The Story of Angela Falconeri

Angela Falconeri was born on October 12, 1876, in the small Sicilian town of Acate (then called Biscari). She came from a family with deep roots in Sicily, though their lives were marked by the same hardships that touched many families of that time.
Angela's Ancestors

Angela's grandfather, Carmelo Falconeri, was born in the late 1700s. He married Anna Nicosia around 1819, and together they had three children. Tragically, Anna died in August 1830, leaving Carmelo a widower with young children. Just three months later, Carmelo married fifteen-year-old Salvatrice Miceli. Though their age difference was large, this was not unusual in Sicily at that time. Together, Carmelo and Salvatrice had nine children, building a large family despite the difficult times.

Their son Salvatore, born in 1833, grew up and married Francesca Puglisi in 1861. Salvatore and Francesca became Angela's parents, and Angela was their fifth child out of six. She grew up in a household where family was everything, and children were both a blessing and a source of worry in an age when many did not survive to adulthood.
Angela's Life and Marriage

On November 12, 1896, twenty-year-old Angela married Biagio Vampatella. Biagio worked for the Italian railroad, and his job was to keep the tracks clear for the trains. This work took them to different locations across Sicily as they followed where the railroad needed him. Between 1897 and 1913, Angela gave birth to eight children: Filippo, Salvatore, Giovanina, Angelina, Maria, Giuseppe, Giovanni, and Mario.

But Angela's life as a mother was filled with heartbreak. She lost two of her young sons, Salvatore and Giuseppe, while they were still small children. These losses must have weighed heavily on her heart.
Separation and Loss

In April 1913, Biagio made the difficult decision that many Italian men were making at that time—he would go to America to find better opportunities. He took their oldest son, sixteen-year-old Filippo (who would become Philip in America), and left for New York. Angela stayed behind in Sicily with their other children, and she was pregnant at the time. In October 1913, she gave birth to twin boys, Giovanni and Mario.

Angela never saw the shores of America. While Biagio and Philip were working odd jobs in New York, trying to build a new life, Angela faced another devastating loss back in Sicily. The twins, Giovanni and Mario, died when they were about two years old.

We don't know exactly when Angela passed away, but it was sometime before 1920. Philip never saw his mother again after he left Sicily in April 1913.
After Angela

Biagio returned to Sicily, and we don't know if he was able to be with Angela before she passed away. He stayed in Sicily until 1920, when he brought his three daughters—Giovannina, Angelina, and Maria—to America. He settled in New York, where he lived until his death in 1939.

All of Angela and Biagio's children who survived—Philip, Giovannina, Angelina, and Maria—built their lives in America and started families of their own.
Angela's Legacy

Angela Falconeri lived through times that we can barely imagine today. She moved from town to town as her husband's work demanded. She buried children. She said goodbye to her husband and oldest son, not knowing when she would see them again. She cared for the twins, Giovanni and Mario, and endured their deaths when they were just two years old.

Though we know few details about Angela's personality or her daily life, we know this: she was strong enough to endure what life gave her. She was our great-grandmother, and through her children—Philip, Giovannina, Angelina, and Maria—her story continues in all of us.

When we gather as family, we carry Angela's blood and her strength, even if we never heard her voice or saw her face. Her life reminds us that our family's journey to America came at a great cost, paid by those like Angela who stayed behind in Sicily.

 Prompt: Family Secrets

Grandpa Vamp's Secret Five-Dollar Club

Growing up, family secrets weren't something we discussed openly. But some secrets are too good not to share—like those involving my enigmatic Grandpa Vamp.

Grandma Vampatella (born Antoinette Rapuano) passed away when I was barely two years old, leaving me with no personal memories of her. At the time of her death, she had eight grandchildren, with me being the youngest. My only glimpses of her come from old family movies—particularly footage from my oldest cousin Mary Francis's 10th birthday celebration at my grandparents' house. In these grainy films, you can see Mary opening a present from Grandma and immediately rushing over to plant a thank-you kiss on her cheek.

