Name: Charles J. Martorano



Life Dates: 10/10/1923 - 8/30/2006



City Of Birth: Rochester, NY



Pre-deceased by

Predeceased by his wife Minnie Martorano; sister Margaret Punch brother Louis Martin.



Survived by

Survived by his son Philip Martorano; sister Mickie Natalie; sisters-in-law Josephine Martin Vera (George) Swallow; several nieces nephews.



History

On the 12th day of April 1958 a boy was born into the Martorano family. His parents, Charles and Minnie, brought into this world the first Martorano in the family line in over 30 years. This was my beginning and now 42 years later I can reflect on the family that brought me here. The Martorano family began in a city just outside of the port of Palermo Sicily. Caltanissetta is a medium size city in central Sicily. It is known for its mining and agriculture. Archaeologists have found evidence of organized villages in this area going back to the fifth millennium BC. Caltanissetta was under Greek domination during the fourth and fifth centuries B.C.E. The rebellion of the Greek colonies brought forth Roman dominance. The prevailing activity was to remain agricultural. At this time, all of the main roadways across Sicily intersected there. While the Normans were dispelling the Arabs from Sicily around 1100 AD, the mosaic, "An Angel," was commissioned for Admiral George of Antioch. This angel, otherwise know as the Martorana of Santa Maria dell' Ammiraglio, is the earliest evidence of the Martorano name I have found. Caltanissetta found prominence 700 years later with the discovery of sulfur within the salt rocks in the mountains. By 1832, it was well known as the sulfur capital of the world. In the early 1900s there was an overproduction of sulfur and the foreign market was drying up. This hit the local economy hard and caused many Sicilians to immigrate to America. This is when, on May 19, 1907, Fillipo and Francesco Martorano came to America. They left their one room house in the hills of Caltanissetta where privacy existed behind sheets hung from the rafters as room dividers and the floors were only, earthen. Their departure began their search for a better life in the land of plenty. It was only in the year before they left Italy that; Rochester christened its first Italian Catholic parish. Saint Anthony Church opened on Lyell Avenue near Plymouth, only blocks from where the Martoranos would settle . This church, however, was not the first Italian church in the country. "In 1853, an Italian American community established the church of St. Mary Magdalen de Pazzi, in Philadelphia, the first Italian national parish anywhere in the United States". There were few Italians in America prior to the 1890's. Most Italians, especially from southern Italy and Sicily, came fleeing from starvation and poverty in the old country. When asked about their occupation, the passport usually listed this as Contadini (peasant), Mezzadi (sharecropper) or Giornalieri (day laborer) . This was the time of the largest immigration from southern Italy. Between 1899-1910 1.9 million Southern Italians crossed Ellis Island compared to approximately 400,00 from Northern Italy. Only one percent of these individuals considered themselves professionals. My grandparents were part of the 99 percent from the bottom of the economic scale. The travel expenses were very high for these poor people. Even when they traveled in substandard conditions, most did not have enough money to make the trip. This was a business opportunity for a few men called padroni, on both sides of the ocean. These were men who would lend money to these desperate immigrants. This loan came at a very high price. Many would have to work almost as indentured servants in sweatshops that were usually located in New York City. Others had to repay this money sometimes with up to 1000 percent interest. Even with the initial capital that the padroni lent them, the average Sicilian had about seventeen dollars to his name when he reached this country . My grandparents, like most Italians, were not welcomed with open arms by the predominately German, English, and Irish population. Any job that was backbreaking and paid almost nothing went to someone whose last name ended in a vowel. The first jobs that these men could get were digging ditches for the upgrades to indoor plumbing. Some worked for the railroad laying track and shoveling coal. Both of these occupations fit the above criteria. My grandparents, as most Italians, wanted to work. "They refused to take charity," said my aunt Mickie. Whatever work came available they took it just to earn enough to support a subsistence level existence. This prejudice towards Italians lasted through the Second World War and extended beyond the job market to all sections of society. During the first years of increasing Italian immigration, they were segregated from any civilized living conditions. Although the Italians had money, the storekeepers would not sell them food and landlords would not rent them homes. For many weeks they were forced to live in boxes and tents and depend on cicoria (dandelions) for their nutritious foods. God planted these in this Earth but even cicoria can become boring as a steady diet. The cicoria became a staple of the Italian diet even after they were able to purchase American foods. After several protests, some semi-violent, merchants were