Greco Family "Cooks" Book - About The Main Characters

About The Main Characters

This family history begins with Grandma and Grandpa Greco. They were married in the Abruzzi region of Italy in 1903. Together, they had seven children. The oldest of the girls was Aunt Anna, followed by Aunt Minnie, Aunt Kay, Aunt Julia, my mother (Angie) and Aunt Lily. The one boy (who must have been spoiled with all those sisters), Uncle Sammy, was born after Aunt Julia and before my mother.

The oldest children, Aunt Anna and Aunt Minnie (Domenica), were born in Italy. Grandpa came to America with Grandma’s brother, Nick, and lived in New York City for five years. He returned to Italy for a short time, then revisited the United States to make arrangements for Grandma and their two girls to join him, which they did in 1911. Upon their return, however, they settled in Mt. Pocono, Pennsylvania because they felt it was a better place to raise a family. (My great Uncle Nick remained in New York City to raise his family— See my NewYork Cousin Millie’s recipe on p. 102). In America, Grandpa worked for the railroad. Grandma was a “stay-at-home” mom.

Aunt Julia, Aunt Kay (Catherine), Uncle Sam, and my mother, Angie, were born in Mt. Pocono. My Uncle Sam likes to boast that he was born in “Paradise”, Pennsylvania. After 11 years (in 1923), they migrated to Endicott, New York where they bought a house on Odell Avenue. Aunt Lily (Lillian) was born in that very home on Odell Avenue where my Aunt Julia lives today. My Grandpa Greco died of cancer when he was only 57 years old, leaving Grandma to raise a family of six girls and one boy. The youngest, Aunt Lily, was only 13 years old when Grandpa Greco died.

Grandma Greco was born in 1882. I remember her from a very early age. It was common for my mother to take us for a walk from 31 Odell Avenue, where we lived, to 319 Odell Avenue where Grandma Greco lived. Many of our evenings, especially in the summertime, were spent on the porch at Grandma Greco’s house. There were always people there, many times one or more of my aunts and cousins, but usually Grandma and Aunt Julia who lived there, too. I remember sitting on the porch eating tart green apples from the tree out back. They were small apples, but not so small to justify the large amount we ate, while we passed around the salt shaker after every bite. There were never enough salt shakers! Grandma would be on the rocking chair listening to the conversation and reminding us how sick we could get if we ate too many apples! I remember her combing her very long white hair. Unless you saw her combing it, you’d never know how long it was because she wore it in a bun at the nape of her neck. She always wanted you to try some of her canned fruit, or something from her garden, of which she was so proud. She didn’t speak much English. She would ask me questions in Italian, and I would answer to what I thought she asked. I only knew a few phrases in Italian, like “dough-sta-ma-ma?” (Where’s your Mother?), to which I always answered, “la goz” (home) because I wouldn’t have known how to say anything else! She would get irritated that I often answered to a different question than she asked. Mostly we communicated by just smiling, shaking heads, or shrugging shoulders. She always took me out back to show me something in her garden or to give me something from the garden to take home. She liked it when you ate her canned fruit and expressed approval. Once she sent me to Roma’s Bakery to buy a loaf of dough. On the way back, I was swinging the bag, and the dough flew out of its paper bag into the bushes. I tried to retrieve as much of the dough as possible, picking out the pebbles that it picked up when it landed. I returned with a very small loaf of dough and a hole in the bag. Grandma seemed to be asking me a lot of questions in Italian in a loud voice—she was definitely upset, but I pretended I had no idea what she was saying. I really did feel badly, but didn’t know how to explain. She threw her hands up in disgust and said, “va-teen-a-va”. I think that meant “get out of here”! Grandma liked to visit with her neighbors. They would either walk to each others’ houses and sit on the porch, or talk across the lawn, each sitting on their own porch. The next-door neighbor would call out, “Mod-e” (Maria), and Grandma would go outside and talk for a while. (I think they had phones then, but they’d rather shout out for each other and talk in person, I guess.) Grandma was very kind. She taught me how to use her sewing machine, which accelerated by footpower. I lived with Grandma for one summer after high school, and I wished very much that I knew more of the Italian language so that I could communicate better. She understood English, I think, but she didn’t respond in English.