Like in many families, Grandma was the gift-giving mastermind behind birthdays and holidays. When she died, Grandpa Vamp was adrift—so much so that several years later, he remarried a woman he affectionately (or not so affectionately) referred to as "the blister." Her actual name was Catherine, but those of us who remembered Grandma refused to call her "Grandma"—she was strictly "Aunt Katie" to us. Whether Aunt Katie ever took up the mantle of birthday gift-giver remains lost to family history.

But here's where the story gets interesting. If you happened to be at Grandpa's house on your birthday, he'd mysteriously beckon you to a quiet corner, press a crisp five-dollar bill into your palm, and with conspiratorial seriousness whisper, "Don't tell anyone—this is our secret." For years, each of us grandkids thought we were special, the sole member of Grandpa's clandestine five-dollar club.

It wasn't until we were adults, swapping childhood stories, that we discovered Grandpa's elaborate web of "secrets." My cousin Marie and I compared notes and realized we'd both been sworn to silence over identical five-dollar birthday handouts. When we expanded our investigation, the results were... inconsistent. My oldest cousin Mary claimed she never received anything beyond the occasional Tootsie Roll. My brother insists all he ever got for cutting Grandpa's lawn was a single jellybean!

Was Grandpa playing favorites? Was he simply forgetful? Or was this his peculiar way of creating special moments with each grandchild, letting us feel like we shared something unique with him, even if that something was just a modest bill and a contrived secret?

Whatever his motivation, Grandpa Vamp was undeniably a character—one whose quirky rituals have given us stories to share long after those five-dollar bills were spent.

Prompt: Favorite Photo

January 6, 2025

I'm one of the lucky ones - I had a wonderful father, and I am very very blessed.  

It was August 1958, and my mother was expecting her third child.  She had been blessed with 2 boys in the early '50's, but the memory of her previous birthing experiences cast a long shadow. The medications administered during my second brother's birth had plunged her into a world of terrifying hallucinations and nightmares, leaving her scarred and hesitant to expand our family further. It took six years for her to gather the courage to try again.

Enter her Hungarian obstetrician, a man whose accent my mother would fondly imitate in later years. When she confided her fears about the medications, he responded with a compassionate, "Miiiisssses Golden, I will help you. We will do this under hypnosis."  Though skeptical, my mother's desire for another child outweighed her doubts. 

Throughout her pregnancy, the doctor employed the power of suggestion. My father watched in amazement as my mother responded to hypnotic cues, perceiving the scent of roses where there was only formaldehyde. It was a departure from the '50's norm of treating childbirth as an "illness" requiring heavy medication.

Mom's expected date of confinement was 22 Aug 1958, but I was content and comfortable right where I was, snuggled safe and warm within my mother.  Two weeks later, mom and dad were watching the Miss America pageant, and my brothers were sleeping soundly in their rooms.  That night, labor started, and daddy took mommy to the hospital.  

My mother, ever the character, was in the hospital in labor and smoking, claiming to fill up an ash tray, without pain.  It was about 6am when she told the nurse she was ready to push, and the nurse said it wasn't time, and the doctor wasn't ready.  But that didn't stop mom from pushing.  Someone came running and caught me as I was coming out. It was 6:15am.  Mom said she felt great, and she was thrilled to have a little girl.  

Contrary to how things were done at the time, mom called daddy to let him know about his new daughter.  Dad's initial confusion at hearing her alert voice quickly turned to joy upon learning of his new daughter. It is said that he got out his shot gun and shot it in the air to celebrate my arrival.  

This photograph captures a moment of pure love - my father cradling me in his arms, his face a canvas of adoration and wonder.   Although my own expression was that of bewilderment, it was the beginning of an unshakeable bond.  I never once doubted my daddy.

As I reflect on this photo, I am filled with a bittersweet longing. Mom overcame her fears, trusted her provider and the devotion of my father evident in this picture. These are the foundations upon which my life was built. And though I miss my daddy dearly, the love captured in this photo remains an eternal comfort, a testament to the power of family and the enduring connection between a father and his daughter.  

 

A Sweet Journey: From Egg Beater to Electric Mixer

In my childhood home, baking was a rare occurrence. My mom occasionally whipped up Toll House cookies or, on very special occasions, a boxed cake. But I loved baking. I'd watch my grandmother create delicious treats from boxed mixes, making it look like so much fun.

