Bertù ‘d Tzunìn: ur cowboy ‘d Prati Proia

Though the Giusvallini that settled in the Wilmington, Delaware area around the turn of the 20th century represent the largest group of immigrants from Giusvalla to settle in one place in the United States, there were certainly others who sought their fortunes in other places throughout the country. The Pizzorno family settled in the Buffalo, New York area, there were a handful of Baccino, Perrone and Rabellino immigrants who went to San Francisco, the descendants of Silvio Baccino went to the southwestern corner of Pennsylvania .... just to name a few. The experiences of these Giusvallini immigrants surely differed greatly from our gang of ancestors who worked for the DuPont family in the powder mills or went into the mushroom business.

Perhaps no experience could have been more different than that of Bartolomeo “Bertù” Carlo Zunino. Bertù first came to the United States in 1907. Like most of his friends from back home, he arrived through Ellis Island. However where most went directly to “Henry Clay Factory, Wilmington, Delaware,” Bertù “went west.” In those days, the desert towns in White Pine County, Nevada offered two means of livelihood: ranching or copper mining. What attracted Bertù to the Wild West remains a mystery, but local records reveal the names of several Italians, so perhaps word of opportunity in that part of the U.S. had come to the Giusvalla area and the romantic notion of the cowboy lifestyle appealed to young Bertù? Certainly many a young giusvallino had gone to South America in pursuit of a similar lifestyle as a gaucho. What is known for a fact is that Bertù went to Nevada and worked for a local rancher named William N. McGill on the Cleveland Ranch in Spring Valley, which at the time was the largest and most successful cattle ranch in the area. Bertù became a real life cowboy, tending the cattle on the vast Cleveland Ranch on horseback. In 1915, he became a naturalized U.S. citizen and later that year returned to Italy for a few years to care for his aging father. When Bertù returned to the U.S. in 1920, he went back to Spring Valley and with the small inheritance he received from his father, he was able to invest as a partner in his own ranch.

During the 1920s, Bertù and his friend Antonio Persico operated a small cattle ranch just outside of Spring Valley. Bertù must have been a solitary man, he never married and spent the remainder of his years quietly tending cattle on his patch of desert among the vast Nevada wilderness. The cowboy from località Prati Proia died on his little ranch during the 1940s and was laid to rest in the dusty ground that was once roamed by the native Shoshone, old cowpokes, Mormon settlers and stagecoach drivers ....

The Matteo Letters.

This article is for all of our readers out there who not only share in our Giusvallin background, but in our pack-rat-type tendencies as well…

In January of this year, I needed to go out to our shed in the back yard for some necessary cleanup and reorganization. This shed came to our home around 1999-2000, and over the years it has amassed quite a variety of different, shall I say, “inventory”.

A couple of years back, my mother provided me with a large stack of old family photos, many of which at the time did not have corresponding names to go with the faces. With the help of Frank Rosaio and his family, almost every single photo was miraculously identified. Some of those photos even exist in the archives of this website today. The reason I am making reference to this event is because at the same time those photos were forwarded to me, it was also explained to me that there were other family relics still stored “somewhere” (and in my family, ‘somewhere’ is a pretty big place). Among those relics were supposed letters that my Aunt Theresa (Tortarolo) Angelone had received from friends and family over the years, all of the way up until her death in 1983.

Returning back to my shed-cleaning experience, the event prompted me to have to move quite a few items around, and also throw some things away. The necessity of having to do these various tasks forced me to have to move some things around which had not been touched in quite some time. Some of the items in that shed were most likely even brought in around the timeframe of 1999-2000, put down in what was to be a “temporary” location at that particular moment, and now here, 11-12 years later, they are just being touched once again..

As I moved the various boxes, tools, and other miscellany around, a box made of white cardboard managed to fall, which I had not remembered touching or even bumping to make it do so. As I approached the box, I noticed that the side that was facing me was the bottom of the box, and its contents had spilled onto the floor behind an old sewing machine. I was somewhat frustrated when it happened, as my job at that point in the shed was to be cleaning up, and this box spilling over just added to the “cleaning up” part of my work out there. I sighed and leaned over the sewing machine to see just how much extra work I was in for. When I looked down, I noticed what appeared to be a small stack of envelopes, white with red and blue borders all of the way around them. They were basically all face-down, and although I could see some writing on them, it wasn’t clear enough for me to see the details of the writing. It only took me a second, however, to realize that the stack of letters, lying on the floor of this dirty old shed, were no doubt letters sent to someone in my family from Europe. As I bent down and picked them up, I immediately started to see names on the backs of them like BAGNUS, GIORDANO, BROCCOLI, and one that really jumped out at me: TORTAROLO. The names I was seeing corresponded to the return addresses on the back, and as I flipped over the envelopes, they all read: “Theresa Angelone”, “Mrs. Theresa Angelone”, “Arthur and Theresa Angelone”. I just stood there, speechless. The missing letters my mother had told me about had just surfaced.
I began opening the letters right there in the shed, and was so astonished by what I was seeing. There were so many different types of formats: handwritten on regular paper, handwritten on decorative letter paper, handwritten on tissue-like paper, typed on regular paper, there were so many different features to all of them. Some had the same type of handwriting from the start of a letter to its end, some had different types of handwriting all found within the same letter, it was such an incredible moment. As I looked over all of the letters and started to put them in some type of organized fashion (even if they’d been organized in the box, they certainly didn’t stay that way once they’d hit the floor), one name really started to jump out at me. One letter, after another, after another, the backs read TORTAROLO, MATTEO e ENRICHETTA.

