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 #3 FAVORITE PHOTO                                                                              January 15, 2024

Who is that elegant woman walking down the boardwalk in Atlantic City? It’s clear everyone wants to know. Look at them all turning to look at her! She walks with dignity and grace. People can’t even get close to her because she’s so special. She wears a wide brimmed hat to shade her from the hot sun which protects her silky-smooth skin. Her white gloves scrunched down to her wrists for a fashionable statement. A string of pearls encircles her neck. A simple dress for a daytime stroll, with hose and heels. 

Who took this photo? The photographer blurred the boardwalk’s throng into a haze leaving only this lovely lady to be the star.  Is she a celebrity, a socialite, a wealthy individual or even someone of royal descent?  She looks off and wears a Mona Lisa smile. What is she thinking? Who was she thinking about?

 

 

This is no celebrity, no socialite, no one of royal descent.  This is my great grandmother, Angelina Beccherini nee Bianchi. Nona was born in Treviglio, Italy on the 3^rd day of July 1883 and died in Islip, New York on the 4^th of December 1965. I remember playing a card game with her - “Steel the old man’s pack”. Nona was a tiny lady.  I remember being about 6 or 7 years old and being the same height as her.  Her curly hair was her gift to me. Her speech had a strong Italian accent pronouncing her words with stress on different syllables - for example comfortable was "comFORtable"

Angelina, along with her sister Arturina, arrived in New York on 4 June 1904 on the S.S. La Lorraine. They had $100.00 and they were going to their "brother Bianchi" on 78 Charlton St. New York. Her nationality was Italian, but her last permanent address was Havre France. 

She married Carlo Beccherini on the 14^th of October 1907 in New York City at St. Vincent De Paul and their original marriage certificate is written in French!  

She was very close with my father whom she called “Sonny”. Nona was a very special lady and I'm glad I got to meet her. 

 

 

“Starts with a vowel”                                                                                                           


   
April 2, 2023

Anna and the Airplane

I would like to Announce to you my “Starts with a vowel” prompt and my mother - Anna Dolores Golden nee Vampatella, born May 26, 1930 and died January 7, 2012.    Anna had a lot of Admirable Attributes and some interesting ones.

Anna’s Artistic Acumen was Astounding! She loved to sit in her chair watching TV and sketching whatever came to her head. When sketching, her preferred Aesthetic was focused on the Awesome beauty and Allure of women and nature. She especially loved sketching women – their faces, their hands, their beauty.  Her Artistic interest moved to painting with oils and would Aspire to be like Bob Ross and Absorb his tips on painting landscapes.  Only once do I remember Anna taking an Adult Ed Art class with my Aunt Marie, her sister. When she was younger, she created a mermaid made of clay. Not only did she sculpt the mermaid but she painted her.  I remember loving that mermaid. I know the mermaid broke but I do not remember if I was the culprit or was it just due to time. I was Astounded as a child as I am now to think of the Affinity for Art that lay in her fingers.

This was one of her "doodles"!! 

Anna Adored her children, grandchildren and all her family – they were everything to her! The Admiration went both ways – we loved her too!

Anna had an Addiction to Alcohol and cigarettes.  She Attached herself to Alcoholics Anonymous to help with her Addiction to Alcohol. When she died, she had more than 40 years of sobriety!! Her courage to battle this disease was Amazing and Admirable.  Cigarettes was a far more difficult Addiction to Abandon and she smoked for more years than I will ever know.  Emphysema was the Aftereffect of smoking and she Agonized with each breath. She became Attached to her oxygen. 

So, what does this have to do with the Airplane?  Nothing, I just wanted to Acquaint you with my Amazingly Awesome mother Anna.

The Airplane: There was a time when my brother, Charlie who lived in Arizona and had some Ailments. Mom, my brother Robbie, sister-in-law Ronnie and I decided to go to Arizona to see my Ailing brother. 