Our family wasn't well-off, and my mother wasn't much of a baker. So, when we did bake, we used an eggbeater to mix the batter. For those unfamiliar with this tool, it's a hand-held device with a crank that you manually turn to rotate the beaters. It worked well enough for cake batter, which is relatively thin. But for cookie dough, it was a real workout! Creaming butter was nearly impossible. Sometimes, when making a cake, the beaters would slip, splattering batter everywhere. As a young child, controlling this unwieldy device was a challenge.

I'd heard about electric hand mixers and dreamed of having one. Imagine - plug it in, and the machine does all the work! It even had different speeds. My arm-powered eggbeater had only one speed: slow and getting slower as I tired. When I asked my mother if we could get an electric mixer, she didn't see the need, given how rarely we baked. Money was tight, and my dream seemed out of reach.

But I wasn't ready to give up. Though I had no money and no idea how much a mixer cost, I was determined to find a way.

One day, my mom came home from the A&P, our local grocery store, with a Plaid Stamps catalog. Plaid Stamps, like Green Stamps, were trading stamps popular in the 1960s. You'd receive stamps based on how much you spent at the store, paste them into booklets, and redeem them for household items at a Plaid Stamp store. Mom usually threw the stamps away, having no interest in collecting them.

As I browsed through the catalog, marveling at all the items available, I spotted it - the hand-held mixer I longed for. It was my "Red Ryder Air Rifle" moment, and suddenly, I saw a path to making my baking dreams come true.

It took me about a year to collect enough booklets for the electric hand mixer. The day finally came when my mother took me to the Plaid Stamp store. With those precious booklets clutched tightly in my hand, I approached the counter and exchanged them for the most beautiful hand mixer I'd ever seen.

I had done it! Through perseverance and determination, I had found a way to achieve my goal without money. This experience taught me a valuable lesson: with patience and creativity, even seemingly impossible dreams can become reality.

 Prompt: Homestead

When I got the prompt "homestead", my mind fluttered to the endless prairies of the American West, where brave souls carved lives out of rugged land. But homesteading, at its core, transcends those storied fields; it encompasses the essence of "home" itself.  For me and my mother (and I will guess for others) that sanctuary rested at 145 Cedarhurst St in North Great River, New York - the cherished abode of my grandfather, Philip Vampatella.

Sundays at Grandpa's house was transformed into a family affair. Aunts, uncles and cousins flocked to see each other and grandpa.  Sometimes, upon arrival, a game of pinochle was going on. Grandpa was known for his cheating tactics! Other times, grandpa was seated at his handcrafted bench at the table. Rings of smoke from his Chesterfields engulfed him. Next to him was a jelly glass filled with red Gallo wine. Katie, his second wife, would be at the stove making something that would make my father's mouth water. 

The homestead was situated on 2 acres, its U-shaped driveway the setting for countless unaccompanied driving lessons - my brothers, cousins and I, navigating the loops with unbridled joy, our hearts racing as we cherished those fleeting moments of freedom. A sturdy oak tree, our playground, stood sentinel by the detached garage, while the faint silhouette of a parked car traced an indelible memory I never quite captured.  

A miniature house, otherwise known as the "chicken coop" was where grandpa's sister, Mary lived. Unmarried and cared for by grandpa, Aunt Mary welcomed visitors with the warmth of bread and jelly in her modest home - an abode perhaps no larger than ten by twenty feet. She had a yappy little dog named Lammy. No one really liked him, but he was company for her.  

Nestled beside her tiny dwelling was grandpa's workshop, a testament to his craftsmanship. Once his first home, it transformed into a hub of creativity as he lent his skilled hands to carpentry. Machinery hummed, sawdust danced in motes of light, and the rich scent of fresh-cut wood enveloped me like a nostalgic embrace. I would collect leftover scraps to create my own miniature towns in the backyard fueled by imagination.

So how did a young man from Vittoria, Sicily who arrived in the United States at the age of 15 with his father, Biagio and didn't speak a word of English come to make a homestead in Great River, Long Island? 