For our readers who are not already aware, it is the lineage of the Tortarolo family that makes Frank and I part of the same family. When Theresa’s parents, Valentino and Luigia, both died from the flu of 1918, Theresa came to live with my Salvo family, and her 2 siblings, Egidio and Josephine, went to live with Frank’s family. Theresa went on to marry Arthur Angelone, and to be honest, it wasn’t until I was much older that I’d learn more about her Tortarolo lineage, and, more specifically, its connection to my own family history.

The “Matteo letters” (as Frank and I came to call them while translating them) highlight events and family information from the period of 1962 to 1970 (the image that accompanies this post is from a letter that came from Matteo in 1976; however, only the envelope remains). They not only contain general correspondence between Theresa and her family back in Italy, but they also provide amazing details regarding ‘known’ family members, as well as relatives yet to be identified in the family tree as well! The letters were truly an invaluable find.

So, for those of you who find yourself saving various pieces of documentation without being able to justify to yourself why you are doing it: maybe it’s because God is asking you to put them aside for someone else….

La Strega di Natale

Maria Fiorenzano was one of the little trovatelli of Giusvalla .... born to a young unwed mother among i brichi ed i boschi, Maria was given the surname “Fiorenzano.” The floral reference was typical of almost all the little trovatelli of Giusvalla, however the name carries another connotation which was most certainly intended by Maria’s mother to impart a blessing of hope and good wishes upon her unfortunate baby girl. Maria was born on Christmas Eve in the year 1832, a time when the villagers of Giusvalla still held tightly to the old beliefs and folklore. A baby girl born on Christmas Eve was said to be destined to become a witch. This old superstition would not have been lost on the townfolk of Giusvalla. And so perhaps Maria’s sanguine surname was intended by her mother to counteract a curse.

The details of Maria’s childhood have been lost to time, and there is no reason to believe that the old Italian superstition came true and she became a witch. If anything, the good fortune that her mother hoped for her seemed to follow her through life. Maria married young to a well-to-do merchant from Piemonte and moved with him to his hometown in the province of Cuneo where they raised a large family. When Maria died on December 31, 1894, she was said to be “possidente” (wealthy).

Bun Natòl a tùcci vuiocci!

The Dowry of a Giusvalla Bride

In the days of our Giusvallini great-grandparents, the selection of a spouse was most often something along the lines of a financial transaction between two families. The process began with an agreement between two local families, the motivation was not necessarily one borne out of love or mutual affection between two young people. We are all familiar with the old stories of arranged marriages, perhaps some of these family stories have even made their way down through the generations .... sad stories of a great-grandmother who was in love with the boy from a neighboring farm, but was forced to marry another because the decision of who she was to marry was left in the hands of her parents. Such was life in the days of our forefathers, families did whatever was necessary to ensure their survival and this meant that sacrifices and difficult decisions sometimes had to be made. Sometimes our great-grandparents grew to love one another, other times they managed to learn to live with each other. Ultimately, divorce was not a possibility and the only sustainable option was to accept one’s fate and find a way to get through life.

The more traditional aspects of the arranged marriage varied from town to town and depended on what was locally considered valuable. The process was simple enough; the father of the girl would offer a dote (dowry) to the father of a local boy who he felt would make a good husband and provide well for his daughter. If the father of the boy accepted the offer, the girl and boy would accompany their parents to the local notary, where the financial aspects of the agreement would be formally recorded, as well as the intention and promise of the two young people to marry. Once the dote was witnessed and signed, it became a legal and binding contract. A breach of the contract meant financial loss to the family of the girl and the shame of rejection brought upon the boy and his family - it was understandably a rare occurrence.

Within a few weeks of the dote (and the subsequent payment to the family of the boy), the marriage ceremony would take place at the local parish church, or if the bride was from a neighboring town, the marriage would be celebrated at the parish in her hometown. Sometimes a family could not afford to make a lump payment of the dote, and in those cases a sort of “payment plan” would be made .... the dote might be 500 lire, paid in increments of 100 lire over a five year period. At the end of the five years and after the final payment (or in the event that the family of the groom for some reason decided to release the family of the bride from the balance of the original dote), a quittanza dote would be made between the two families. Again the notary would draw up the document stating that the debt had been satisfied and the family of the bride was released from its obligation.

