know anyone from America. What are you talking about, Nina? Nicoletta replied.

It’s Carlo’s brother in New York. He saw your picture and wants to write to you. Read it for yourself.

Why would I want to read that? I don’t even know him! Nicoletta said with annoyance.

He knows you. He used to see you at the window, waiting for Piero.

That’s ridiculous! Why would I want to correspond with someone so far away? What could come of that? I’m not going to read that letter. You can take it back.

Suit yourself, Nicoletta. I’ll just leave the letter right here, she said as she placed it beside her. You can do whatever you like with it. But don’t be so rash. Just see what he has to say.

Nicoletta stared at the letter after Nina left and shook her head. Why would I read a letter from a complete stranger? she thought. But her inquisitive nature would not let her be. What harm can come from simply reading it? She was under no obligation to respond. Finally, her curiosity won out. She opened the letter and read Orazio’s declaration of interest.

I pray that you accept my declaration of love. You should know that I have always dreamed of having a beautiful girl from my hometown—and see how that destiny has come to pass.

Despite herself, his candor moved her. He thinks I’m beautiful. She folded the letter and inserted it back into the envelope, holding it in her hands as she gazed toward the window. Try as she might, Nicoletta could not conjure memories of this man. She ambled onto the balcony and placed her hand gently on the rail. This was where he first noticed me, she thought.

Carlo, Orazio’s big brother, was very solicitous of Nicoletta when he learned of Orazio’s interest. While she appreciated his constant attention, she was not willing to write to his brother just yet. One afternoon, Carlo brought her several photos of Orazio from New York City. He was so handsome, with a thick mane of black hair, smiling at the camera, the city skyline as his backdrop.

Nicoletta, he’s a nice boy and a hard worker. Trust me. Write him back.

She eventually relented. She wrote a formal letter of introduction and anxiously awaited his reply. She wasn’t sure what she expected from him, but Nicoletta pictured that handsome photo of him and knew she had nothing to fear. Not long after, Carlo brought a photo album to introduce Nicoletta to the rest of the Dell’Olio family. She spotted a photo of a teenage boy and asked, Who is he?

You silly girl. That’s Orazio.

But he looks so different, was all she could say.

This young man was a world away from the sophisticated man she saw in his recent photos. In New York City, he was dressed in a suit and tie. His thick black hair shimmered in the sun, and his smile was beaming—he looked like a fashion model. Whereas the photo before her was of a shy boy, seemingly afraid of his own shadow. Nicoletta scanned her memories and recalled seeing that handsome boy walking by each day. He passed by their house as she waited on the balcony for her brother, Piero, to come home from work. Although he seemed shy, he’d always pause to look up at her. She recalled thinking he was very sweet and gentle, not like so many other guys whose bravado steamrolled anyone in their way. No, Orazio was different.

As the memories washed over her, Nicoletta rested in her decision to correspond with this man in New York. Suddenly, he was familiar to her, no longer a stranger from a faraway place. He was the same boy who gazed at her from afar. Somehow, it seemed less crazy to write to him and carry on this love affair of words.

And so, this orphaned girl dared to dream. Perhaps there are happy endings after all.

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The photograph that started it all. From left to right:

Carlo, Nina, Nicoletta, Carmela, Piero

Chapter Two

Francesco Di Bitetto

Bisceglie, Province of Bari, Italy 1938

Many years before that first letter arrived, Nicoletta looked to an uncertain future. Barkers at the fish market echoed boorishly under the stone canopies as her father, Francesco, stepped out of the house and walked into the crowd.

Hey, Francesco, come. We have a beautiful baby octopus today. Maria will love it, a fishmonger called out.

"Buon giorno, Nicola. Maybe later, I have a few errands to run."

Francesco walked past the fish market and headed towards the main piazza to grab a cappuccino. A few blocks away, the narrow alleys of the southern Italian town opened to a spacious square surrounded by palm trees. The piazza was in the heart of the city where young lovers strolled and older folk gathered to visit. They held the annual carnival celebrating the patron saints of Bisceglie in the piazza every August. Colored lights were strung along the surrounding streets, and the aroma of delicious delights filled the air. Citizens of all ages packed the open space listening to live bands, tasting the focaccia from one of the many vendors, and treating themselves to creamy gelato.

But early that morning, the piazza was still. Francesco could barely hear the muted conversations as he strolled to his regular cafe. The usual crew of friends sat with furrowed brows at tiny tables discussing the economic problems of the country. Many of these men had lost jobs and were looking for work. Some had given up hope. Francesco joined the gathering and jumped into the conversation.

We can’t give up hope, friends. No, we must do whatever we have to do to support our families, he encouraged them.