persuaded to take their money for groceries and rent. My grandfather, after a couple of years of working menial jobs landed a position in a stove factory. The Martoranos lived on the West Side of the city of Rochester scrimping and saving in small apartments till 1914. At this time the family consisted of Ma, Pa and my uncle, Sam, who was about nine years of age then. My grandfather was able to save up five hundred dollars to use as a down payment on a house on Cliff Street. The price of this little bungalow was twenty four hundred dollars. This is where all the Martoranos that I have ever known would be born. The first Martorano born in America was my Uncle Louis. His real name was Luigi but, like thousands of Italian children, had his name Americanized while in school. "These new names quickly became imbedded in the public records, (report cards and later, job applications and marriage licenses)" , observed Jerre Mangione. Calogero became Charlie, Concetta, Connie, Slavatore, Sam or Sal to fit how the Anglo natives could pronounce the names. The language barrier also resulted in the change of many surnames at Ellis Island. My Uncle Louie changed his family's surname to Martin in the early 1950's. His rationale was to make it easier for his boys to get into college and get better jobs. An Italian funeral director, who gained much business from my family, changed his name back to Bartholomeo from the English version, Bartholomew that was substituted. These re-conversions usually happened after World War Two when more Italians were better established in American society. This language problem swung both ways. As the Italians tried to assimilate themselves into American society, one of the first steps was to learn some English. The adult men worked long hours mostly as simple unskilled laborers. Their Irish bosses were not obligated to teach them anything. The less they knew, the longer they would work the jobs that no one else wanted. They would hear the Americans talking and mimic the words with their best ability to pronounce them. This developed a patois (illiterate, provincial speech), sometimes adding to the confusion between the nationalities. The first patois that I remember hearing came from my grandmother on my mother's side. When is was time to relieve yourself there was the bacausu. This came from the English outhouse or back house, which was how she heard it and pronounced it. During the Second World War, my father was sent by the American Army to fight in Italy. While there, he thought he would have an advantage since he was already familiar with the language. This did not help him when he went into a bar and they served him warm wine. It was a very hot day so he wanted some ice for his drink. He became very frustrated when the bartender refused to give him any ice as he persisted his orders for li'sa. This is the word that he always heard his father saying for ice. He did not know that the real Italian word for ice was giacco. This was just his father's mispronouciation. These words were used so much that the first-generation Italian American kids thought they were from the real Italian language. Sam was the only child born in Italy who grew up in America. He was four years older than Louie his next closest sibling. Sam was said to be tall and handsome. Being tall is an unusual characteristic in this family where my cousin, Phil, is the tallest of my generation at five foot ten inches. He would seem gigantic next to his grandparents who did not exceed five feet. Sam was hard working and very intelligent. A couple of years before my father was born, Sam had learned to be a barber. This was considered a very noble and lucrative profession. He had his own shop just down the street from the family home on Lyell Avenue and was the pride of the family. During the years following the First World War, the immigrant population in American cities had swelled. In addition to the millions that came prior to the war, many more fled from its aftermath. A plague spread like a wild fire through the American Mediterranean ghettos. This was tuberculosis. A bacterial infection caused by the organism, Mycobacterium tuberculosis. In humans, the lung is the most common site of infection. Aerosolized droplets expectorated from a person with pulmonary tuberculosis transmit tubercle bacilli. Rochester was similar to New York City and Philadelphia with large Italian communities that were devastated by the death toll from this disease. Dr. Antonio Stella of the Italian Committee on the Prevention of Tuberculosis said, that the " infectious character of the disease combined with the overcrowded and filthy conditions of tenements and dark sweatshops with a population overworked, underfed and poorly clad" was ripe for disaster. This disease devastated my family. "Stella's committee found that certain occupations were particularly hazardous to the lungs, among them, bootblacks, tailors and barbers. The loss of the pride of the family, Sam, was devastating to everyone. Francesco, being only three days out of labor from the birth of my father, went into a deep state of depression. Sam's death occurred on Friday, October 13, 1923, which went far beyond being an unlucky day for this family. My grandmother was so distraught over Sam's death and, being in the middle of a postpartum depression, refused to nurse her