In 1920, after completing his service in the army during WWI, Philip welcomed his father, Biagio back to the United States.  A few years prior, Biagio was summoned back to Sicily for unclear reasons, but while he was there his wife had died.  Biagio and his 3 daughters, Giovannina, Angelina and Maria arrived in the US.  Giovannina and Angelina were quickly married off and Maria (Mary) remained unmarried and cooked and cleaned for her brother and father.  The 3 Vampatella's were living in cheap, close quarts in Marion, Jersey City, New Jersey. Marion had a large concentration of Italians and warehouses where laborers could work.  

The city's cobblestone streets echoed with the cacophony of traffic, a symphony of honking horns, shouting vendors, and the relentless clanking of trains.  As a railway hub, Marion was a hive of activity, its air thick with the noxious blend of industrial fumes and the swampy stench that grandpa described as a "cocktail served to all and sundry." Yet, amidst this chaotic, sensory-overloading environment, Biagio and Philip found a way to thrive, working diligently and saving their hard-earned money.

One day in 1921, while perusing the newspaper, an ad caught the eye of Philip. It said something to the effect of: 

Prime Long Island Real Estate!

Attention, aspiring landowners!!

 Here’s your golden opportunity to acquire a generous plot of ground on picturesque Long Island!

 

Nestled amid lush vegetation and offering a tranquil escape, this splendid piece of land is but a stone’s throw away from the shimmering shores of the sea. Imagine the soothing sounds of the waves and the gentle sea breeze right at your doorstep!

 

Located just a few hundred feet from the charming center of town, you’ll enjoy the perfect harmony of serene countryside living and convenient access to local amenities.

 

All this can be yours for the astonishingly low price of just $250!  

Don’t let this incredible opportunity slip through your fingers! First come, first served. Act now and secure your slice of paradise!

Philip and Biagio took the train to Great River, Long Island and met with the agent from the "House and Home Company". From the train station they climbed into a Ford Model T taxi and headed north on a dusty dirt road. The driver left the 3 of them in this vast empty plot of land. Grandpa describes this place in Passeggiata: 

"This place was all the ad had claimed. Vast expanses of scrub oak vied shoulder high against the taller jack pines hugging loftier elevations. There was no visible sign of human habitation; only a virgin sea of green split by a dusty road coming to a dead-end declivity. The road, main drag of the area, was Connetquot Avenue."

Philip was a little disappointed it wasn't a "stone's throw" away from the sea and complained to the agent.  They walked about 2 miles more and there was a clear strip of land that was later to be called Cedarhurst St. The road was not paved.  There was no power, no water, no telephone wires - there was nothing. It wasn't even close to a town that the ad had mentioned! Biagio and Philip discussed whether this is where they wanted to settle.  No city, no noise, no foul-smelling air, no garbage. Biagio said, "..it was as God had made it, very nice." 

Philip turned to the agent and said, "We'll take one acre" and gave him a deposit. Biagio now owned a piece of America!! But having land and building a home were two different things. A home was a lot more money and time and until they could build that home, Philip, Biagio and Mary moved away from the chaos of Marion, New Jersey and out to Long Island closer to their future. 

By 1924, Biagio was diligently working alone to clear his land and dig a hole for his new home.  Meanwhile, Philip was navigating the challenges of married life with his beloved Antoinette Rapuano. He made a point for her to visit her family in New Haven twice a month, all while managing their life on Long Island.  After welcoming 2 children, Antoinette grew weary of the cramped quarters, the outhouses, and the burden of paying rent. A quiet woman who "asked for nothing" found the courage to request her hardworking husband to provide her with a proper home. 

In 1927, Philip took a significant step towards realizing his dream by purchasing two acres of land on Cedarhurst Street for $800. with determination and resourcefulness, he set about building his family's home from the ground up.  Philip salvaged wood from old stables and sheds belonging to the Belmont company, demonstrating his frugality and ingenuity. The construction process was a true community effort, with friends pitching in to help dig the foundation and pour cement.

Over the next three years, Philip worked tirelessly on the house, balancing his construction efforts with his growing family responsibilities. Even his wife joined in the labor, showcasing the couples' shared commitment to creating their home. Despite the challenges of raising 2 more children during this period, Philip persevered. His dedication paid off as the house gradually took shape, transforming from a mere plot of land into a warm, welcoming home for his expanding family. 