At one time or another, family members would return to live (temporarily) at Grandma’s house. My mother lived there with my brother, John, while my father was in the service. Aunt Kay and her family lived there for a time; Aunt Lily and her family did also. That house on 319 Odell Avenue continues through the generations to be available to family. Aunt Julia, who remodeled the downstairs and lives there now, has rented the upstairs out to several members of the family at one time or another. In fact, my cousin, Mary Beth, who lived in the upstairs apartment for a time with her family, converted one bedroom into a nursery for her first child, Amy¾the very bedroom where Mary Beth’s mother, Aunt Lily (Amy’s grandma), was born! Grandma’s house was (and still is) a gathering place for all the family and their friends. It was also the place we gathered after Sunday mass. St. Anthony’s Church was right down the street, and it was natural to go to Grandma’s after Sunday morning mass. The coffee was on all morning at her house—the smell was of spaghetti sauce, which was always cooking on the stove to be eaten around noon, by anyone who was there. Grandma’s house was also the gathering place on Christmas Eve for many years, where the families of all the Greco children ate and exchanged gifts before going to Midnight Mass. Grandma was 89 years old when she died.

All of the aunts’ children (the entire family of first cousins listed on page vi, except Joey Pisani,) were born in Endicott or in the hospital in nearby Johnson City. Joey was born in Canton, Ohio. In Endicott, we all lived within a few blocks of each other. Aunt Lily moved to Ohio for a short time, but later moved back to Endicott where she and her family live today. Uncle Sammy moved his family to Southern California when his youngest twins were about 7 years old. He was really the first to venture out and away. My mother (Angie) and father lived in Poughkeepsie, N.Y. for a while, then moved to Northern California to live closer to their children and grandchildren. The Greco family members are positive, happy, unpretentious people. I like to be around them. When the sisters are together, they giggle a lot. They have always depended on each other for everyday support. Profiled individually:

Aunt Anna Roma lived a few blocks from Grandma Greco on Oak Hill Avenue. I remember walking back and forth to each house. Her children were older than I was, so when we were at her home, I enjoyed watching teenagers coming and going—it was a very different scene than my own home experience. She and my Uncle Carl owned Roma's Bakery, which was also on Oak Hill Avenue. Almost daily, I would walk to the bakery to buy bread or dough. I was so proud that our family owned a bakery. A baby picture of their first granddaughter (my cousin Yvonne) was part of the advertisement on the wrapper of the Italian white bread that they sold. How famous we felt! Aunt Anna died of cancer when I was 12 years old. Her funeral was the first I had ever been part of. There were hundreds of people every day that came to see my aunt at the funeral parlor. The receiving line was long. I said a lot of rosaries during those three days of the wake and funeral. It left a very strong memory with me. I’ve been to very few funerals since. Aunt Anna was only 56 when she passed away. Her daughter, Mana, still lives in the brick house on Oak Hill Avenue that I remember so well.

Aunt Minnie DiFulvio (Her real name is Domenica, which means Sunday.) I always thought it was strange to name your child “Sunday", but it’s a common Italian name. Since her daughter, Ann Marie, is my age, I spent a lot of time at the DiFulvio’s. I remember Uncle Louie playing the accordion. I spent many overnights and happy times at their house. I thought of them as living “in the country” because their home was not in the few blocks where the rest of the family lived. Instead, it was about ½ mile away, up what I thought was a huge hill surrounded by a lot of land. They were also the only family with a dog (Tippy). I loved being at Aunt Minnie’s. She worked in the Endicott Johnson shoe factory—I thought it was cool that she was a “working woman”. I’m told that all the sisters worked, but for some reason, I only remember Aunt Minnie and Aunt Julia working outside the home. Maybe because of it, I always thought Aunt Minnie and Uncle Louie were more relaxed about rules, etc. I always felt a little more freedom there. Aunt Minnie is still very much “with it”. She is an amazing 87 years old. Like the others, she always greets you with a nice smile, and never has a complaint about anything! The summer before last, we had a “ladies only” reunion in Boston (p. xvi). Aunt Minnie easily kept up with the youngest of us, as we walked and talked around Boston on an incredible weekend of fun and laughter. Aunt Minnie still lives in the same house on Milan Avenue with her son, Louie, and his family.

