My Parents Emigrate from Italy to Chicago’s South Side
My father, Gaspare Ruffalo, was born January 17, 1891, in Rende, which is in the Italian province of Cosenza and the region of Calabria. My mother, Concetta (Chiappetta) Ruffalo, was born December 8, 1894, in Rende. They were married in Marano Marchesato, a town in Cosenza, on December 12, 1912. Dad was twenty-one and Mom was eighteen.
    Calabria is located in the lowest southeastern tip of Italy. It is approximately fifty miles wide and almost two hundred miles long and forms the lower part of Italy, sometimes referred to as the boot.
    In Italy, my mother and father worked as farm laborers on their parents’ farms in Rende, located in the mountains. My parents left Italy because they wanted a better way of life and had learned from people who had left before them that America offered such opportunities.
     Many of their friends had the same dream. My parents and some of their friends came to America, settled in Chicago, and maintained their friendships for the rest of their lives.
    My father arrived at Ellis Island in New York on May 27, 1914; my mother followed seven years later on October 4, 1921. She worked on her parents’ farm and raised my brother Serafino until my father had enough money to pay for her voyage. Serafino was my parents’ third child born in Italy. Mom lost one child in a miscarriage; another died of pneumonia shortly after being born. During this time, she shared time with her nearby lady friends who also eventually came to America.
    Immigration officials misspelled many immigrant names. My parents didn’t speak any English until months after their arrival and didn’t read or write English or Italian. My father’s passenger record shows his last name as Ruffalo, but on my mother’s record and their marriage certificate, it is Ruffolo. As it has turned out, our family’s last name became known as Ruffalo. I always say now, “It’s ‘Ruffalo,’ just like buffalo, but only with an ‘R.’”
     In addition to accumulating money for my mother’s and Serafino’s voyage, my father had to save for their train fare from New York to Chicago, where he was living. He also saved for unforeseen emergency needs, and to pay for food and rent. He worked hard and long hours in Chicago’s sweatshops as an unskilled laborer. I think he also shoveled coal into factory furnaces. He often worked fourteen hours per day, six days per week. I do not know how much he earned or
where he worked, but he had a reputation among our relatives and friends as a hard worker and a respected individual. My parents never discussed with me their happiness and celebration in being together again after they had been separated for seven years. Mom did tell me later, when I was old enough to understand love, how much she loved my father as a fine man. She said that he loved her very much and that his eyes would sparkle when they were together.
     They first lived in a rented apartment on the second floor in an old two-family dwelling on the South Side of Chicago, a tightly knit Italian community on South Princeton Avenue. Croatian immigrants lived nearby and attended the same neighborhood Catholic churches. The second floor had four sleeping rooms for seven boarders. To earn extra income, my mother washed their grimy, dirty work clothes.
     My godfather’s wife, Raffaela Caldario, who we also called my godmother, had a son named Sam too. Sam and I have been friends our whole lives. Our families lived in the front and back of the second floor and shared the same bathroom, each with our own door. I was instructed to be sure I closed the latch on the Caldarios’ side of the door to let them know the bathroom was occupied. In those days, women washed clothes by hand, back and forth on a scrub board. It was hard work. Eventually, wringers were invented that consisted of two rollers turned with a handle to squeeze out the water before the clothes were hung on a line to dry. Electric washing machines and electric wringers came on the scene later.
    Hundreds, if not thousands, of Italians settled on the South Side of Chicago near Comiskey Park. Old houses, mostly two-story houses, were built close together. Children often played on the sidewalks and streets. Very few people owned automobiles then. Men worked twelve or fourteen hours per day, and women worked hard at home. They cooked, washed clothes, cleaned the house, and took care of the children. They didn’t have any of our modern appliances or conveniences, so domestic chores took much more time.
    My parents were good friends with Comare (coh-MAH-ree, Italian for godmother) Raffaela, and her husband, Compare (cohm-PAH-ree, godfather) Emilio Caldario, and Comare Luigina and her husband, Compare Charles (Charlie) Caldario. When addressing one another however, rather than use the formal title for the godparent relationship, we used the Italian word coomba for the men and cooma for the women. Charlie came to America long before his wife and their child, Edward, now called Ed. Coomba Charlie worked in a bakery and often gave us a fresh coffee cake for breakfast. Because at least one of the adults served as a godparent for one of the children in our respective families, we all referred to the adults as coomba or cooma. We were taught that a godparent relationship was of the highest order, next to a natural father or mother relationship to a child, due to a commitment to take care of their godchild if both
parents passed away. I remember good times with Compares Emilio and Charlie, and Comares Raffaela and Luigina while we lived in Chicago. I especially recall our dozens of get-togethers and hearing the adults sharing laughter and merriment.
    Most of the adults came from the Cosenza area, so they had much in common. My brothers and I have been lifelong friends with our godparents and all of their children: this includes Ed, who came from Italy as a child, and his sister Edith, born in Chicago, children of Comare Luigina and Compare Charlie; and Sam, Josephine, Sue, Frank, and Tom, all born in Chicago, children of Comare Raffaela and Compare Emilio. We shared our first communions, confirmations, marriages, and funerals.

An Accident Takes My Brother Serafino
For my mother, the saddest event of her life was the death of Serafino in 1924. He was just ten years old. She witnessed this sudden and terrifying accident through her second-floor kitchen window. She saw a yellow taxicab swiftly moving toward Serafino as he was crossing the street. There was no escape. He died upon impact. She described her frantic impulse to jump out of the window to get to her son and try to save his life. She held back, remembering that she was six months pregnant. That unborn child was me.
    I can still recall Serafino’s picture as he lay in his casket dressed in a suit. It was on our walls for several years. I don’t recall ever seeing any pictures of Serafino taken before he died. Photos in those days were taken only at a studio, and only rarely. I felt sadness and pain inmy heart for the suffering I know my mother experienced due to this tragic event.

My Brothers, Emil and Vincent, and I Are Born
I was born at home on South Princeton Avenue in Chicago on June 18, 1924. I was named as Serafino on my birth certificate. However, I was always called Sam.
    My brother Emil was born in the 2800 block on South Wells Street in Chicago on September 13, 1926, very near where I was born. He was named Umile on his birth certificate. We called him Emil (“Ay-mil”) all his life. My brother Vincent was born on February 4, 1930, also in Chicago. His birth certificate showed he was named Vicenzo. For many years, we called him Jim. Later, Jim preferred Vincent or Vince, the English version of Vicenzo.
    We were all baptized at the Santa Maria Incoronato at 218 Alexander Street, a Catholic church very near where we lived. My godfather was Emilio Caldario. We were very close. I visited him at least once or twice annually until he died in his nineties. My godmother’s name was Mary Gertesiano, my mother’s friend. I did not see her much or recall much about her.