newborn son. My father and his two toddler sisters were sent to live with an aunt for six months until his mother could deal with the reality of what happened. My father was fortunate to have an aunt who had just given birth to a cousin of his so she could be his wet nurse. In 1927 Mickie was attending Kindergarten at city school number five, which was on Frank street two blocks south of 80 Lyell Ave. Margaret and her would walk six blocks along Lyell each day with the other neighborhood children who also lived between their house and the to the school. Kindergarten was fun. Most days they would play in the classroom with toys like rag dolls and wood blocks. The playtime was interrupted by times when they learned to sing their ABCs or the teacher would gather them around her and she would read a story. Most of these stories were difficult to understand, due to the fact that they included Americani cats and rats talking and walking. The stories would still make her laugh, even though she only understood half of the tales told in English. One of these pleasant childhood days was abruptly interrupted. The teacher and an older man gathered the class together said they were going for a ride on the bus. Mickie was excited because she had ridden the trolley along Lyell but had never taken a trip in a bus. They didn't know where they were going but that did not matter. Mickie was seldom scared and always ready to go on an adventure. They got on the bus and Mickie scrambled for a window seat. The bus was gigantic from the eyes of a Kindergartner. It made chugging and banging noises as it ran over the street paved with brick. A loud bang from the engine frightened the milkman's horse when they pasted him while he was stopped to make a delivery. They drove what seemed to be along way making turns down three or four other streets. Then the bus stopped in front of a large brick building. It was sort of like the school but she could see from the bus, men and women who were dressed up fancily and several nuns going in and out of this place. They all seem to be in quite a hurry. The teacher and this man line the class up outside of the bus and marched them into the building. When they got inside it was even busier than she expected from the traffic outside. This was getting a little frightening even for Mickie. There were many people rushing from place to place, some were barking out commands and some were crying. She didn't recognize this as to be a church but there were very many nuns everywhere she would look. They were taken into a large room. It was divided up with partitions. Between each partition was a tall bed, much too high for her to climb into without some help, and a metal chair with what looked like a cotton summer dress folded upon the seat. They were each told to go to a chair, remove all of their clothes and put on the dressing gown. When they were done the teacher and a nun came in and helped them up onto the beds. They were told to lay down, then the nun put a cloth to her nose and mouth that had a very pungent odor. When she woke up, it was in another large room with two long rows of beds. They were filled with her classmates and other children and most were surrounded by their families. Her throat was sore and she was very confused about what had happened. My grandparents were both there and all of the kids telling her she would be all right and not to be afraid. She was told that her throat would hurt for a while but that she could have all the ice cream that she wanted till it was better. During the 20's and 30's they would take whole class of Kindergartners to have their tonsils removed as a routine operation whether there was any problems with them or not. Because of communication barriers of language and logistics most parents did not know this was going to be done till someone came to the house to tell them that they needed to go to the hospital to retrieve their child. She was sent to Saint Mary's Hospital that was on the corner of West Main and Genesee Streets. "St. Mary's was opened on September 15, 1857 in 1857, in two remodeled stables which stood on its present property. " This became a great Rochester institution that encompassed not only the hospital but also an orphanage and an asylum. Also to be noted is that this fine institution would be the location of my birth some 31 years later. During the rest of the 1920's the family progressed along fairly happily. They survived the backlash of prejudice spawned from the Sacco-Vanzetti trial. It brought the anti-Italian feelings within the nation out in the open. Prohibition opened up a rift between the Martoranos headed up by my grandfather and his cousins, the Ficos. Fillipo would not have anything to do with running liquor and the speakeasy business. There were huge amounts of money to be made, even in Rochester. My grandfather believed hard honest work to be the American way. He brought his family here to become Americans, leaving the ways of the Mafia in Sicily behind. This chasm between the families has never been fully mended. It was still easy to make a sufficient living until that dark day October 24, 1929. The Depression changed the lives of everyone around the world. None were more effected than those on the lower levels of the economic scale. Grandpa was able to maintain his job during the early years and, with Louis