By Vincenzina Grasso, La Nostra Voce
It’s true that through the years some Christmas memories fade away, while others are indelible, never to be forgotten. Two of my favorite Christmas memories occurred in 1965 and 1966, and they were deeply interconnected.
As the holiday was approaching, two subjects were on my mind. Because my twin sister was seriously ill, I needed to make 1965 Natale very special. And because photography has always been my passion, I told my husband Sebastian we needed a new movie camera. Since my grandmothers were both in their late 80’s, I always yearned to surprise them by featuring their 10 American great-grandchildren on a movie film.
My prayers were answered, when a week before Christmas, Sebastian surprised me with an early present, a Bolex 8mm made in Switzerland. A large poster stated: “Buon Natale 1965; feliz anno 1966.” All of the little “actors” sat next to the Christmas tree, holding their names. An unexpected character entered the scene, it was their beloved family cat that decided to join the fun.
This article first appeared in La Nostra Voce, ISDA’s monthly newspaper that chronicles Italian American history, culture and traditions. Subscribe today.
The rest of the movie was taken with all the family members enjoying a traditional and extraordinary Christmas Eve supper. My sister, although very ill but with a constant smile, enjoyed every moment of the evening. I concentrated on taking and recording her actions of that fateful gathering.
Within a few days, two 50-foot film rolls were sent to Italy, and the same amount to my mother’s sister in Argentina. After they received the films, we received joyous letters thanking us for the unexpected gift. We chuckled when our Aunt Annina stated: “When my husband saw the huge bowl of zeppole, the fried dough with anchovies on the table, he remarked, ‘You see, your sister still makes them in America, why did you stop making them?’”
We did not know it at the time, but sadly, it was my sister Maria’s last Christmas. She had suffered complications from the typhoid fever epidemic during her childhood. She passed away on July 29, 1966 at the young age of 32.
I had a hard time accepting her loss; growing up we were inseparable. She was my beloved sister and best friend. My husband tried his best to help me, but it was a struggle for both of us.
As the 1966 Christmas season approached, I was still very depressed. I did a lot of praying for God to help me. And soon, He intervened in an awe-inspiring way. As I was reading the evening newspaper, I came across a report from the Red Cross that suggested to send Christmas gifts to our servicemen in Vietnam. I thought about what to send. I reasoned: it won’t be socks, cookies or cigarettes, it will be home movies! I quickly stopped reading the rest of the newspaper and went to sit next to Sebastian to discuss my intentions.
Remembering how thrilled my relatives were in meeting all of us across the ocean, I needed to respect that joy for the soldiers fighting a hopeless war. I desperately needed to do something special in memory of my beloved sister.
With lots of enthusiasm, I said, “I need your approval, can I send home movies for some soldiers in Vietnam?” He immediately replied, “Yes, let’s do it.” He was ready to do anything at this point to help since the entire family was affected by my depression. The next day I called the Red Cross, and requested the names, addresses and phone numbers of servicemen who had small children at home. The receptionist was surprised and thrilled to help me with my request. The next day I received a list of six soldiers, five from our Shenango Valley, and one from Mercer, PA.
I quickly called all the wives and explained my plan. It was mid-November, and I needed to make appointments to get it done in time. They were beyond surprised to help me with my endeavors; their enthusiasm was what I needed most at that time.
Each appointment went smoothly. Their homes were beautifully decorated with outdoor lights and Christmas trees indoors. Soon, we had six rolls of film ready to be shipped out. The most endearing film for me was for Mr. Morgan, from Mercer. His wife was so excited that her husband was going to see his beautiful 6-month-old daughter for the first time on film.
The beautiful blonde, blue-eyed baby girl looked like a doll dressed in a Christmas red velvet dress. Her two-and-a-half-year-old brother looked handsome with his red blazer. The film captured the glow of a hurricane lamp with a red candle and the children nearby. Their eyes sparkled with joy, as soft Christmas music played in the background. Sebastian, upon seeing the beautiful results by the expensive camera, said, “It was worth every penny!”
By Christmastime we received six unique thank you cards from Vietnam that brightened our holiday season. But the very best surprise happened on Christmas Eve. We were getting ready to go to my parents’ home for the traditional Natale family celebration when the phone rang. It was one of the soldiers’ wives. She was so excited and said, “My husband just called me and said to call you immediately to thank you for the extraordinary gift that he received.” He also wanted me to know that the whole platoon was so excited to see scenes from home.
It was that phone call, on that memorable night, that lifted the veil of depression, and I was able to join my family with a new beginning. I was so grateful that my dear husband and I were able to bring immense happiness to soldiers we did not even know.
I personally knew the suffering of separation from loved ones during the war since I had experienced it in WW2!
For me, it was truly a Christmas miracle. Buon Natale!
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