The women in these families didn't escape the ravages of the sins committed by the men. The best they could hope for is to pretend to be Catholic or take pills. My mom took reds and benzos (rather than avail herself of the Irish relief). My paternal grandmother must have had some formal book-learning because she could read and write both Italian and English so she could translate documents for people. She could half-ass speak English too, although not the same version of English I speak.
My grandfather did alright for someone that didn't speak English. He owned a saloon, gas station, a bunch of houses, worked at Ford, bootlegging... They called him "Capital" but it's pronounced differently in Italian. I heard the old men shouting it at his funeral when I was a kid. He was a "padrone". He was the guy in the neighborhood that all the other Italians went to for help. Even the people back in Campania called him that because he would bring them over and set them up with houses and jobs. If the 'Black Hand' wasn't trying to kill him, the cops were but he outlived them all.
I don't know how old he was when he died. In his 80's I suppose. So far, no one has lived as long as him. Now it's just me, my last surviving brother and, if my uncle is still alive, him, that have the name that my grandfather made up. My brother is two years older than me but if you saw us standing side by side and I told you he was my father, you wouldn't blink. He stayed, I didn't. It's going to be me. I'm going to outlive them all.
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