In Giusvalla, the most prized and valuable dote was farmable land or property that included chestnut trees. Only the wealthiest families (and in Giusvalla there were few) could spare family land for the dowry of a daughter. The next most valuable dote came in the form of cash. Families that were better off could afford larger cash dowries, so when the wealthy father of Angela Maria Massa offered the family of Giuseppe Anselmi a dote of 700 lire, there was surely no question that it would be accepted. Poorer families were able to make far less lucrative offers, the young orphan Maddalena Angela Caterina Beltrame had been left a dowry of just 155 lire in the will of her father. It was hoped that it would be enough for the young girl to find a husband when the time came. Maddalena’s brother Giovanni Battista Beltrame was named the trustee of her dowry, and fortunately when Maddalena was old enough (maybe only 14 years old), a local widower named Gioanni Doglio accepted the offer.

Most of the families in Giusvalla were very poor, and the dowries of the poorest might consist only of a goat, or a bushel of chestnuts. The tradition of the dote continued virtually unchanged in Giusvalla (and throughout Italy) for hundreds of years. In the years between the World Wars, the custom fell out of practice and the young people of Giusvalla were free to choose their own spouses. Even so, for many years after, marriages outside of Giusvalla (or, at worst, a neighboring town) were still viewed with much disdain. When my cousin married a young man from Calabria in 1966, her parents did not approve, but ultimately the marriage took place and in time they came to accept the Calabrese boy with the strange customs and nearly unintelligible accent.

U temp u viagia … e lòchi u’na nent ritörn.

In the picture: Giuseppina Pesce & Giovanni Battista "Batistén" Perrone on their wedding day, October 5, 1911.

La chiesetta di Lalla Pina

Grandmom Rosaio was proud of her chiesetta, the little “church” she had built in the yard next to her house where she displayed statues of the Blessed Mother and her favorite saints. It was another tradition she brought with her from her hometown of Giusvalla, where le chiesette dot the countryside .... little “churches” that were erected by Giusvallini families to honor Our Lady or a saint to whom they had a particular devotion. Some of the chiesette were large enough to accommodate a small altar with a few pews. La Chiesetta della Madonna del Deserto (loc. Mulino), la Chiesetta della Madonna della Guardia (loc. Riondi) and la Chiesetta del Bambin di Praga (loc. Ciocchini) are the largest of the chiesette, each big enough on its own to resemble a small church. Others (loc. Caporali, Pimpiri, Zambon, etc.) were no bigger than a refrigerator box, with an opening where a statue and some candles could be placed and a stone at the base of the structure to kneel on.

Each chiesetta carries its own history, often intertwined with the history of a particular family in Giusvalla. The history of the chiesetta devoted to Our Lady of the Desert at località Mulino begins in the early 1910s with a man named Carlo Marenco who made a special promise to the Blessed Mother. Carlo’s son had been injured when a sharp piece of metal cut a deep gash into his leg. The leg became infected, and it appeared likely that the leg would have to be amputated. Carlo’s vow to the Blessed Mother was that if through her intercession his son’s leg healed and was spared amputation, he would build a chapel that he and all his descendants would maintain in her honor. And so when his son’s leg healed in spite of the doctor’s dire prediction, Carlo made good on his promise and the Chiesetta della Madonna del Deserto was built – and is maintained by Carlo’s descendants to this day.

Grandmom’s chiesetta was quite modest compared to Carlo Marenco’s grand chapel at Mulino. But we all knew her devotion to the little church in her yard, and the marvelous sight of the pious convocation of the Blessed Mother, the Infant of Prague and Grandmom’s favorite saints – St. Anthony of Padua, St. Joseph and St. Jude – is something we all remember with great fondness.

What’s in a name?

The etymology of Italian surnames is a fascinating topic to which my humble blogging could never do justice. Nor do I presume to be an expert on the topic, but for the casual family historian there are some basics I’ve learned over the years that may help you understand the origin of your Italian family name.

It wasn’t until the 15th century that the use of surnames began to take hold in the area that became Italy – and throughout Europe for that matter. As the human population exploded after the plague ridden Middle Ages, the use of a surname became essential, as you might guess, in order to distinguish one individual from another. The Council of Trent decreed what was really the first official act that required the recording of an individual with both their Christian name and surname in the parish registers throughout Europe.

But where did these names come from?

Probably the most common origin of the surname in Italy can be attributed to patronymics, where an individual came to be known through his connection to another person, usually his father. Therefore, Giovanni, the son of Antonio, might be called “Giovanni di Antonio.” Surnames such as “de Bartolomeis” (son of Bartolomeo) “Perrone” (son of Piero) and “Gerardi” (son of Gerardo) all reflect the given name of some remote ancestor.