Philip Vampatella's greatest achievement wasn't just building a home, but creating a family legacy filled with love, laughter, and enduring memories. His homestead on Cedarhurst Street will forever remain a symbol of one man's dream and the family that flourished because of it.  

I'd like to acknowledge Perplexity in helping me craft this story. And Philip Vampatella for writing his life in Passaggiata. 

 Prompt: Changing Names:                                                                       February 24, 2024

This prompt resonated deeply with me, as several members of my family have undergone name changes.  My great uncle, Charles Beccherini, legally shed his Italian surname, becoming Charles Beech, perhaps aiming to lessen its influence on his identity. Similarly, my great uncle Anthony Rapuano adopted the name Freddie Rappuano. Rumors swirled that he held a low-level position within the mafia, possibly prompting the change.  Unlike these relatives, my grandfather Andrew Titone retained his name, but his children adopted their stepfathers' surnames, presumably seeking distance from him.  While each alteration likely stemmed from personal rationale, instances of reverting to the original name are uncommon. a notable exception was my other grandfather, Philip Vampatella, who eventually reclaimed his original name. Here is his story. 

1896 September 14 - Filippo Vampatella was born in Biscari, Sicily. When dinner time came his mom would yell for him, "Filippo, vieni e mangia!" (Filippo, Come eat!) When he needed to be disciplined his father might say, "Filippo, non farlo!" (Filippo, don't do that!) 

Filippo's Civil Birth Record

1913 March 19th, Biagio and his son Filippo boarded the S.S. Napoli in Palermo. They left behind Filippo's mother, Angela, and his sisters Giovannina, Angelina and Maria in hopes to return home to their loved ones with money in their pocket for a better life. 

Searching for Filippo's immigration record was quite the challenge as the transcription of his name was "Filippo Vanpatilla". Making the discovery of his immigration more difficult. The copy of the record is poor and almost impossible to read and I can see how someone would transcribe his name incorrectly. 

1914 July - WWI broke out.  

1915 February - Philip as he was now called in America, writes in Passeggiata, "...word from Angela about some urgent business at home. So, Biagio borrowed some money, told his boy he would be back soon and boarded the first ship back to Italy." 

He continues to write, "Letters from home informed the boy Biagio could not come back right away but that he would as soon as he was able to." 

Although, I cannot be certain as to the urgent matter back in Italy that Angela referred to, I can speculate.  When Biagio and Filippo left Sicily in March of 1913 - Angela was expecting.  I don't know if Biagio knew or not, I'd like to think he didn't know.  On September 10th, 1913, in the town of Vittoria, Angela gave birth to a set of twin boys - Mario and Giovanni. Angela was now taking care of her 3 daughters, Giovaninna, Angelina and Maria as well as infant twin sons.  Maria, the twin's sister (our aunt Mary), indicated they died when they were 2. The cause of their deaths, whether illness or accident, remains unknown. 

1915 May 23 - Italy enters World War I.  In Passeggiata, Philip says he would get letters from his father, Biagio, 

Often he wrote his son to return home and do his duty in the army. Philip let his father's suggestions slip by unheeded but sent home some money every time he wrote.

From home news continued on the gloomy side.  Biagio, Angela and the girls felt the pinch of hunger; food was scarce due to so many men taken from the fields into the army. Few women were able to take men's places. 

Cousin Rosario had stopped an Austrian bullet somewhere in the Alps. Cousin Giovanni awaited induction, Cousin Biagio was still too young but anxious to go. Sister Giovannina had a sweetheart in the army. Sister Lina helped Angela care for a set of twins born since Biagio's return home; These two brothers Philip never came to know: they died in infancy.  Sister Maria was yet at school. 

 With this picture before his eyes, Philip could not reconcile himself with the idea he owed his native land anything.  Biagio continuously wrote him to return home and help win the war.  Philip never had enough money to pay passage back. He was blissfully ignorant of the fact he could have gone free of charge.  He continued to demure, some impulse telling him to stay back and work and keep sending money home.  Biagio wrote he would contact people in high place to compel his son to return and do his duty. 

