My Grandfather, Pasquale D'Elia
Pasquale D'Elia was born on December 31, 1851, and he died on January 26, 1928. His parents were Giambattista (b. 10-15-1823/d.1898) and Concetta Mantuano (b. circa 1829/d.1909). He was his twenty-two year old mother's first born.
Copies of original documents identify who was present at Pasquale's birth in a house that was the property of Baron Don Luigi di Passalacqui. These witnesses were Nicola Cavaliere (37 years old) and Francesco Scofano (40 years old). The birth took place in a simple rock and mortar peasant structure built on a piece of land known as the Piscioni. The Piscioni was located in the neighborhood of Cotugni a part of Scarcelli. Scarcelli is one of several frazione that make up the commune or township of Fuscaldo.
Fuscaldo is one of the many communes that make up the northern province of Cosenza. There are five provinces in Calabria which is one of the regions of southern Italy.
When Pasquale was born, Calabria had not yet been joined to Italy by the Risorgimento, and was still a part of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. The Kingdom was ruled by Spain through King Ferdinand II di Borbone (1830-59), and Pius IX (1846-78) was the reigning Roman Catholic Pontif. Millard Fillmore (1850-53) was the president of the United States.
Domenico, Teresa, Biasina, Arcangelo, Giovanni, and Francesco were his brothers and sisters.
When he was just an infant of several months, a person or persons unknown (one of his neighbors) placed him in the family focularu, the site where cooking took place. There he was buried with just his face above the cold ashes, and left there to be discovered by his mother when she returned to check on him after working outdoors. Apparently, this was done by "concerned citizens" whose only motive was to teach the young mother a lesson. He obviously survived the ordeal and his mother Concetta, lesson learned, never left him alone again.
In the early part of this century, the Baron Don Luigi Passalacqui had a palazzo constructed for his residence in the Ferrare district of Scarcelli into which he eventually moved. This luxuious two story mansion is adjacent to a much older structure which is today called the Case Cavaliere. It is there that some of the Baron's contadini lived in accomodations much in contrast with his own. I had an opportunity to visit the mansion in 1968.
Not far from the large, wooden, front doors, perhaps twenty feet, the Baron installed a brass water faucet for his personal use. At some point in time, he decided to permit the local contadini to use it. This faucet was the only source of drinking water for the poor contadini, for miles in either direction, except for two or three streams. The poor washed their clothes in those streams. And so it was that the women and children walked to the faucet daily with a ceramic container ballanced on their heads which they filled with fresh drinking water for their needs at home. This regular and routine choir took on an added meaning when young men figured out that they could innocently run into a young lady at that fountain without having to explain their presence. Young ladies, of course, figured it out, too, and so did the parents. For many young folks who lived near that faucet it became a natural place to initiate and contintue a substantial part of their courting. "I'll meet you at the faucet." Who knows how many times that was said, and what ultimately came out of it. "We saw them together at the faucet," must have been another often repeated testimony. My parents used to meet there regularly just before they became engaged.
The Case Cavaliere were basicallly one-room affairs with attics used for cooking, and walls three feet thick. The There were about one dozen separate abodes within the large structure making it similar to today's condominums, but without the extra amenities or the monthly dues to maintain them. Often, families of ten or more occupied each of these small dwellings. Pasquale's father had moved into one of them from the Pisconi probably in 1883, when Pasquale married Rosina Giglio. His first surviving son, Angelo Antonio was born in the Case Cavaliere. Quite likely, in addition to the senior parents, Giambattista and Concetta, their son Pasquale, his wife Rosina and their son Angelo, the inhabitants included Pasquale's younger unmarried siblings. If one of the parents of Giambattista was still living in 1883, the total persons living together could easily have been one dozen. All slept in one room. Privacy derived from the fact that when most of the exhausted contadini went to bed, sleep came quickly and mercifully.
The contrast between the two structures, the luxurious palazzo of Baron Don Luigi Passalacqui and the Case Cavaliere was stark. One was spacious, adorned and comfortable while the other was over-crowded, rustic and lacking in minimal comforts. By this time in Calabria (1880's), feudalism had been abolished, however much of what feudalism had been, still was. In the same way, though slavery had ended in 1865, in the United States, the condition of the ex-slave would not materially improve for quite some time. My grandfather, Pasquale D'Elia hated his position in life as it was under that lingering feudalism, and according to my father, resolved to get out from under it's yolk.
The Baron Don Luigi Passalacqui, the owner of many properties and buildings in the Fuscaldo area, before 1890, maintained his residence in Cosenza. His mansion was situated near the Piazza XV Marzo which faces the Theatre Randano constructed from 1879-1909. The Villa, a beautiful municipal park is entered from the same Piazza. In 1968, my son, John Angelo D'Elia, my parents, and I were in that same Piazza and Villa. At that time, I did not know that I was walking on the same ground trampled by my grandfather, and perhaps his father before him.
