Get Out!

Yesterday my husband and I took advantage of the surprisingly warm weather and took a ride to an area of Sussex County we’ve been wanting to explore for quite awhile.

I can’t tell you how happy we did.

If you aren’t a fan of the winter (like us), it is easy to just hibernate and wait for the weather to get above your age. When we heard the weather would be above freezing, we decided to make the effort to actually step outside. What we discovered is an area of Sussex County almost frozen in time with open space and houses that predate the Revolutionary War.

1977 map of New Jersey (source: Rutgers Special Collections)

We met someone who was quite knowledgeable about the area and owned an amazing home built in 1791. He freely shared information about the area and his ongoing effort to preserve as much of his property and the town’s history buildings. The town’s historical society works hard to preserve and educate on the area, from the time of the Lenapehoking to present day.

So why am I telling you all this and why am I not saying where we went? Simple. I want you to GET OUT! Grab a map (yes, a printed map) and take a ride. Is there an area in the state you’ve always wanted to visit? Plan a ride into your unknown. Visit the local historical society and ask questions. Patron their locally-owned shops and restaurants. Even consider joining their historical society (or at least make a donation).

I promise you; you’ll be happy you did!

The Language of New Jersey

If you live in New Jersey, you know we have a language all our own. However, if you are just a visitor, you may not know how best to communicate with us. Here are a few suggestion to help navigate a typical conversation.

“How You Doin’?”

Most people in other states start conversations with “hi” or “hello.” Well, here in Jersey, we start with “how you doin’?” Now to clarify, we aren’t really asking how you are; and quite frankly, we usually don’t care.

“You Good”

Now this one can be tricky. This phrase has multiple meanings. What is important here is the inflection. Here’s the full list of possibilities

You good: Are you OK?
You good: You are OK.
You good: How have you been?
You good: Stop talking. Just stop.
You good: You’re welcome.
You good: No need to apologize.
You good: You need some money?
You good: You got a problem?!

Down the Shore

In New Jersey it doesn’t matter where you live, you go “down the shore.” Once you are staying at the shore, then you “go to the beach.” And everyone has specific shore towns they prefer at certain points during their lives. In high school it is usually Seaside for the boardwalk food and the games. That was my spot. The hipster spot is usually Asbury Park. I’ve only been there once for 102.7 Beach Day in high school. Once I was dating my then-boyfriend (now husband), it was Island Beach State Park. After we were married, it was Wildwood Crest. If we could afford it, I would love a home in Cape May.

Benny and Shoobie

While we are on the the shore, there are two references to people who do not live down the shore full time and only venture to South Jersey during the summer. A “Benny” refers to Bayonne, Elizabeth, Newark and New York-area residents who head down the shore. They tend to stick with the more northern shore towns. A “Shoobie” is the same as a Benny, but refers to visitors from farther south, usually Philadelphia. The origin is believed to come from day-trippers who took the train to the shore, bringing lunch in a shoe box many decades ago. People don’t carry their lunch in a shoe box anymore, but the term lives on. Now there’s a whole battle between the full-timers and the visitors, but that’s a post for a different day.

“Take the Jughandle”

A typical jughandle in New Jersey.

In all my travels, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a jughandle anywhere else. It definitely causes confusion for out-of-state drivers. Simply put, on many roads in the great Garden State, if you want to make a left, you go right, follow the road around, and then go straight. The term refers to the look of the turn; like the handle of a jug.

“Wow. That’s crazy.”

There often comes a point during a conversation when people just start to tune you out. Maybe you’ve yammered on too long. Maybe the listener has lost interest. It is pretty rude, even for a New Jerseyan, to tell someone to just shut up. That’s kept for very specific circumstances. If you hear “wow; that’s crazy” twice during the same story, that means “wrap up it; I no longer care.”

“Want to go to the Diner?”

New Jersey is without a doubt the diner capital of the world and we are proud of it. We all have our favorites and will just about argue to the death that ours is the best. When I was in high school, my friends and I would always go to the Arlington Diner in North Arlington and the Lyndhurst Diner in Lyndhurst. Later on I would go to the Tick Tock in Clifton. Now that we live in Morris County, we go to the Roxbury Diner, the Jefferson Diner, and the Hibernia Diner.

