SAM MANCUSO (Sr.)

Sam Mancuso (Sr.) died overnight on March 31st at the age of 93. The above photo was taken in January.

Sam was a special man. He was a steel worker, a farmer, a grape grower, a wine maker, a father to seven children, and he and his wife Rose served as the father and mother of one of his grandchildren. His wife and two of his children predeceased him, so he leaves five children, almost countless grand children, and becoming countless great grand children.

During his lifetime, he ran for office on the Democratic ticket to insure that people in East Dunkirk would have a choice. He also was a founding member of the East Dunkirk Volunteer Fire Department, and I am told at one time had a siren mounted on the roof of his barn. He grew some of the best apples and grapes of anyone in the area, and made some of the worst wine. All of it was fun for him, and he left the joy of working with the land to all of his children.

He will be missed by his family, and by his community.

Addio Sam

Italian Health Care II

No photos with this one. I had some gastrointestinal problems recently, and this was followed by severe pain in my left shoulder. After trying simply rest and pain killers for two days, I decided it was time to see a doctor. I could not sleep, had a hard time eating, and could not get comfortable. In my worst imaginings, I thought it might be a precursor to a heart attack, or a small stroke, or some other fatal attraction. The saner part of me thought it might be just sever inflammation, curable with a steroid and pain reliever shot. Even with 600 mg ibuprofen, the pain was insufferable. So finally, I called my friend Dr. Rino Marinello and made an appointment to see him at the emergency room in Sciacca.

The triage nurse took care of me at 2 p.m., and within five minutes I was in an examination room with Dr. Marinello and a nurse. The took blood, ran an electrocardiogram, and wheeled me out to radiology for x rays. Then I had to wait two hours for the results of the blood work. While I waited, my ibuprofen wore off, so when they came to get me to take me to cardiology, I was in severe pain. The hospital was warm, I was sweating, the pain was giving me a fever, so the assistant, after taking a good look at me, took me back to the examining room, where Dr. Marinello made the current patient leave, made me lie down on the bed, started an IV with saline solution and a mild pain reliever, gave me another ecg, and sent me off to cardiology, this time on a gurney. His face when I entered clearly showed his concern.

At cardiology, I was given four more ecgs, as well as an eccocardiogram (I enjoyed watching my heart pump). While my heart looked strong, the cardiologists worried that the left arm pain might be a precursor to a heart attack, so they recommended I stay under observation for another twelve hours. I was given a bed in one of the emergency room bedrooms. There were two other patients in the room when I arrived, both very old women who looked near the end of life. Their daughters complained that I, as a man, should not be allowed to share a room with two helpless women. They were overruled. Dinner came, and one of the old women refused her dinner, and it was given to me. The daughter complained, so another dinner was brought. The old woman refused again, so of course the daughter ate it. Later, her mother checked out of the room in the only way possible for her. May she rest in peace.

It was rather amusing to see the two daughters operate. When a pillow was brought in for me, I was not quick enough to grab it, so a daughter grabbed it so she could use it as she slept on a cot next to her mother. A man was rolled in on a bed with a big blanket (brought from home, it had his name on it.) One of the women tried to take that, but was stopped by the man's son. It was really pretty funny to watch, and I really did not mind missing the pillow for the amusement value.

Then Crash McCall, who seems to want to try out for the Nascar circuit, came in. He was big and strapping, and rolled me back to cardiology for another ekg and ecg. He managed to bump into every doorway with the gurney I was on, and I would not have believed it possible, but he managed to hit one doorway four times. But we went through the hallways fast, and the turns caused a bit of vertigo.