Philip did not like this because he had begun to like America. He was afraid too, that Biagio, a man of his word, would carry out the threat. Philip left New Haven, assumed a spurious name, went to New Britain, stopped writing home.

Philip was caught between his family back in Italy and his new home, America.  Italians were not favorably looked upon here in the United States and a name like Vampatella was clearly an Italian name. Judgements were made just by hearing a name like that.  

   

1917 July 11th, he applied for Naturalization using the name Philip Vamptell. 

1918 January 18th, he joined the United States Army under the name Philip Vamptell.  he was a private in the 22nd regiment of the U.S. Infantry.

While in the army, he met with a sergeant Francois and had the following conversation:  

Off-handedly the sergeant fished for information. he wanted to know why the boy had misspelled his name.

'You seem to know your a-b-c's pretty well,' said the sergeant. 'I know most Italian names end in a, e, i or o. Why not yours?'

'Simple, sarge. I like to Americanize my spelling. That should be reason enough. But I don't mind telling you the real reason: I don't like to be in the Italian army.'

'That's a reason? Pretty slim, isn't it?'

'I'm not ashamed of the Italian army. I'm not ashamed of the misspelling of my name. I'm simply afraid.'

'Afraid of what? Do you think the American army is going to pamper you?'

'No, my father is still in Italy. For the last 2 years he has begged me to enlist in the Italian army. Since I have turned a deaf ear to his pleas, he has finally threatened me to have some responsible people in Italy contact some responsible people here to force me back to the old country.'

'That's a lot of bunk. They couldn't do that in the first place. Or could they?'

'I don't know. I just want to play it safe.'

1918 June, Philip along with 3 other soldiers were ordered to get on the ferry and then they were taken to City Hall in New York City.  The young men were scared, and one claimed, "I didn't do nothin!" They were ushered into a room with a man in a black robe, told to raise their right hands and made them swear allegiance to the United States of America and declared them US Citizens. Philip writes, "Philip had yet to grasp the importance of being an American Citizen, but not for long.  He only regretted the misspelling of his name."

Philip did not maintain the name Vamptell. He went back to using his Italian birth name of Vampatella.  He must have been bothered by his name change and in 1962, after he got married and had children, he didn't want that name haunting him or his children and had the following document drawn up declaring that Filippo Vampatella, Philip Vamptell and Philip Vampatella were the same person. 

My grandpa was a very special man.  So glad he wrote his story so the rest of us could understand and appreciate what he endured.  I'm proud he kept his name Vampatella!! 

 Prompt: Witness to History                                                                                 January 18,2024

World War II, indeed, was a global conflict that had a profound and lasting impact on the world we live in today. From 1939 to 1945, millions of people were killed, cities were destroyed, and the political landscape of the world was forever changed.  

The war was fought on land, sea, and air, with major battles taking place in Europe, Asia, and Africa.  Some of the most well-known battles include the Battle of Iwo Jima, the D-Day invasion, and the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

We've all seen movies, read books and heard stories. But there were those who lived and partook in this history. 

Biagio "Bennie" Philip Vampatella was 14 when the war started. Born in Connecticut on the 4th of July 1925, he was the first son of Philip and Antoinette Vampatella. As the naming pattern of Italian families go, he was named after his paternal grandfather. 

I imagine the family huddling around the radio and listening with anxiety and anticipation to the distant news of the day. Bombs, air raids, captures, injuries, and deaths occurring across the Atlantic and Pacific. Family discussions regarding the role of the United States and its allies against fascism, the role and the power of democracy and freedom. Bennie's father reminding his family what life was like in Sicily and how much better life was in the U.S. because this country heard the voices of its people in making laws and decisions and voting in the leader of the country. This is the "land of the free and the home of the brave".

In 1943, 2 days before he turned 18, Bennie enlisted in the navy. He was assigned to the U.S.S. Arkansas, a dreadnought battleship. The Arkansas was initially used to accompany occupied forces to Europe but help was needed on the sea to assist in the war effort.  The ship needed some repairs and updates. When they were completed, her first mission was June 6, 1944 off the northern coast of France - D-Day! 