Aunt Kay English (Her real name is Catherine.) Because I was working in Endicott, and my parents lived in Poughkeepsie at the time, I lived with Aunt Kay for two years just before I got married. We had coffee together every morning, and dinner together with Uncle Nick almost every evening. I loved Aunt Kay’s mild, easy manner. One was always comfortable around her. I loved that she worked at the hospital as a volunteer. She cooked simply, but it was always delicious, whether it was cooking what my Uncle Nick had just brought home from a fishing trip or the usual macaroni dishes. She had macaroni with tomato sauce every Sunday afternoon for her family and for whomever else might have been visiting. She liked to make homemade macaroni like ravioli, and she was good at it! Aunt Kay’s house was always open for coffee any time, and the sisters would alternate among each other’s homes. She passed away at age 72. Her death was a surprise to me. She hadn’t been sick. My parents and I got on the first plane back to New York from California to attend her funeral. As funerals go, they are always sad, but our belief is that you celebrate the person passing to another life that is eternally happy. Therefore, it is a time to celebrate (sort of) and a time to quietly reminisce with family and friends. Food generously pours in from everyone wishing to express and share their sympathy and to help share the burden of entertaining the crowds who visit and mourn. I miss her a lot.

Aunt Julia Greco lived with Grandma. Although she never married, I think she had more than a few suitors in her time because she was (and is) very attractive. She has always been interested in health issues; she exercised, traveled a lot, and had many girlfriends. She was (and is) very active in Saint Anthony’s Church; she was my Girl Scout leader for a few years and chaperoned retreats, etc. I remember her keeping a VERY clean house, driving Grandma and others around town, and lending my brother, John, her car, which she was teased about because she kept it so clean and put so few miles on it. Of course, it is Aunt Julia whom we all know best for giving the kids a Christmas gift every single year until they graduated from high school. She continues this tradition through the generations, even today—she did it with my own children until they graduated from high school. In California, it was a custom in our family for the children to open Aunt Julia’s present first (before dinner) on Christmas Eve. She obviously enjoys giving to this day. I love and appreciate her generosity. Although the house in which she lives has changed in appearance through her tasteful remodeling, she keeps up the tradition of the original Greco home on Odell Avenue.

Uncle Sammy Greco I remember Uncle Sammy when we lived on Odell Avenue, and he would stop over to say hello on his way home from work. He was a tailor and had a shop on Oak Hill Avenue (same street as Roma’s Bakery). He invariably had pumpkinseeds in his pocket and would always offer you some. He was constantly cracking the seeds and leaving the shells behind. We laughed because it was our perception that he would stopoff at one or more of his sisters’ homes on his way home and sample some of whatever they were preparing for dinner. We always wondered if Aunt Rose was ever upset that he must have been full by the time he sat down to his own dinner at night! Uncle Sammy always talked about going to California, but I remember the day he actually said he was packing up and leaving. It was traumatic—he had five children—I remember thinking he was really brave! (It was 20 years later that we followed in his footsteps!) During WWII, he enlisted in the Marines and received the Purple Heart Medal after he was wounded in the Battle at Iwo Jima. To this day, he stays in touch with his military buddies. He still eats pumpkinseeds, sews, and enjoys dabbling in construction jobs for his family, while Aunt Rose works at a hospital and is active in rescuing cats and other animals for the Humane Society. They live happily near all their children in Southern California.