Anyway, nothing new in cardiology, so back to radiology, four more ex rays, and up to orthopedics, where I was finally diagnosed with severe inflammation and given a shot of steroids and pain killers by Dr. Drago. Then down to see the ER Doctor who replaced Dr. Marinello on the late shift. Dr. Mancuso (that's right, but when I told him that Fran Mancuso had been my wife, he mumbled that there are a lot of Mancuso's in Sicily) told me that there were two divergent opinions. Drago had made a diagnosis, treated me, and said I could be released. The cardiologist wanted to keep me until 4 AM. It was now 10 PM. I opted to stay. They took more blood, another ecg, and sent me back to my room. At midnight, they had replaced the woman who had died with another patient, there was a man on a gurney in the room, and another man in a wheelchair. Dr. Mancuso wanted to see me. The results of the blood tests indicated that I probably was not going to have a heart attack, and suggested I sign myself out. I did, went home, and a combination of Dr. Drago's shot and some ibuprofen allowed me to sleep peacefully.

When I registered with the triage nurse, he needed only my name, date of birth, place of birth, and place of residence. That was all. He did not even want to see my Italian health care card. All of the care, 5 xrays, countless ecgs, an ekg, blood work, pain killers, steroids, orthopedic consult, all were without cost to me. I think of a friend who went to the emergency room for GI problems in the states. Because there had been a one month lapse in his health insurance, the same company who had insured him previously and was insuring him again refused to pay the $12,000 bill because it was a preexisting condition.

Yes, it took me twelve hours to get out of the hospital, but I really want to thank Italian health care.

St. Agostino

An almost hidden treasure in the popular tourist spot of Taormina in Sicily is the folk art museum. It is hidden in plain site on the floor above the main tourist office in the square where one turns to walk up to the massive Greek Theater. Virtually every tourist who visits Taormina walks by the tourist office, and indeed, walks by the folk art museum, but it seems that few people know it is there, and even fewer take the time to climb the stairs and take a look.

Fran and I found it by accident one day, and we returned several times. One of our favorite parts of the displays was a collection of paintings depicting several near tragedies. On each painting the artist had explained the story, with captions that translated (very loosely) to things like: On March 8, 1654 a fishing boat was swamped by a storm in the straits of Messina, but thanks to the prayers of the crew to St. Drowning, all hands were saved. Or On a sunny day in May of 1794, a group of children walking across a field were set upon by wild dogs. They prayed for the intervention of St. Gatto, and the dogs left them unharmed. Or perhaps A boat sank in the sea off Gardino Naxos on February 2nd, 1836, and thanks to the prayers and intervention of St. Pisces, no one drowned.

The paintings were done in the style of true folk art, and we thought them interesting, and extremely expressive. You can imagine my surprise when I went into the St. Agostino Church in Sciacca and found a similar collection of paintings. Of course the Church of St. Agostino is named after the great St. Augustine, of whom Bob Dylan, among others dreamed, and who spent some time in Sciacca as he travelled from Africa to Rome, only to be followed by his mother, St. Monica, who doggedly wanted to convert him back to Catholicism.


However, the paintings in Sciacca were different in one important aspect. Here, the paintings of ships foundering off the coast were accompanied by very different stories. On May 3, 1652 a ship with 6 fisherman sunk off the coast of Sciacca, and despite the prayers to St. Bubbles, all hands perished. Or On November 18, 1784, two men fell overboard from a ship in heavy seas in the Sicilian Channel, and despite prayers to the Holy Cousin, they were never found.




So it was not always good news that the paintings reported, but it was a way of keeping track of some of the history of the area. History and folk art, what a combination, and what a collection.

All of the photos in this post were taken at St. Agostino's in Sciacca. The folk art museum in Taormina does not allow photography.

Americas (It's about time)

I visited America for a month and a half in January and February. It was quite the experience. My travel schedule took me from Palermo to Boston by plane, Boston to Dunkirk and back by car (thanks for driving, Jon), Boston to Maryland by plane, Washington DC to San Francisco and back by train (four days and three nights on the train each way), Maryland to Florida by plane, then San Francisco by plane, back to Boston by plane, and then home by plane. Not to leave out water transportation, we did take a ferry across San Francisco Bay. It was exhausting, it was fun, it was sad, it was bittersweet, it was frustrating. It has taken me a month to be ready to even write this much about it.

