Published: April 07, 2008 11:33 am            

WHITE-WALKER: And Giuseppe cried

How can I not dedicate this piece to two cousins Louie and Tony from Niagara Falls who claims that they can’t wait every week for my column? I’m surprised, flattered and mainly grateful, but I gotta be honest, they’re ruining my life. That’s too much pressure for me to be under. I mean, can’t wait for what? Just for them I’m resurrecting writing about Uncle Giuseppe, because somebody who knows a friend of mine told another friend, who knows one of their friends, who knows one of my relatives, who told another relative and he old me, reading about Giuseppe was their all-time favorite. Guess you can’t get much more accurate than that, huh? Poor Uncle Giuseppie, he wasn’t the family’s favorite, but he was loved — warts on his character and all.

Sometimes very worthy families have things that would make the national news if they were prominent enough, like former Governor Eliot Spitzer. There’s so much focus now on the prostitution profession, but what would you do if it were brought right smack into your very own decent home with the holy candles burning and the religious statues all around? No wonder Mama dropped dead at the spry age of 88 — it’s all Uncle Giuseppe’s fault.

He was a gifted artist and longed to study in New York City to perfect his craft.

“But there’s one thing stoppin’ me from going, Papa and Ma — money,” he lamented.

“So you go-a out-a and earn it, bigga shot,” ordered Mama. “And what? Boofalo is no good-a enough for-a you? They no gotta art-a schools there?”

“Ma, Vinnie went there and I wouldn’t hang his drawings over the toilet. Hey, can you spare 50 bucks, Papa?”

“After what you-a pulled?” replied his father.

“Oh Pa, you’re not going to bring that up again?” and Giuseppe’s eyes rolled back into his head.

“Son, I no trust-a you this-a much,” and Papa measured out less than a half an inch with his thumb and forefinger.

“Please Papa,” sighed Mama, “I get-a sick every time I tink of it. And right-a under our own-a roof,” and she clutches her heart. “I still remember that-a day,” she went on. “’Papa, Mama,’” you-a say, “’this-a here is Lena, my new-a wife. And there she-a stood, all giggling and red-a in the face-a, and it was all-a bigga act.”

Now Mama gets out her handkerchief and blows her nose. “And to tink, I walk-a all the way up-a town, with the bigga bunions on-a my feet, and I buy-a the new-a sheets for the ‘bridal bed.’ Embroidered lace along-a the top-a too, with the bigga callous on-a my thumb.” Mama repeatedly smacks her forehead with the palm of her hand crying, “Stupio, stupio!”

“Mama, Lena cried like a bambino in the bedroom when she saw the hand-sewn lace. She said, (now Giuseppe gets out HIS handkerchief and blows HIS nose) she said, “’Giuseppi, this is the first time in my whole life that I don’t feel like some two-bit Jezebel. Your beautiful bella mama has made me feel like a real lady. I love her.’”

“She say-a that?” cried Mama, “What a nice-a girl. That lovely Lena is-a too good-a for you!”

“Mama!” gasped Papa.

Uncle Giuseppe dumped the too-good-for-him prostitute and headed for New York City. That was over 80 years ago, and he had the sense to not stop along the way to become the state’s most powerful figure and work in Albany. Our family is proud and relieved.

Karen White-Walker is a Wilson resident. Her column appears every Tuesday.

        

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