Don’t you think we’ve been trying? Enzo replied. I’ve knocked on every factory door in the region. No one is hiring.

Then, you must go farther—maybe up north.

"How can we do that? Mussolini’s government has an anti-immigration policy. They don’t want us terroni to take jobs away from the northerners," Enzo replied.

No one pays attention to the law, Francesco said. If there’s a job, and you are qualified, they’ll hire you. It’s basic supply and demand.

There you go, talking all that fancy garbage. So they hire us, then what? We live all by ourselves, far from home? Who wants to leave their wives and children to find a job?

No one wants to leave home, Enzo. But if the choice is between starvation and traveling for work, the solution is quite clear.

Jobs were scarce during the 1930s in southern Italy. Industry was slow to arrive in the provinces south of Rome. If one lived out in the country, there were vineyards and vegetable farms to work on. But in the cities and towns similar to Bisceglie, work was nowhere to be found. What made the economic hardship worse were the policies put in place by the fascist government of Benito Mussolini.

Mussolini’s rise to power after World War I was swift and calculated. The elite ruling class refused to recognize the newly formed political parties and largely mismanaged the deterioration of the postwar economic crisis. A transition from a monarchy to a modern democracy might have mitigated the rise of nationalism. But Mussolini seized upon the discontent of ordinary citizens seeking a voice in their government. Mistrust of the ruling class exploded. Italy was left with massive economic debt as a result of the war. Although it emerged victorious, the government could not capitalize on that victory.

The massive redistribution of wealth was made possible through official contracts affecting smaller farms in rural areas. Many of Francesco’s friends traveled to the industrial north, which experienced a boom for factory owners such as FIAT and Italy’s largest steel producer, Ilva. But Francesco had no intention of giving up his trade to work in a factory. Besides, although the owners amassed great wealth, the ordinary worker and farmer suffered. Strikes, unlike any Italy had seen before, became commonplace. Disruption of business and lost wages worsened an already tenuous economic environment. After leaving family and friends in the south, many laborers found themselves without jobs once again. The socialist government was hesitant to intervene, which created a vacuum of power. The ordinary citizen, as well as business owners, sought a powerful voice to lead them forward. Mussolini was that voice.

Mussolini was a charismatic leader who rose through the ranks of the Italian military. Although Francesco mistrusted his fascist rhetoric, he hoped Mussolini would bring jobs back to his city. Instead, Mussolini fanned the flames of discontent and quickly gained a loyal following. Wearing black shirts, which became their distinctive uniform, squads of militia swept through the countryside, burning down union offices and terrorizing the local population in Puglia and the Po Valley. Extreme nationalism and anti-Bolshevism spread throughout the country. Local citizens of Bisceglie were terrified of what might happen to them if they spoke out against him and that shadow darkened their gathering at the café that morning.

During the early years of his reign as prime minister, Mussolini’s popularity grew because of the establishment of order and work projects that employed many. However, his charisma was no match for intelligent economic policies. His bluster appealed to the nationalist sentiment. He spoke animatedly about a new Italian Empire, reminiscent of Ancient Rome. Initially, his conquests proved successful, and he caught the eye of an emerging political leader to the north. Hitler took note of Mussolini’s rise to power, and a relationship was soon established.

Mussolini planned to reinvent southern Italy. He instructed the farmers to plow over the vineyards and olive groves to plant wheat, which didn’t grow well in the local climate. Then in 1935, Italy invaded Ethiopia. The military action and slaughter of thousands of Ethiopians outraged countries around the world. The League of Nations responded with significant sanctions that sunk the Italian economy deeper into recession. The southern cities suffered the most unemployment, where skilled workers were not in high demand. There wasn’t much new construction, let alone a need for artists. Men considered themselves fortunate if they gained jobs as day laborers. It wasn’t uncommon for men to leave their homes and families to find work in other countries.

The despair that pervaded the recent conversations with his friends disheartened Francesco. He agreed that southern Italy was in rapid decline, but he would not give up hope. However, he had reached his limit in Bisceglie as well. Temporary work laying bricks had been sporadic, and he longed to use his sculpting skills and tap into his creative energy. As worrisome thoughts swirled in his mind, his feet took him to the seaport when he bid goodbye to his compatriots at the cafe. He always loved strolling along the water’s edge. While the piazza was in the heart of the city, the port was the heartbeat. The ancient port had been the access point for centuries of foreign invaders, especially the Saracens. The Normans, who had ruled Bisceglie for over a hundred years, built two watchtowers to warn the villagers of an imminent attack. The town got its name from the Latin, Vigiliae, to keep vigil.