now grown and contributing to the family income, was able to buy the house on 293 Lyell Avenue on January 15, 1935. The Lyell property was a wise investment. It was a large two family house in walking distance to everything you would ever need. The location was in a predominately Italian neighborhood but the ratio was more toward 60/40, Italiano to Americani. In real estate, the three most important assets of a property are location, location, and location. This place had all three. There was never a lack of tenants for the upstairs apartment. Throughout the Depression, many people lost their homes when businesses laid off employees, went bankrupt and closed. The income from the apartment was able to keep the family a float for almost three years in the heart of the Depression. Downstairs, where the Martoranos lived, were three bedrooms, one for each pair to share, Louie and Charlie, Mickie and Margaret, and Ma and Pa. It also had a parlor, a large dining room and a good-sized kitchen. The upper level floor plan mirrored the lower level except for the absence of the dining room, which it made up for with a large enclosed porch on the front. Mickie today tells stories of how many nice tenants they had. Some had children to play with. Others were young couples who would take the kids for a ride in their car out to the country. One problem tenant was a member of a prominent Italian family in Rochester. The Petrillos owned a very successful bakery on Lyell Ave. Mickie tells of the brat of a son they had. He was always starting fires and throwing rocks. Fortunately, they didn't stay there very long. What most tenants had in common was that they would get behind in the rent and leave without paying it. "Pa was too soft on them", my father said. He was easy going and trusted people, but it was hard times and such were common experiences for any landlord. Even though the times were tough economically, they are in retrospect remembered as primarily happy times. The house was located almost directly at the place of where Dewey Avenue joins into Lyell. A farm truck heading east on Lyell had a tire blow out just as it was turning North onto Dewey. This caused the truck to roll over spilling its abundant contents of freshly picked tomatoes all across the road. People ran out from every doorway along the street to gather the fresh fruit. Girls lifted their skirts making large pouches to fill. Men and women grabbed wicker baskets and bowls, whatever they could fill. This happened during canning season so there was plenty of sauce that year in the neighborhood. At this time, Louie was working at a liquor store on Lyell. He was always generous with his siblings. Each Saturday, he would give Mickie, Margaret and Charlie each a dime. This would cover the nickel to get into the movie and the other nickel would get them plenty of candy during the show. Million Dollar bars were one of their favorites; they were about one foot of chocolate and caramel. That ten cents was worth a whole day's worth of entertainment. They would see not only the feature movie, but there were always newsreels, comedy shorts (like the Three Stooges) and a cartoon. When you saw everything once you would stay there and watch it all again as they ran it on an endless loop. People would sneak in sandwiches and soon the whole theater would smell like an Italian deli. Life in Rochester during the Depression was not as devastating as in many parts of the country. Mayor Owen pushed the State for relief aid that came to $734,000.00 in 1932. This was to be used to build a subway system and the Veterans Memorial Bridge across the Genesee River near Ridgeway and Lake Ave. . It was a time when the old blended with the new. Horses pulling carts were still seen with peddlers of pot, pans, rags, and fruits and vegetables. There was still a horse trough near the bicycle shop at the corner of Amber Place and Lyell. It was hard for anyone at this time to find a job. In 1930 there were nearly 24,000 local layoffs. The problem became more difficult when the major employer in town wouldn't hire Italians. Irish and Germans controlled all the jobs at Kodak. My family blames much of the discrimination directly on George Eastman. An "arrogant Nazi lover" some called him. This prejudice ran deep within the ranks because it did not stop after his death in 1932. My father and some of his friends were told that there were jobs as Kodak. They went to the hiring office everyday just to be told that there weren't any jobs that day. On the third day, the personnel manager came out and yelled at them. He said, "I told you there aren't any jobs"! My father was not mad. He said, "What about those three guys that came after us that said that they just got hired? " My father said the manager just walked away. I'm sure, under his breath as he walked away; he was saying Mannagia L'Americani (Damn American). That is when my father realized that there were jobs, but just not for Italians. One exception to that rule was Mary Mosca. She was this beautiful Italian girl that lived next door to my grandparents. She had fair skin and sandy brown hair. Somehow she got a job at Kodak. This made her a very desirable girl around Lyell Ave. When they had jobs some businesses would hire Italians. Rochester Products (now called Delphi) employed a large population from the neighborhood. These