Disco Fries

While we are on the subject of diners, let’s talk about something unique to Jersey – Disco Fries. No one else could come up with this combination, I promise you. Diner fries with melted mozzarella and topped with brown gravy. This is usually a 3:00 a.m. request on the way home from wherever you were earlier in the evening. After my prom, we headed into New York City. On the way home we stopped at a diner and ordered Disco Fries.

North Jersey/South Jersey

Now New Jersey may be a single state, however, there is a distinct difference between the language of North Jersey and South Jersey. I am a life-long North Jersey resident, so my language includes sub (a sandwich on long Italian roll), Taylor Ham (a much beloved and delicious pork product), Mischief Night (the night before Halloween when the focus is on the tricks and not the treats) and the teams are the Giants and the Jets. In South Jersey, a sub is a hoagie, Taylor Ham is Pork Roll, Mischief Night is Goosey Night, and the team is the Eagles. We all agree on one thing, however; Central Jersey is a myth.

And More…

There’s a lot more when it comes to the culture and language of New Jersey, but this will get you started. There is one thing you will discover quickly; we have serious Jersey Pride! We may joke with each other about our state, but if you’re not from here, you will get a mouth full of Jersey attitude if you try to dish it out. Yes, we know we have a sort-of accent. No, we don’t find asking us to say words like “coffee” or “water” funny. We aren’t really amused by “what exit,” even though we will ask each other. Jersey isn’t just a place to live. It is an attitude. And you are either from here and have it or you are from somewhere else and don’t. Jersey people will always stand up for other Jersey people. Even the ones we don’t like. We are all about protecting and representing. That’s what Jersey Pride is all about.

It’s a Wonderful Life in New Jersey

“A toast to my big brother George: The richest man in town.” ~Harry Bailey

This year marks the 75th anniversary of the movie classic “It’s a Wonderful Life” staring James Stewart as George Bailey. Originally a flop at the box office, it has found a place in the hearts of millions over the decades. What you may not know is the movie has strong ties to New Jersey, and even more so, my beloved Belleville.

Frances Goodrich was one of the screenwriters of this classic. Born in Belleville and raised in Nutley, Goodrich attended Collegiate School in Passaic, New Jersey, and graduated from Vassar College in 1912. Quite an accomplishment for a woman at that time. She married writer Albert Hackett in 1931 and the two together wrote some of the most memorable stories in the last century.

It’s a Wonderful Life, 1946 movie poster (credit: Wikipedia)

The couple received Academy Award for Screenplay nominations for The Thin Man, After the Thin Man, Father of the Bride, and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. They also won a Pulitzer Prize for Drama for their play The Diary of Anne Frank.

The screenplay and movie was based on the short story The Greatest Gift written by Philip Van Doren Stern in 1939. After being rejected by multiple publishers, Van Doren self-published 200 copies and gave them out as Christmas gifts in 1943. RKO purchased the story, where it was passed around until Frank Capra saw its potential. Capra worked with a few screen writers to prepare it for filming; Goodrich and Hackett were two of the writers on that small team.

Philip Van Doren Stern was born in Wyalusing, Pennsylvania and grew up in Jersey City, New Jersey and attended Lincoln High School in Jersey City before graduating from Rutgers University. He was a historian and author of some 40 works, and was best known for his books on the Civil War and was widely respected by scholars on the subject.

In 1938, inspired by Dickens’ A Christomas Carol, Van Doren penned The Greatest Gift. The author’s “Bedford Falls” is modeled on the charming town of Califon, also in New Jersey. The historic iron bridge in Califon is similar to the bridge that George Bailey considered jumping from in the movie.

So while the entire country can continue to love this iconic movie, New Jersey, and Belleville, can have pride in the story’s original writers.

Learning the History of the Lenni Lenape

When I was in fourth grade the entire year focused on New Jersey history. As much as I disliked Mrs. Stackfleth, I will say she was great at teaching the history of the Garden State.

We spent a great deal of time learning about the Lenni Lenape, whose traditional territory spanned what is now eastern Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Lower New York, and eastern Delaware. “Lenni-Lenape,” literally means “Men of Men”, but is translated to mean “Original People.” The two tribes we focused on the most were the Nanticoke-Lenni Lenape Tribal Nation and the Ramapough Lenape Nation; both from New Jersey. Just like most things in Jersey today, one was in what is now considered South Jersey and one was in what is now considered North Jersey.