I took a bunch of pictures, but many were from the train which actually travelled too fast to allow me to take good pictures. Oh well.

When I arrived in Boston, I picked up my rental car, in which Jon and I were going to drive to Dunkirk, picking up Jess on the way, to empty out the storage shed Fran and I had there. The car was a Lincoln Navigator, a little larger than I was used to, so before leaving the airport grounds I test drove it into a van operated by the Boston Fire Department. The replacement car was a Lexus, not quite as big, but just fine, thank you.

Jon did all the driving from Boston to Dunkirk, and we met with the Mancuso clan for dinner. It was good to see everyone, and good to see Jon and Jess interacting with their aunts and uncles and cousins, and most especially with their grandfather Sam, who is 93 years old and still up and about and wondering what he will plant in his huge gardens this year for his vegetable stand.

After loading up the car and then unloading it into Jess's car and then Jon's apartment, I was off to Maryland after meeting up with my friend Phyllis Blumberg in Boston for lunch one day, and my nephew Jacob another day. Jon's cats were wonderful hosts
my visit, and I appreciate the fact that they allowed me to stay with them.

In Maryland I stayed one night with my friends Eric and Carol Chandler, then we drove into the capitol and boarded our train for San Francisco. Fortunately we had booked first class cells on the train, so we had our sleeping quarters and bathrooms in our own little rooms, with about the space for a queen size bed in total. It was difficult for me to turn around in the shower, but somehow we managed the trip, and were able to memorize the menu in the dining car after our third meal on board. I guess taking the train across the country is something everyone should enjoy, just for the variety of scenery that is possible, however I did find the quarters cramped, and there was little to do but read and look out the window. Perhaps it would have been better if they had some sort of excursion fare where one could stop for a day or two in the various cities we came to. I did get to see Ottumwa, home of Radar O'Rielly from Mash, which was about as close to a thrill as I got on the ride.
On the return trip, when we got to Reno there were avalanche warnings for the Burlington Northern tracks we were using, so we were rerouted on a more northern Union Pacific track line, and then when we got to Denver (early) there had been a derailment on the tracks ahead, so again we headed a bit north for the run into Chicago. We arrived in Chicago too late to make our connection, so they put us up in a very nice hotel, and we left the next day. It really was a minor inconvenience, and I really did enjoy the luxuries of a large hotel room that night.

The view of the buildings in Chicago at night from the window of my room was nice, and I tried to take a picture of it, but I was unsteady enough, and there was enough that it did not come out. Or maybe it was Christmas and I just did not know it. At any rate, I sort of like the shot I got of it.
I escaped Maryland about twenty four hours before they got socked with two feet of snow. I count my lucky stars. So it was off to Jane and Woody's place in Fort Myers, Florida. I had a relaxing week there, and we spent time at a slough near their condo, as well as a short drive around Sanibel Island with its wonderful Ding Darling Bird Sanctuary. I also got to see my friend Ted Walbourn and his wife Joan from my work time in Fulton, as well as Susie Mitloff and her husband from my high school days.

My flight from Tampa to Atlanta on the way to San Francisco was cancelled, and I was rerouted through Minneapolis. Again, I narrowly missed a storm by getting the rerouting, and was able to get to the west coast to spend some more time with my friends Carl Buchin and Claudia Valas. By this time I think I was so multiply jet lagged that I did not have a clear idea of where or when I was, and I think I left the camera in the suitcase the whole time.

I do know that I eventually went back to Boston, and flew on home two days later. I found America somehow changed. Some of the paranoia seems to have lifted. I also found it more materialistic that I remembered, but I think perhaps that is more my memory than any real change. I am proud to say that other than two sandwiches from Subway (which, by the way, were rather good) I avoided fast food for the whole trip, and my feet did not enter a single McDondald's, Burger King, Carl's Jr., Sonic, Wendy's, or other purveyor of questionable edibles.

So home again home again, just in time for the last of the winter rains, and the first of the sparkling clear, warming days of spring.