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Port of Bisceglie, Bari

For generations, a seaport and fishing village, the local fishermen packed their wooden boats with nets and fishing gear before daylight. Each morning, a procession of brightly colored boats sailed out into the Adriatic Sea to capture a bit of its bounty. The local tradition was ages old, and little had changed over the years. It was mid-morning by the time Francesco arrived, and the fishermen had long since returned with their catch. He stood watching as they put their nets in order and rinsed the boats. You can clearly see the Norman influence here in the port, he thought, noticing the handsome faces and beautiful, clear eyes of the children playing. Families of fishermen were fair-skinned with green and blue eyes. Citizens of Bisceglie looked distinctly different from many other southern cities.

Gazing out at the port and the azure Adriatic Sea just beyond it, conflicting thoughts filled his mind. He felt a great affection for Bisceglie and its rich history, as he stood watching the daily routine of life on display before him. His heart ached for the rich history of their town but he knew that, although these traditions hadn’t been altered in years, something had to change. In many ways, his hometown was stuck in a rut—progress had forgotten his tiny village. Francesco couldn’t allow himself to do the same. He had to find a fresh way to make it in the world. He owed it to Maria and his children. As the sun rose higher in the sky and reflected on the placid water, he formed a plan for their future.

During the Italo-Turkish War in 1911, the Kingdom of Italy annexed the Dodecanese islands of the South Aegean Sea. By 1923, Italian control was firmly established. During the 1930s, Mussolini, developed an Italianization campaign for the former islands of the Ottoman empire. The island of Rhodes, now part of Greece, was the largest and most historically significant Dodecanese island. Its history dates back to ancient times, including legends of the Colossus of Rhodes; a statue of the Greek sun god, Helios was erected in 280 BCE. Although only the remnants remain, it is considered one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.

Mussolini’s plan included the restoration of the ancient walled city, the construction of civic buildings, and Catholic churches. His campaign sought to promote tourism and economic growth. They needed Italian workers to build roads, schools, and churches. For so many Italians, Mussolini brought a sense of national pride. However, his campaign aimed to purify the island, eliminate the Greek language in favor of Italian.

Francesco Di Bitetto was a sculptor and artist who longed to work his craft once again. Tales of the idyllic beauty of Rhodes called to him. If the rumors of its booming economy were true, perhaps he could send for his entire family once he got his footing. Hope glimmered with the sun’s rays on the sea before him. Francesco knew what he must do. He would leave his little town of Bisceglie in the Province of Bari, using his skills to build Roman Catholic Churches in Rhodes. Time away from Maria and the family would be a considerable sacrifice, but the promise of a brighter future would make the struggle worth it.

On June 18, 1938, he kissed his loving wife, Maria, goodbye and promised her he would be back as soon as he could. His oldest son, Mauro, was away serving in the Italian military, so he gently took his fourteen-year-old son by the shoulders.

Piero, take care of your mother for me. You know she is not well, so it’s up to you to make sure she is mindful of her health.

"Of course, Papá. Though I can never be as great a man as you, I will try to fill your shoes as best I can."

You have always made me proud, Piero. Although, he laughed, we nearly spent our entire budget trying to quench your enormous appetite. Francesco ruffled Piero’s hair affectionately. You’ve always worked hard to help our family. Now it’s time to take the lead with your mother.

"Papá, Papá! Dové vai? Where are you going? Don’t leave us?" His six-year-old daughter called out to him with her arms outstretched.

"Cara Nicoletta, ti amo, I love you, my beautiful girl. Don’t worry, my angel, Papá will be back soon. Promise me that you will mind your Mamma and be a good girl," Francesco said as he kneeled down to the floor to hug and kiss her.

La Reginella, he called her—the little queen—and they treated her as such throughout her early childhood. Maria always dressed her in embroidered collars and bows in her hair. If she made a fuss about anything they denied her, Francesco would give in. He was strict about education and manners, but he was soft-hearted about his daughter’s comforts. Francesco, enamored with classical music, attended concerts as often as possible. One evening, there was a performance of a Mozart symphony at Il Teatro Garibaldi. As he and Maria dressed, Nicoletta pleaded to let her come with them.

"No, no cara Nicoletta, é troppo tardi per te. It’s much too late for you, dear one. Stay with your cousin, Antonietta. You don’t want to leave her alone all evening, do you?" Maria said, trying in vain to persuade her to stay.

"No, Mamma, I want to come with you and Papá. You look so pretty, and I want to dress up too!" she whined.

"But it is not a show, carina. There won’t be any other children there to play with. They will simply play music, and it will bore you," Francesco tried to reason with her.

"Voglio venire! I want to come with you," she said as she crossed her arms and curled her lip. Then she ran into the other room.

Now, she is upset. Perhaps we should bring her along. I can hold her when she falls asleep, Francesco suggested.