Nanticoke-Lenni Lenape Tribal Nation is made up of descendants of Algonquian-speaking Nanticoke and Lenape peoples who remained in, or returned to, their ancient homeland at the Delaware Bay. Within the larger South Jersey tribe, there were three main groups; the Munsee (People of the Stony Country) lived in the north. The Unami (People Down River) and Unalachtigo (People Who Live Near the Ocean) lived in the central and southern part of the homeland.

The Ramapough Lenape Nation were a Munsee-speaking band, an Algonquian language-speaking people. Although the Ramapough Lenape Indian ancestors have resided in the Ramapough Mountains for thousands of years, there is little documentation in New York or New Jersey that refers to the nation. This is most commonly believed to be due to a lack of written language by the Ramapough people. As a result, most information has been passed orally from generation to generation, much of which has been lost to the ages.

The Nanticoke-Lenni Lenape Tribal Nation and the Ramapough Lenape Nation are both recognized by the New Jersey Commission on American Indian Affairs.

Throughout the year all the Tribal Nations in New Jersey as well as the New Jersey Commission on American Indian Affairs offer programs on their histories and original ways of life. It is a great way to learn about the original residents of Jersey.

Hoffa & Jersey: Perfect Together

“New Jersey and you… perfect together.” ~Governor Tom Kean

I remember seeing that commercial often growing up. It was a wonderful sentiment. Unfortunately, it turned into the tail end of a lot of jokes. From taxes to traffic, Jersey was perfect with a lot of things. Includes Jimmy Hoffa.

I grew up hearing the rumor he was a speed bump at Giants Stadium. That he had to be moved when the original stadium started to be built. Then, according to the book “I hear you paint houses,” Frank “The Irishman” Sheeran claimed to be the bagman who rubbed Hoffa out. However, when the house where he claimed the murder took place was searched, the DNA found did not match that of Hoffa.

Most recently, Phillip Moscato, Jr. said hitman Salvatore “Sally Bugs” Briguglio was the one who killed Hoffa. Moscato Jr. is the son of Phillip “Brother” Moscato, Sr., a Genovese crime family powerhouse in New Jersey who died of liver cancer in 2014 at the age of 79. Moscato, Sr. took the Fifth while testifying before the federal grand jury after Hoffa’s disappearance. A 1972 FBI Report described Moscaro Sr. as “one of the top loan sharks in Hudson and Bergen counties.”

A 1964 photo of Teamsters President Jimmy Hoffa outside the federal courthouse in Chattanooga. (Credit: Chattanooga Times Free Press via AP, File)

Federal investigators have long stated that Hoffa was murdered in Detroit when he disappeared on July 30th, 1975, and was reportedly transported to New Jersey by the Genovese crime family. It is believed that he was buried in the large dump that Moscato’s father owned in Jersey City, the PJP Landfill, known as “Moscato’s dump.” But Phil says that after one of his father’s mafia cohorts flipped and cooperated with the FBI in November of 1975, four months after Hoffa vanished, the body was moved so that authorities would not discover it.

That claim seems to have new life as the FBI has recently searched the PJP Landfill below the Pulaski Skyway. This search is related to interviews given by Frank Cappola, who was a teenager in the 1970s and worked at the old PJP Landfill in Jersey City with his father, Paul Cappola. Cappola said his dying father explained in 2008 how Hoffa’s body was delivered to the landfill in 1975, placed in a steel drum and buried with other barrels, bricks and dirt, according to reports from The New York Times and Fox News.

Frank Cappola spoke to Fox Nation and journalist Dan Moldea before he died in 2020 and signed a document with his father’s detailed story. So, out went the FBI… again. In late October of this year, the FBI searched the landfill. There’s no confirmation whether or not the FBI removed anything from the location.

So it seems Hoffa and Jersey will be perfect together for a little bit longer.

World War I Ended 100 Years ago… In New Jersey?

While many believe “the war to end all wars” ended in 1918 when the Armistice took place, technically the United States did not formally end World War I until 1921. Where did it end you might ask? You guessed it, New Jersey.

Allow me to explain.