were very good jobs because they were with the United Autoworkers Union. From 1998-1999, I worked there in the purchasing department. There were still many workers who spoke broken English and in their departments spoke mostly Italian. Another place that would hire Italians was Haloid. Haloid was a spin off the photographic equipment boom started by Kodak. Mickie's husband, Matt Natalie, got hired there, after the war, and spent the rest of his life with the company. The only change was that in 1950 it put out the model 914 copier. This started a revolutionary new company that became known as Xerox . Other Italians had a great entrepreneurial spirit. There were many small businesses along Lyell and in the neighborhood that were started and run by the local Italians. There were grocery stores, restaurants, drugs stores and tailors, just to name a few. Next to the family house was a small restaurant that Joe Sorrilia owned. It was a fast food diner called the "Quick Lunch". It catered to the many small factories and businesses in the neighborhood. It was there all through the Depression until the guy who owned the EF diner that was across the street and next to the canal bought him out. The EF was a typical streetcar diner, all rounded and chromed with classic art deco styling. He closed that up when the Likely Luggage company wanted to expand it's operation and bought out his property after the war. Tragedy was to hit the family again, this time in 1938. My grandfather worked for many years at the Norman Stove Company. They were a little less than a mile away on Emerson Street, which paralleled Lyell. He worked in the foundry where they would take burrs and imperfections off the parts. It was a nice place to work, with a good owner and boss. On Sundays, my grandmother would gather up the kids and pack a lunch. Then, they would all go down to the factory when my grandfather had to work. Charlie remembers the small pieces of metal that were put into the tumblers to de-burr the parts. They resembled toy jacks and they would play with a few as ma and pa ate their lunch. My grandfather worked many long hard hours there but that fit into the proud work ethic that they held dear. In June of 1938, while on a ladder against the giant tumbler he was filling the vat with jacks. Somehow, no one knows why, the machine started to spin, throwing Filippo off the ladder and onto a pile of parts near by. He was taken to Saint Mary's Hospital where he spent a couple of days in traction. When he was released, he still could not walk. This was going to be a permanent disability. Unfortunately, this happened prior to Franklin Delano Roosevelt and the Social Security Administration. This was a time before the administration of disability benefits and health insurance coverage. He would never work a regular job again. The company gave him five hundred dollars in compensation, which is a small pittance for destroying a man's ability to work. The timing of this incident was all bad. Louis was just about to get married and the other three siblings were still in school and living at home. The rent from the apartment was still very inconsistent and could not be depended upon to help with the mortgage payment. He also found the mortgage company unsympathetic to his plight. This was a cause of great shame and embarrassment for the family when they were forced to rely on welfare for support. The house was repossessed and Filippo was forced to rent the home he once owned. This event was possibly avoidable or at least could have been postponed. Grandpa opted to give the five hundred dollars that he received as compensation for his injuries to Louie and his new wife Josephine to buy a house and get their family started. That money would have covered almost two years of mortgage payments, virtually paying off the balance. Louis, even after he moved out, still contributed to the upkeep of the Lyell Ave home. Margaret was the next oldest child and at sixteen was forced out of school by the welfare administration to get a job. She was the best student in the family and was the only one who really enjoyed her education. Mickie tells of how Margaret cried so much because she didn't want to leave school. On the other hand, Mickie hated school and would have gladly dropped out but she was too young and the school forced her to stay. She became the only one of the four first generation children to graduation from high school. Welfare was distributed much differently than it is today. The system itself humiliated the participants. Welfare did not give any direct funds to the people. It provided limited amounts of clothing and food. There wasn't any compensation to cover housing expenses. They suffered through humiliating scenes of going to the Big House to get their allotment of clothes. The Big House was a large building downtown where families would go to receive a bag of clothing for each child. There were never enough bags for everyone who came. To compensate for the deficit, they made tags according to the number of bags that they had that day and a man would stand in the middle of the room and throw them in the air. It was a free for all as people fought to get a number so that their children could have something to wear. There were the same clothes in all the bags. Everyone knew who was on welfare, as his or her wardrobe became a