Pasquale's father, Giambattista, was the massaio delle buoi. He was in charge of the Baron's oxen, an occupation which Pasquale would one day inherit. This may have been a D'Elia position as early as the 1700's. Being in a somewhat privileged position, Giambattista did not have to deal with the Baron's factor, but negotiated with the Baron directly. The factor was Giuseppe Trotta (no known relation to my mother, Antonietta Raffaela Trotta) and he was the grandfather of Raffaele Trotta, my aunt Stella's long-time neighbor, whose descendants are still known by the sopranome, "u fattoru" or another one, "vulapullici". I had the chance to know Raffaele Trotta. The other contadini on the Baron's properties dealt with the factor, who like any middleman, ultimately cost them money.
When my grandfather, Pasquale, became the massaio, every two weeks, and sometimes more often, he would lead four oxen and a wagon from Scarcelli to Cosenza. The wagon was loaded down with produce from the Baron's lands such as fresh fruit, occasionally dried figs, nuts, vegetables, olive oil, eggs, wine, and cured pork in the form of sausages and suppressata. Departure time was before sunset on Saturday evening, and prior to dawn on Sunday was arrival time.
Pasquale still lived at the Piscioni when he started these trips in 1870. It is certain that as a youngster he had accompanied his father countless of times before being entrusted with the sole responsiblity when he was eighteen years old. From his home in the area called the Cotugni (thePiscioni located there), he led the team of oxen that hauled the fully loaded wagon down to the Paola-Fuscaldo road along the banks of the southwest flowing Laponte River. At the road he turned south toward Paola, immediately crossed the stone bridge that traversed the Laponte River and was now in San Miceli, a frazione of Paola. He passed the Saint Francis of Paola Monastery, and no doubt paused there to pray for God's protection.
Just outside of Paola, the road climbs abruptly. It winds back and forth , complete with numerous hairpin curves. Even after the passing of considerable time and moving long distances it appears you have not made much progress toward Cosenza at all. Cosenza is situated in the Crati Valley thirty miles to the east of Paola. The steep ascendancy affords breathtaking panoramas of the Tyrrhenian Sea below, but exacts a price as its saps both man and beast of the energy required to reach the summit. The map designates the road as Paseo Crocetta, but the locals (dialect) refer to it as "i voti delli palomari", which may be an attempt to compare the flight patterns of a dove or pidgeon with the extreme turns on the road.
I have driven that treacherous road numerous times, and know from experience how difficult it is to maneuver a car under those conditions. Many drivers, their engines unable to perform, do not make it to the top. One can only imagine what it required in terms of tenacity and courage to traverse the distance on foot leading oxen attached to a loaded wagon. My grandfather, Pasquale, at eighteen years old, must have been an extraordinary individual.
In this era, there were bandits, briganti, in Calabria, and it was not unheard of for them to ruthlessly attack such hard-working folks along this desolate mountain trail between Paola and Cosenza. In fact, according to my dad the area which is still known in dialect as "a chianga" or the place of the massacre was named thusly because of the killings by those briganti. My grandfather carried two double-barreled pistols, and no doubt a couple of knives and axes.
He was accompanied by his younger brothers, Giovanni and Domenico. When the worst of the trip was over, and they had reached the summit, they first watered the oxen and then drank the cold, refreshing water that surged out of the side of the mountain from an underground spring. Then they ate and napped for an hour or so. When they awoke, Giovanni, the youngest, returned down the mountain alone and afraid in that darkest night all the while holding onto the tail of one of the two extra oxen to lead him throught the thick fog for they knew the way home. Giovanni's job then was to return the two extra oxen that were required to pull the wagon up the steep grade, but would not be needed the rest of the way, nor upon return.
After sending the reluctant Giovanni on his way, and stealing a short rest, Pasquale and Domenico led the oxen through the dense growth of chestnut, birch and oak in that lush forest replete with small game and an occasional wolf. The wild strawberries that were in season on this trip caught the attention of the two young men and no doubt they satisfied their taste for them. As they came out of the high mountains they could see picturesque San Fili, a town much like Fuscaldo, except instead of an ocean view it's inhabitants could see the forest's beginnings and the valley below toward Cosenza. Now, the road became a gradual decline toward Cosenza, not like the ascent from Paola. The two arrived at the palazzo of Baron Don Luigi Passalacqui before sunrise.
The brothers unhitched the oxen, and let them graze on the fresh grass they had picked along the way, and to drink water. They spent the next few hours unloading the wagon. Afterwards, the servants offered them food and drink. By now it was just about noon, and since both had traveled all night they were tired and went to sleep. Around five in the evening, they awoke and had some cheese, bread, fruit and wine. By six o'clock they were in the market area along where the Crati and Busento rivers join up looking for items that were not available for purchase locally in Fuscaldo for themselves and others, either as a favor or for profit. For the return home, the wagon was empty so, at times, a large amount of stuff could be accomodated.