Anna also had some Anxiety. Anxiety that Affected others. One of her Anxiety related issues was to Airplanes. Not the Airplane itself but flying on Airplanes. 

In Anticipation of the Airplane flight, Anna got a special oxygen tank that could be used on an Airplane. The Apprehension of the flight to Arizona only Augmented the Anxiety.  Robbie and Ronnie sat behind us.  Mom was on an Aisle seat and I was in the middle with her oxygen tank under the seat in front of me. Mom’s Angst made her do some very funny things.  I’m laughing as I write this. 

 As we started taxiing, I was trying to Avert mom’s Attention by talking to her about Anything I could think of.  I’m watching her and I notice she is leaning into the Aisle and staring straight Ahead but I kept talking to her.  She is not Answering me but I kept talking hoping to Alleviate her Anxiety. She finally turns to me and Annoyingly Announces, “Would you please stop talking, I’m trying to help the pilot fly the plane!” ….. Oh, Mama!!

Anna’s Absence has Affected me dearly, but her Antics will Always be Adhered to my heart.

 

“Gone too Soon”                                                                                     February 27, 2023

 

I have given this so much thought. There are so many who I feel have gone too soon or gone too young.  Although my heart hurts when I think of ALL those that that have passed and I miss them terribly, there are those who I feel their lives were cut short and “gone too soon”.  I’d like to share with you those people.  

Nathanial Golden: died at the tender age of 10 in a vehicle accident. Nate was the son of my nephew Charles Victor Golden who is the son of my brother Charles Philip Golden. I never met Nate but was told by many that he was a wonderful, happy, loving young person. Seems like God got one of the good ones early!!

Gregory Golden: died at the age of 23. Gregory was the son of my brother Robert Richard Golden. Gregory was a loving, kind, helpful young man. He was there when you needed him, he was great at helping with conflict and having your back when you needed it.  Truly a great loss for the family.

Charles Philip Golden: died at age 67 from heart disease.  Charlie was my brother. Charlie was a talented musician and loved making people laugh. He was playing the accordion at age 5 and could pick up almost any instrument and play it. He had an adoring wife and 3 terrific kids. 

Charles Victor Golden: died at age 69 from heart disease and cancer. Charlie was my father. I was one of the lucky ones to have a terrific daddy.

Charles Edward Gallagher: died at age 66 of a very brief illness. Charlie was my father-in-law; Mark’s dad.  He was a very loving and kind man who adored his family.  He was so happy when he started having grandchildren. He would walk around town with the carriage (yes, carriage, not stroller) showing off the baby.

Charles Francis Gallagher: died at age 40. He was Charles Edwards’s father - Mark’s grandfather.  This man came to the United States when he was 22 from Donegal, Ireland.  He too died from a brief illness when his only child was just 2 years old. It’s no wonder that Charles Edward treasured his family.

Marie Eleanor Caddell nee Vampatella:  died at age 41 from cancer. Marie was my maternal aunt.  She was a beautiful woman who had a hard life with a mean husband.  She loved her nieces and nephews. She too had a knack for music.  One day she just started playing the piano and her siblings would gather round and sing with her. 

Angelina Skrocki nee Vampatella: died at age 48 from cancer. Angelina was my maternal aunt. She was a very funny lady who will always have a very special place in my heart.

Antoinette Vampatella nee Rapuano: died at age 56 from cancer.  Antoinette was my maternal grandmother.  I was two years old when she passed and have no memory of her.  Everyone said she was a sweet loving lady. I took her name as my confirmation name to honor her. My oldest daughter was born on her birthday – April 27^th.

Carmen Rapuano: died at age 25 in 1946 from heart anomaly. He was going to the minor leagues!  Baseball was in his blood.

There are so many others. I think of the Vampatella twins that died in Sicily when they were two years old and their father was in the United States trying to make some money for his family, Salvatore Vampatella who died as child from tetanus in Sicily, and all the others that we will never know about, no matter how much research we do. 

Gone too soon….Gone too young…. Gone but hopefully not forgotten.