badge of dishonor. Grandma would try to add some lace to the girl's dresses and change the collars but the print on the dresses did not change and everyone have the mark. Margaret got a job at Steckers, a printing company that made seed packets. My father sold the Times Union newspaper on the corner after school. At that time, the paper cost a nickel. He would make a penny on a paper. One day in 1939, he was hawking papers outside the Seneca Hotel. This was a fancy hotel in downtown Rochester. A big Cadillac pulled up and out he came, larger than life, Jack Dempsey, the famous boxer. As he walked up the stairs into the hotel, my father yelled to him "Hey Mr. Dempsey, are you going to buy a paper today?" He said, "When I get back." A couple of hours later when he came back out to the car he told his driver to give the kid a buck for a paper. This was the most money my father ever had. Meeting Jack Dempsey is an event no one would ever forget. The humiliation of the welfare system was more than the family could deal with. After the first winter they made do with everyone pitching in what they could. There is a popular Sicilian adage that says: "When hair begins to grow between the legs, one is fit to work." Everyone worked wherever they could except grandma whose job was to take care of the home, make the meals and keep clothes on everyone's back. She did do one thing else. She created homemade artificial flowers. They were beautiful. She made them from crepe paper, carefully folding the petals then dipping them in wax so that they glistened like they were covered with dew. No one had ever seen artificial flowers before these and everyone loved them. I don't know if she never realized the potential market this product could have or just saw it as a labor of love, but she never accepted a cent for any of her flowers which she gave to friends and relatives. My grandfather eventually developed some mobility again but always walked with a limp in his right leg. He couldn't stay idle, not contributing to the family income. He built a pushcart out of scrap lumber and painted it bright white. With the help of the kids to do the mixing he began making his own ice cream. He boiled the vanilla beans and made a delicious summer treat. He made Italian lemon ice too. It was crystal white with a tart lemon flavor that was perfect on a hot day. It always seemed so cold that if you ate it too fast you would get the worst headache. He would walk and push the cart accompanied usually by Mickie or Charlie, up and down Lyell selling his confections for a penny a cup. Once an Irishman came up and got a cup of lemon ice. My grandpa gave him the cup and said "That will be one penny." According to Aunt Mickie he slurped down the ice and let out an evil laugh and ran down the block without paying. Mickie ran after him (mind you Mickie is only 4' 10" tall) for three blocks but never caught the thief. I thought, when I heard this story, for the price of only a penny this man has dishonored his soul. At the end of the day they would put all the pennies on the dining room table and count up the profits. Some days they made almost three dollars. In 1940, Louie opened a gas station on the corner of Lyell Ave. and State Street. It was called Jackson's Service Station. "Not a very Italian name", I thought. Jackson was the name of the previous owner and Louie thought it would be better for business to keep the American name. It had two service bays and two pumps. You got, for a dollar, your front and rear windows washed, your oil and battery levels checked and the air pressure in all your tires filled and five gallons of gas. Even at that price, people still complained if you missed a spot on the glass. It was a good business until the onset of war rationing. World War Two inspired every American to put an all out effort to support our boys in the service. The Army needed lots of tires, gas and oil to keep those jeeps and tanks running. This caused the civilian supply to be rationed. Louie couldn't get enough tires and batteries to meet his customer's needs. Louie didn't see anyway to keep the station afloat. He sold the station and got a defense job at Simington and Gould on Lincoln Avenue. They made parts for the Sherman tanks. During the war, he was working ten hours a day, seven days a week. This job, and the two sons he already had, kept him from getting drafted. The war finally solved all the employment problems. Suddenly, there was work for everyone. With Johnny gone off to war, all of the factories in town hired anyone who would apply. Men and women, old or young, black or Italian could get into Kodak or Bausch and which had discriminated against such employees in the past., At this time, Margaret got into Kodak as a machine operator. She got to know the set up man for her machine, Edward Punch, and right after the war they got married. Being an Englishman, he was known as the white sheep of the family. My father had dropped out of high school when he turned sixteen to help support the family. When he turned twenty, he received a letter from Uncle Sam inviting him to join the U. S. Army. Most of his friends from the neighborhood got drafted also. Between the time he received the notice and when he had to leave for basic training, he and his buddies decided they were going to have some fun before they went to fight in