"She’ll be fine at home, caro. Just let her be, and she will get over it," Maria said. She was used to Nicoletta demanding her own way. Not wanting to spoil her, Maria continually set boundaries for her daughter. But Nicoletta was Daddy’s little girl—he hated to see her cry.

A few minutes later, she entered her parents’ bedroom, donned in her pretty new dress, and a hair-band with a pink rose on it. Her cousin, Antonietta, followed directly behind her.

What can we do with her? She is unstoppable, Antonietta apologized both hands raised in surrender.

Francesco turned to Maria. She’ll get over it, eh? Then he kneeled on the floorboards, placed his hands around her face and said, "La mia Reginella, my little queen, you look beautiful tonight. Of course, you can come to the concert with us. But you must promise to sit quietly and listen to the music; no crying or talking. Hai capito? Do you understand?"

"Si, Papá, Si!"

HE ADORED THAT LITTLE girl with his whole heart. Nicoletta was their miracle baby. There was a seven-year difference between Piero and Nicoletta. Their eldest child, Mauro, was fifteen years older than she. Nicoletta adored her father, and she wanted nothing more than to please him—well, that and going to the concert that evening. She sat looking up at him, imitating his every reaction as he nodded his head with the beat of the music. Not long into the program, Nicoletta’s eyelids grew heavy, and rather than nod her head to the music, she nodded into a contented sleep in her father’s lap. His hand stroked her hair as he looked at his little queen adoringly.

His heart ached with the knowledge of what lay ahead for him. Images of his little girl and his loving wife danced in his head as he walked home from the port that morning. He had made his decision. They would come to realize it was for the best. Maria and Francesco had always been equal partners in their marriage. Working together to build their life, they stood apart from many of Bisceglie’s small-minded people. He knew she would support his idea and do all that she could to keep the family together while he was away. They would have a long, happy life together. His journey to Rhodes was only the beginning of their dreams for the future.

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A FEW SHORT WEEKS LATER, Francesco’s departure was upon them. Amber rays of the sunrise colored the sandstone Torre Normani, the Norman Towers that distinguished Bisceglie from the other towns along the Adriatic coast of southern Italy. Maria and Piero solemnly walked to the port to see him off. She spied the fishing boats lined up and ready to go. The fishermen were barking commands at each other and their helpers. Everything appeared ordinary, but Maria knew it was anything but. She spotted the large ship that was to take her beloved to a distant land, and she sighed. Looking beyond at the beautiful, clear water of the sea, she thought,

You have deceived me. Oh, beautiful Adriatic, you always brought me peace and comfort, but now you will take my Francesco away.

She knew that he had no choice and that he would suffer their time apart as much as she. She realized they could not survive without his income and, as was her way, she stoically accepted their fate. However, her heart ached at the thought of being apart. It was in June 1938. Francesco had gone with his luggage to board the ship earlier that morning. Maria and Piero, drew near to the dock with Nicoletta hand in hand with her cousin, Antonietta, just a few steps behind. When she spotted Francesco, his broad smile radiated his love. His expression changed when he noticed that Nicoletta was with them. He had expressly asked that she stay home. Normally, she’d still be asleep at this early hour. His departure was going to be challenging enough. Maria understood that saying goodbye to his little queen would be heart-wrenching. She knew that seeing their daughter cry might make him question his decision to leave and melt away his resolve. But Nicoletta was insistent and, Maria agreed that they should all be together at the port to bid him goodbye. Those last moments together as a family were precious, and each of them would carry the memories in their hearts forever.

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FINALLY, THE CAPTAIN called for passengers to board the ship, transforming the almost festive atmosphere at the dock. Francesco looked deeply into Maria’s eyes. Few words were necessary. As they embraced, he whispered in her ear.

"Sei il mio immenso amore. Ti amo, Maria." You are my great love, Maria.

With tears in her eyes, she kissed him on both cheeks and turned him to his children. Piero’s face was stoic, but his eyes showed fear. Francesco pulled him into his arms.

I am very proud of you, Piero. Take care of your mother and Nicoletta.

At six years old, his little girl had no sense of the finality of their goodbye. Nicoletta was filled with excitement as she watched her father embark and waved the white handkerchief in her hand. The dock was full of families and friends waving to their loved ones on the departing ship. People were shouting words of encouragement, wishing good luck, and some sang love songs. Once onboard, Francesco leaned against the rail and waved at his family.

Nicoletta shouted, Papá, Papá, arrivederci, Papá!

In her exuberance, she was totally unaware of her surroundings. When her handkerchief slipped from her grasp, she instinctively leaned over the dock and reached out to catch it. Panic transformed her smiling face as she lost her balance and began to fall. Francesco watched the entire scene play out from the deck of the ship. There was no guardrail to keep her from falling