My mother, Angie (her real name is Angelina, which appropriately means “Little Angel”) Dellos My mother truly deserves a book of her own. Lord knows I would not run out of kind words for her throughout an entire book. My perception of my mother was (and is) that she is rather quiet, at least compared to me. I always wished I had her demeanor, but I’ve learned to accept that I just don’t. My mother is more of a listener than a talker, and honestly, never complains about anything. I remember her in many, many fond ways too numerous to mention in a cookbook. But, at least where food is concerned, she was (and is) one of the best cooks¾just ask my husband! She wouldn’t say so, but I’ve never had an Italian dish at a restaurant better than what she can throw together in minutes. She starts most dishes with a little garlic and a little onion in olive oil… and, she ends most dishes with “a little” Parmesan cheese. A little of this and a little of that, and she has a good meal going. She still saves leftovers and makes the best meals out of them. She still sets the table for herself and my dad (and anyone else who’s there) and presents her food in the most appetizing way, unlike so many of us who are eating on the run so much of the time. She reads cookbooks the way you read a text book—taking every recipe seriously, but always ending up with the standard favorites. She cuts recipes out of the newspaper and makes notes next to them if they are worth keeping. She’s very creative with food, but very modest about it.

We had macaroni every Sunday afternoon and were allowed to buy one quart of Ma’s Root Beer soda from Tedeschi’s (the market across the street from our house). It was just enough for all five of us to have one glass each. That’s it. No more soda for the rest of the week—it was milk with every meal—it was a meal every single night. My mother made chocolate cake (p. 122) once a week, usually on Friday after she cleaned the house. My brothers and I remember coming home from school on Friday afternoon to a spanking clean house with the smell of chocolate cake (God forbid if you cut into it without asking)—the clean sheets were cool (from being hung outside to dry) and tucked into the sides of the bed—it was a wonderful feeling! Monday night dinner was typically chicken soup (p. 15). Tuesday night was left-over macaroni from Sunday. Common other meals during the week were pasta e fagioli (pronounced pasta-fa-zool, p. 50), veal cutlet, peppers and eggs, and pasta with tuna sauce (p. 46). Once in a while, we had cereal for supper. To this day, cereal is one of my favorite dinners. Because we always had full, complete meals, I thought of “cereal for dinner” as a treat, I guess! Anyway, I am very fortunate and happy that my mother lives within 10 miles of me in Northern California so I still have plenty of opportunity to enjoy her—and her meals.

Aunt Lily Pisani (Her real name is Lillian.) I loved Aunt Lily’s black hair and her white teeth. She had (and has) a sexy, crooked eyetooth, which I secretly wished for because I thought her smile was so beautiful! She moved to Ohio for a time after she married my Uncle Joe. I remember their wedding—he was so handsome, and she had the biggest and shiniest diamond ring I ever saw! Uncle Joe was a shoe salesman who used to send my cousin, Ann Marie, and I, shoes because we wore the sample size. He sent us our First Communion shoes, of which we were so proud, and a pair of cowgirl boots, which were also favorites. When Ann Marie and I were 10 years old, we spent a summer with Aunt Lily in Canton, Ohio. She and Uncle Joe were wonderful to us. We were the kids they didn’t have¾yet. They totally spoiled us—they let us buy a box of 24 chocolate candy bars once a week at the grocery store; they let us bake cakes, and allowed us to take the bus to town by ourselves. We often took walks at night to the Grotto where we would all pray for Aunt Lily to get pregnant, stopping for ice cream on the way back. She eventually did have that baby girl, Mary Beth, who is 10 years younger than I, so I think those trips to the Grotto worked! Aunt Lily is the baby of the family, and gets the prize for submitting the most recipes for this book. I was asked by a cousin to please include everything that she submitted because it’s all good! I knew that.