the war. They were going down to Scottsville (just South of Rochester) to visit a high school friend, Joe DiAmbrosia who was doing some time at the juvenile correction center called Industry. Louie had left his car behind the station and Charlie borrowed it, without him knowing about it, to make this trip. It was a brand new 1940 Chevrolet. The color was dark blue. Louie and Swifty (George Giuliano, who later became the family accountant) had gone together down to Mancouso's Chevy and bought a pair for seven hundred dollars each. It started to rain along the way. The bias ply tires of the 40's didn't hold the road nearly as well as the cheapest radial tires do today. He took a turn too fast and sent the car spinning into an open pasture. The car stopped as soon as it found the nearest tree. Fortunately, 1940 cars were built like tanks and it hardly put a dent in the bumper. No one got hurt but after pushing the car out of the muddy field the tires rims were filled with grass and mud. The tires then had tubes in them so the rim seal was not as important as in modern cars. The car and everyone in it were covered in mud. They drove home and left the car back at the station where Louie had parked it. It couldn't have been a pleasant surprise when he found it in that condition the next morning. Like most Americans, my father understood the situation with the war and wanted to do his part in fighting the Fascist dogs. They had been hearing for couple of years before the war began of the evils going on in Germany. There was a radio show on WHAM in Rochester call "You can't do business with Hitler". I warned people to beware of the Nazi intentions. Some Americans thought Hitler was doing well by reviving the German economy and restoring nationalism. Powerful Americans like Henry Ford early on thought that Hitler would be successful in his conquest for controlling Europe. Much was hidden under the propaganda and rhetoric coming out of the Nazi regime. Charlie and his next door neighbor, Sam Mosca, got sent to Fort Sam Houston in Austin, Texas, for basic training. There were a few men who did not want any part of going to war. Jack Maggio from the neighborhood got drafted too but when he was at basic training he refused to do any work or obey orders and constantly got into trouble. He was thrown out of the Army with a dishonorable blue discharge. After the war, he saw all his friends getting their GI benefits and he tried to fight the discharge but the government wouldn't overturn it. Mickie's husband, Matt, was drafted at this time too even though he was already married. After almost two months in Texas it was May 1944 and my father left for the shipyards of Norfolk Virginia. There, like thousands of other GIs, he boarded a Liberty Ship on the way back to the old country. The Liberty ship came out of America's desperate need to transport thousands of men and equipment to the European Theater. They were "441 feet 6 inches in length, had abeam of 56 feet 10 ¾ inches and a draft of 27 feet 9 ¼ inches". The U.S. built more the 2,700 of these ships between 1941 and 1945. They had a crew of forty-five merchant seamen and were manned by 41 Naval Armed Guardsmen. Some were made in the Charlotte harbor in Rochester. William Francis Gibbs designed these ships to be mass-produced quickly from many different shipyards. Charlie spent 29 days on the Liberty ship traveling in a zigzag pattern within a convoy of over 100 other Liberty ships and escorts across the ocean. Most of the ride over was nice and they would do exercises to keep fit and watch the dolphins follow the ship from the main deck. The most popular pass-times on the ship were playing poker and shooting craps. My father found these games to provide a useful supplement to his income. There were many Southerners on the ship with him who was not party to all the subtleties of gambling. They came through a couple of large storms where the waves crashed over the deck and this ship bobbed in the ocean like a cork on the lake. They didn't see any enemy action until they reached the coast of Algeries. Once or twice a day they would have air raid drills. Everyone would have to get out of his bunks or get from where ever they were and gather with their company at a designated spot in the hold. They would don their May-West vests and wait until the all clear signal was given. Charlie heard the alarm go off and was too tired to get out of his bunk just for another drill. When he could hear the bullets bouncing off the sides he flew out of his bed, grabbed his vest and prayed they would get to hear an all clear. Nazi planes bombed and strafed the ship. Their escorts protected them. The Liberty ships were only lightly armed. When he finally got back up on the main deck, before they reached their destination, he saw the devastation of a real battle. There were holes in the deck and the life rafts. Fortunately, on his ship, there were no casualties. Their destination was the port of Naples. It must have been going through his head that he was fighting in the land where his ancestors lived. By this time in the war, Mussolini had been killed and Italy had joined the allies. In his novel, Love and Pasta, Joseph Verga says of his days in WWII, "During those first days I wondered how I would react if I was sent to Italy, could I treat Italians as enemies? Would I be able