One has to wonder, what kind of mishcief two unmarried young men might have gotten into roaming about the big city called Cosenza, and experiencing the exhiliration of freedom they obviously felt. One can only wonder.
Once the wagon was loaded for return to Paola, and the sun had set, the two would begin the journey home. The votti delli palomari would not present a different problem. It was so steep descending that the oxen, though managed by the skillful Pasquale and Domenico, strained to keep the wagon from over-running them. Naturally, after they had passed the isolated area known as the chianga, the brothers breathed a sigh of relief, until next time.
This was the kind of work that my grandfather performed, from the time he was apprenticed to his father in his young teens almost until he was twenty-five in 1876. During this time, he was in charge of plowing the Baron's fields, and permitted, for a fee to plow his own fields with the oxen. Occasionally, with the Baron's permission, he plowed the fields of other contadini in exchange for money or trade. Naturally, a share of his earnings went to the Baron for he use of the oxen.
Not until Pasquale married Rosina Giglio (daughter of Giovanni Giglio and Maria Luigia Cavaliere) in 1883, did he manage to obtain his own house, built on a piece of property just across the Laponte River from the Piscioni. The Carusi was in Paola, not Fuscaldo, and was brought into the D'Elia family by Pasquale's mother, Concetta Mantuano when she married Giambatttista. The first property owned by a D'Elia then was obtained through marriage. Concetta inherited the Carusi (and a small house in old Paola) from her father Michelangelo Mantuano of Paola. Later, both of these properties would be sold to purchase the Montesani.
Pasquale was able to afford the construction of a house on the Carusi land with funds he saved from the work trips he had taken to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil from 1876-1895. According to my dad, his father was emboldened to make the decision to leave the Baron and strike out on his own by insults real or imagined at the hands of the Baron Don Luigi Passalacqui. He built the house with the help of his brothers, and hired day workers. It is not certain exactly when Pasquale and his wife moved into their home on the Carusi land, but it had to be before 1900, and after my uncle Angelo Antonio was born in 1887.
In this manner, the first D'Elia in our ancestry stepped boldly out of feudalism by becoming the owner of his own home on his own land. Ironically, he had no way of knowing that the giant step he had taken would not be sufficient to keep nearly all of his children from abandoning him and emigrating either to the United States or Brazil.
I feel strongly that this loyal, proud and daring man, who no doubt believed he had built a future for his children in Scarcell, may have died before his time, somewhat confused and disappointed, and certainly with a broken heart. How could the heart of this man not be broken when his children and his grandchildren were taken away from him by emigration? How could he not have died of a broken heart when my dad, his favored one, emigrated with the rest and though he promised to return did not do so until Pasquale had died? How could he not have died of a broken heart when his daughters, Luisa and Concetta and their sons left to join their husbands? What he had worked so hard to obtain meant nothing to the younger generation who could think of nothing short of escape, and the thought of dying almost alone in a cold room must have entered his mind. He didn't die alone, but many special loved ones were not there.
My mother told me many times that he would run off, cane in hand, down those dirt paths vainly searching and calling for his absent children, and she would have to go search for him and bring him back home. For no reason now, he would burst into tears. Maybe it was senility or Altzheimers, or maybe it was the defensive behavior of a broken man unable to accept that he might never see those children or his grandchildren again. I can see him lying in his bed, and dying from the stroke that eventually killed him, and of which my mother was a witness. Emigration was the only way out for my dad, and his generation, in that part of Italy, but those who stayed behind cried real tears and felt real pain.
So, I got to be born in Dearborn, Michigan, instead of Fuscaldo, Italy, because my father emigrated there in 1923, following the example of his own father who in 1876 had emigrated to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. I know that my position in life, the opportunities, security and comforts that I often take for granted, or worse credit to myself, are mine in large part because of the sacrifice of these two men. My grandfather nearly lost his entire offspring to emigration, destined to die fearing that much he had accomplished in life might never be appreciated by those for whom he had toiled and suffered. Then there is my father who could never wash himself of the guilt for his eldest son's death by having him emigrate to the United States in 1940, because in less than four years that son, a soldier in the United States Army would perish at Anzio in his native Italy.
My feelings of gratitude to my grandfather can never be expressed as he died in 1928, nor to my brother Pasquale who was killed in 1944. I shall have to be content knowing that my interest in Calabria and emigration (I wrote my master's degree thesis [http://oasys.lib.oxy.edu/search/a?SEARCH=D%27Elia%2C+Angelo] on these subjects) and in genealogy, of which both my parents were well aware, hopefully communicated an implicit recognition of thanks and admiration to both of them.