Arkansas (BB 33) (navy.mil) - More Information about the U.S.S. Arkansas

Bennie was in the Gunnery Department along with many other men. The sailors would have been dwarfed by the sheer size of the 12-inch guns they toiled to load. These behemoths, towering like steel sentinels, were capable of hurling shells weighing over a ton, each one a monstrous harbinger of destruction for the enemy lines.  

Imagine the scene: Bennie, his muscles straining under the exertion, heaving on ropes thick as his arm to drag a shell up the loading ramp. his comrades, faces grim with determination, would be manhandling other components, their synchronized movements a desperate ballet against the clock. the Guns themselves, their dark bores glinting with malevolent purpose, would dominate the space, their every shudder a portent of the violence to come.

General Eisenhower lead the initiative of the allies to storm the beaches of Normandy. D-Day!!  The ship was located about 4,000 yards off Omaha beach.  All the men were aware that their goal was to bomb the hell out of the Germans in hopes of softening the enemy before the land invasion. The intensity of their mission was felt throughout the ship. This was the do or die moment for the allies. Bennie along with his fellow gunners, loaded those barrels and started firing about 6am for about 40 minutes before the assault troops landed on the beach.  The sounds of the guns were deafening, the acrid smell of cordite, the smoke and sweat burned their eyes as these crew members worked tirelessly to aid in the landing of the troops on Omaha Beach.

Bennie's father, Philip Vampatella writes in Passeggiata: When the firing ceased, "the forward part of the wooden cover over the steel decking of the Arkansas was torn up and in splinters, not from enemy shell hits but from concussion or vacuum created by her own blasts. That night Ben left the gun turret, found a spread tarpaulin on a section of deck, crept under it, went to sleep with his head resting on what appeared to be a sea bag. On awaking he found the ship heading westward and the object he had used a a pillow, the rigid body of a dead shipmate". 

Meanwhile, back in Great River, Long Island, New York, Ben's mom and dad listened to the radio and heard the first radio bulletin on NBC - 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9xk9GaV0NE

The Arkansas's job continued the 25th of June bombarding Cherbourg attacking the German fortification of the port.  The allies won!

From the end of June to September, Bennie and his fellow crewmates helped the allied forces in Oran, Algeria; Taranto, Italy; southern France; and Sicily then headed back to Boston for repairs. 

Bennie's little brother Philip was 4 years old when Bennie got leave.  Philip writes, "Now I really don't know if he had called ahead or if it was a surprise... but one day, big brother Ben appeared at the front door. He had gotten some time off while the ship was in port.  I remember jumping for joy, but most of all, I remember my mother, his mother, and her reactions. she grabbed him and wouldn't let go. she cried, she laughed, she loved, she kissed him. I never before (or since) seen such consummate joy in a human being as I saw in my mother that moment. But that's when the trouble started. Mom when she had collected herself, asked 'how long are you home for'? 'For a little while,' he said and I, a four year old, had no idea what a "little while" meant.  Was it minutes? Was it hours? all I know is that I broke into uncontrollable sobs because I thought he was leaving right away. As it was he was home for a week or so." 

The war continued and Bennie was now headed to the Pacific via the Panama Canal. The Arkansas was situated off the west coast of Iwo Jima in February 1945. The goal - the take the island and its airfields from the Imperial Japanese Army. They bombarded the Japanese resistance so the Marines could land on the island and take it over.  

In March of the same year they headed to Okinawa. For 46 days they bombarded the beach while the kamikaze's attempted to attack the Arkansas without success. A testament to the tenacity of its crew, who under Bennie's watchful gaze, kept the guns spitting defiance in the face of impossible odds.

Bennie's desire to fight for his country, defend against tyranny, and support a democratic way of life lead him into some of the most important battles of the war. He witnessed war firsthand and watched the tide turn in favor of the allies.

As Bennie stepped off the Arkansas at war's end, he carried within him the scars, both physical and emotional, of his wartime experiences. He had seen the face of evil, felt the sting of loss, and tasted the bitter sweetness of victory. But he also carried the unwavering spirit of a man who had stared into the abyss and emerged, forever changed, but unbroken.