to pull the trigger if I saw one of Pa's compra's through the gun sight?" After disembarking from the ship, they marched to a little town outside of Naples called Santa Maria. There in the middle of a dairy field, they regrouped and organized to replace the 339 infantry of the 85th division in Minterno, which was just north of Naples. From then on, during the war, Pa was heading North. He fought in three major campaigns, the Rome-Arno, Po Valley and the North Apennines. He was a scout in the infantry. That put him at the front for all the action that they marched into. He saw much of the horrible destruction of the war. Men's bodies that were torn apart by grenades and bullets. Decapitations from nearby bombs were shocking to him after leaving a country where war hadn't been seen during his or his father's lifetime. He doesn't like to talk about that part of the war. I can see how the effects of post-traumatic stress syndrome could easily develop. Having a little background with the Italian language did help in his role as a scout. Many times, he would have to go ahead of the company and meet up with a group of Italian partisans. They would usually have information on the enemy. Most of the time, it would be a long slow task to get the partisans back to where his commander was. The Italians fought like they treat life, at a much slower pace. They were usually riding mules and would make frequent rest stops. The nice part of dealing with the partisans was that the food and the wine were always good. He ended up, when the war finished, on the border of Yugoslavia and Italy. Throughout the war, he sent his paycheck home to the family. He was pretty good at poker and could always manage to come up with a little money when he needed it. Soldiers were issued cigarettes and chocolate; these were as good as cash anywhere. During the war, the Army tried to keep the families at home aware that their loved ones were being taken care of. The Martoranos received a letter on August 28, 1944 from the Reverend Francis X. Shea. "Dear Friend, On July 26, 1944 Archbishop Spellman celebrated mass at the headquarters of the fifth Army in Italy. The mass was offered for the men and their families. The Archbishop has asked me to tell you that Pfc. Charles J. Martorano attended the mass and received his blessing. Very Sincerely yours' Francis X. Shea This letter was sent to the families to let them know that their boys had God's blessings. After the war had ended, everyone was anxious to get home. Many men found opportunities to make money before they left Europe. On one occasion' some guys from my father's company were talked into selling a train car of K-rations to a member of the Italian black market. My father said that there were many officers involved in selling supplies on the black market. Many supplies were sold right off the ships. There were guys wanting to bring home souvenirs. While returning along a road through the mountains, their platoon stopped for a rest by a group of caves. Some men went exploring in the caves and found a large pile of Nazi uniforms and equipment. Just as my father was about to go see what everyone was looking at, his Sergeant pulled him aside to do guard duty. While he was standing his post, complaining to himself that everyone else is going to get all the stuff, the cave exploded from the booby trap that the Germans had left for souvenir hungry Americans. God was watching over him that day. Charlie left Italy on December 20, 1945 on the aircraft carrier Battan. It only took six days to cross the ocean this time. He mustered out at Fort Dix in New Jersey and took a train home to Rochester. The family welcomed him home like the great Garibaldi, who was one of Italy's greatest heroes. He had freed Italy from the Fascist oppression and save the world for democracy. There were parties for the returning GI's all over town. Everyone wanted to buy you a drink. Everyone was ready to get on with life now that the economy was doing well and peace had been restored to the world. The Martoranos went back to their lives just like all of America. Uncle Louie and Aunt Josie raised two boys, Chuckie and Phil, who in the sixties started families of their own. Phil went on to graduate to be the first to graduate from college. He went on to a career as a teacher. He taught hair dressing in the BOCES vocational school in Spencerport New York. Chuckie, after a term in the Navy during the late 50's, had several careers ranging from being a hairstylist to a police officer then a blacksmith. Uncle Matt returned home from the war to aunt Mickie and his job at Xerox. He had started in the mailroom but as the company grew larger he became the corporate chauffeur. It turned out to be an excellent career. Margaret and Edward got married after the war and had a boy and a girl. My cousins, Rita and Edward Jr., were born a few years later. Then my father married Dominica Formosa in July 1957 and spent his life working for the County of Monroe and owning several small businesses. This brings the story back to me and I'm just reflecting back on my family.



Donations

Donations may be sent to St. Mary`s Hospice, 89 Genesee St, Rochester NY 14605



Services

Visitation Friday, September 1st from 2-4 7-9. Charles' Funeral Mass will be held 9:30 Saturday at St. Theodore's Church. Interment Holy Sepulchre Cemetery.