MEMORIES BY ANGELINA LOUISE MONGELLI RAY

(The following words were written by my mother in 1998. Dad gave many of us copies of this but just in case you did not get a copy, here it is).

My Mother, Louise DiBitetto Mongelli, sailed to America from Italy, in 1921, to marry a man she had never seen. She had only been told that he was a good man, with good looks and was financially stable. His name was Nicola Mongelli. After considerable correspondence between families, my Father sent his sister, my Aunt Isabell, back to Italy to make all the arrangements so that Momma could make the trip to America. My Grandmother, Maria Bianca, knew Momma didn’t have much of a future in Italy and coming to America would solve everything.
Her brother John accompanied her and made the voyage easier to take and not so lonesome. Together, they could take whatever happened. My Father furnished money for first class, but his sister wanted to save money, so she booked third class. Their quarters were bad and the air, stifling. All were sick most of the time but were grateful to be able to go up on deck and breathe fresh air once in a while. They were also pleased to have each other.

When they docked in New York, they were happy to be on solid ground once more. Momma could not get over the Statue of Liberty and all the big buildings in New York. They were both excited and scared. They could not read or write English. Using the bathroom was difficult. Momma went into the men’s room by mistake. It didn’t take her long to know she was in the wrong place. Their trip by train to California was long and tiring and very humiliating. They did not know how to ask for a drink of water or anything else they desired. The food was very different and not to their liking. They had a hard time getting used to it.

After about two weeks, they arrived in Fresno and were met by my Father, his brothers, Uncle Mike, Uncle Ricardo and other relatives. Imagine meeting a man you had never known and yet in a matter of a few weeks he would be your husband, whether you liked him or not. It was a rough time for Momma, having to put up with relatives.

She wasn’t sure how to adjust to such an arrangement. After all, she was only twenty and Papa was thirty two; quite a difference in age. She thought him to be quite a good looking man, but a little old. She was innocent and quite naïve. She had been engaged to a very good looking young man in Italy, but she came down with the Chicken Pox and when he came to visit her, he decided not to marry her after all. It broke Momma’s heart; she thought she would never find another. Of course, Papa changed all that. Papa thought she was innocent and scared.

They were married 15 May 1921, in the St. Alfonsus Church in Fresno; the same church that I was married in, twenty four years later. I was born on 22 February 1922. (Dad always said her lucky number was two because she was born in 1922 on the 22nd day of Feb. Strange, she also died on the 22nd of November, maybe not so lucky after all). I was the first child and only girl. I would have liked to have been second or third, but no matter.

Papa and Momma had a very nice home, all electric, with all new furniture, up to date, indoor plumbing, bathroom, hot and cold water and bathtub. (It had a) built in ice box, gas cooking stove and oven, nice kitchen, (and a) screen porch. To have such a house in the early 1920’s was to be considered wealthy.

Momma had three children after me, Nick, Sam and John. At this writing (1998) they are all living and doing well. We keep in touch, talk of our childhood days and the good times we had. One thing that stands out in our minds is the love and understanding Momma had for us, whenever things got bad. No matter how sick we got, Momma always found a way to make us better. I remember the beautiful clothes we wore were very nice. (They included) silk underwear, fancy dresses, black shiny shoes, the works. I thought that we were the luckiest family alive. I thought we would live that way forever. Papa owned half of Fresno; (his territory?) we had a lot going for us.

I can’t remember how many years passed before things went bad. I knew by an early age that my Father earned his money and gave us our riches by being a bootlegger. Momma tried to tell him how wrong it was but he wouldn’t listen and was determined to continue in this line of work. He was a smart man and did well making liquor, even though it was against the law. I remember people coming to our house and drinking Papa’s whiskey and saying that it was the best. Looking back, I can recall the police raiding our house quite a few times and scaring us to death. I always ran into the closet to hide, afraid of being hurt by these strange men who forced their way into our house. I wondered how long Papa could keep going, knowing that we were in jeopardy and yet he kept one step ahead of the law.
(Out of time…more to follow)