Other Italian surnames are derived from a geographical reference. For example, Anthony of the town of Padua might have been called “Antonio di Padova,” or James who lived on the little hill might have been known as “Giacomo Collina.” Another common surname origin is related to an occupation, such as Tortarolo (miller of flour), Ferraro (smith/blacksmith), Vaccaro (herdsman), Pastore (shepherd), etc.

Still other Italian surnames originate in a nickname that was given to an ancestor. Giuseppe with a red beard may have become known as “Giuseppe Rossi,” or Marco with curly hair may have been called “Marco Ricci.” These surnames could derive from any physical or personality trait. The soldiers of the local nobleman “Bonifacio il Vasto,” who controlled the territory in the area that is now Giusvalla and the surrounding towns, became known by the nickname “i Bonifacini” - or individually - “Bonifacino.” Due to the many soldiers who were known by this nickname, the surname Bonifacino became quite common in the various towns throughout the Val Bormida.

Other Italian family names originated in the custom of giving an invented surname to children that were born out of wedlock or abandoned by their parents. These surnames were sometimes created by the child’s mother, or by the priest who recorded the baptism or the official who recorded the birth in the town hall. Different towns had different traditions when it came to naming their illegitimate or abandoned babies. Some towns named the babies after the month they were born in (Aprile, Ottobre, etc.), other towns gave the babies floral sounding names (Mirto, Fiorello, Mela). Surnames such as Esposito (exposed) and Trovato (found) were sometimes given to abandoned babies.

Dozens of surnames often evolved from the “root” name, so a simple surname like “di Giovanni” could take on many forms: Giovannoni, Giovanelli, Giova, Giannoni, Zunino, etc.

A vitally important consideration for the family historian is the distinction of unrelated families who share a common surname. Just like Anglo surnames such as “Johnson,” “Baker” and “Miller,” many Italian surnames are quite common and therefore it would be completely inaccurate to assume that two people with the same surname, even those living in a small town like Giusvalla, are related. The only way to prove that any two people are related is through genealogical research that documents a paper trail for both individuals back to a common ancestor.

The Becco Sisters

Many of we Giusvallini here in the U.S. and our cousins in Italy are descended from the Becco sisters – Francesca (Becco) Pesce and Carlotta (Becco) Bazzano. Francesca was the mother of eight children, six of whom came to the U.S. as adults before Francesca herself came over in 1910 at the age of 59. Carlotta, who was 10 years younger than Francesca, was the mother of six children, two of whom came to the U.S. Carlotta stayed in Giusvalla, but came over to visit her two sons in the 1930s.

Francesca and Carlotta were among the large brood of children born to Francesco Becco and his wife Margherita. One of their brothers, Carlo Becco, married in 1876 to Angela Beltrame, a relative of the Carozzo and Camoirano families. Another sister, Giuseppina Becco, married Pietro Reverdito and their son Lorenzo came to Squirrel Run in 1910. Lorenzo was a gardener for the DuPont family for many years, then worked as a mushroom farmer and stone mason.

Francesca was a tiny woman, just over five feet. She became the matriarch of her large brood of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren and was known in the family as our “Mùma granda” and “Little Grandmom.” She lived with my great-grandmother up on the farm on Ebright Road, and my aunts often spoke of their memories of her as a kind and loving grandmother. She spoke only the Giusvalla dialect, and my aunts would reminisce about how they remembered her saying her prayers every night, kneeling beside her bed with her long hair hanging loose or in a braid down her back. Francesca died in 1940 at the age of 89, those who knew her during her lifetime still remember her with great fondness and much love.

Carlotta was taller than her older sister Francesca. She and her husband Giovanni Callisto Bazzano lived in a little house right along the strada provinciale near the center of Giusvalla. Giovanni held the important position of local postmaster, a vocation that later passed to his son Cide. One of my cousins tells me that she remembers Cide as a tall man, always dressed up formally in a suit and a tie and having a very serious expression with a deep baritone voice. He must have struck quite an imposing presence. Cide would stop at the Cavallo Bianco every day on his walk home from work for a glass of red wine. He was the youngest of Carlotta’s children, and died in 1977 at the age of 79. Carlotta made a visit to her sons Pietro “Pete” and Amedeo “Dave” in Kennett Square in 1931. She was almost 70 years old at the time and made the trip by herself, traveling aboard the steamer ship “Augustus.” She died at home in Giusvalla in 1943.

Like the Biblical Rebekah, who became “the mother of thousands of millions,” Francesca and Carlotta were blessed with an enormous progeny. We their descendants remember them with great pride.

In the picture: The Becco sisters, Carlotta Bazzano and Francesca Pesce, visit in Kennett Square (summer 1931).