The United States entered the Great War in April of 1917, almost three years after the War began. New Jersey would send 72,946 conscripts and 46,960 volunteers to fight. Camp Dix, later Ford Dix, opened in July of 1917, and the 78th “Lightning” Division was activated there one month later. Many New Jersey-born African Americans joined the 369th Infantry Regiment, a unit organized in nearby New York that went onto become the first black regiment to serve with the American Expeditionary Force.

The women of New Jersey also made significant contributions to the war effort. New Jersey was the training site for approximately 300 women who served in the Army Signal Corps as bilingual long-distance operators. Jersey ladies campaigned in Liberty Bond efforts as well as volunteering to serve with aid organizations such as the Red Cross. Dupont hired countless women to work as munition makers at plants in Carney’s Point, Salem County.

From Salem County to Morris County, manufacturing was everywhere. In 1915, Hercules Powder produced 150,000 pounds of cordite per day at the company’s Kenvil plant (not far from where I live currently in Ledgewood). Even Singer Sewing Machine in Elizabeth converted their normal production to wartime materials. By 1918, New Jersey was the largest supplier of munitions in America.

Ultimately, New Jersey paid a heavy toll. Our beloved state lost 3,836 New Jerseyans to combat, accident and disease. You can find over 160 monuments dedicated to our brave fighters. A total of nine New Jerseyans were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, including Marine Gunnery Sgt. Fred William Stockham of Belleville, my hometown, better known to those of us as The Motherland.

So, how did the United States officially end involvement in WWI?

On November 11, 1918, Germany signed the Armistice at Compiègne, ending World War I. In January of 1919, the Paris Peace Conference began. In June of 1919, Allied and German representatives signed Treaty of Versailles. The United States signs a treaty of guaranty, pledging to defend France in case of an unprovoked attack by Germany. However, the first time the Treaty of Versailles was presented to Congress in November of 1919, it failed. Yes, I’m serious.

The marker where the American involvement of World War I ended. Credit: atlasobscura.com

The Treaty of Versailles was presented to Congress for a vote again in March of 1920 and failed… again. No, I’m not kidding.

Ultimately, the Knox-Porter Resolution was signed by President Warren Harding to officially end American wartime involvement in July 1921. It was signed in Raritan, New Jersey on July 2, 1921.

I would love to tell you President Harding picked New Jersey to sign the Resolution as a thank you for all the contributions our great state made to the success of the war effort, but I would be lying. The President was visiting Senator Joseph Frelinghuysen of New Jersey to play golf. The papers were delivered to the Raritan Country Club, where the President signed the resolution and officially ended World War I… during a break from his golf game.

Now all that remains from that famous spot is a marker just off the Somerville Circle, not far from (you guessed it) a shopping mall. It’s funny and sad at the same time.

So what have we learned?

First, as I have always known, we are an awesome state. Our ancestors played a key role in the success of War.

Second, as I have mentioned in previous posts, it is important we protect our historic landmarks. A marker on the side of a busy traffic circle is undignified. Protect our Jersey history. Our future generations are depending on us.

Finally, and most importantly, our state paid a heavy price. We owe our vets a debt that can never be repaid. So make sure this Veteran’s Day to thank a vet. Shake their hand, pick up their check at the diner, or buy them a cup of coffee while on line to pay at Dunkin Donuts. We owe them far more, especially those who gave their last full measure of devotion. May God bless them and their families.

Italian Heritage in New Jersey: You!

For my last post for Italian Heritage Month, I felt I needed to highlight a very important person that is part of Italian heritage in New Jersey: you!

And when I say you, I mean the collective you; the Italian-American community in New Jersey.

All month I’ve shared stories of amazing New Jerseyans of our past and those who represent our future. Well, you represent that future as well!

There is a very specific reason I decided to make this post about our community. Not too long while scrolling through Twitter (yeah, I know), I came across a post from a woman who is a journalist and of Italian descent. She wrote an opinion piece about Columbus and how the holiday should be eliminated. I was curious as to what she had to say, so I clicked through to her article and read her piece. I disagreed with her premise, but hey, everyone is entitled to their own opinion. At the end of the piece, there were links to her other articles. I checked out some of her other articles and I quickly noted a pattern. First, I don’t think she has written anything happy. From Mother’s Day to Thanksgiving, she hates it all. Second, just about every article painted her heritage in a very poor light. I really felt like she is a self-hating Italian-American. It made me sad.

You’ve read my laments about the continued stereotyping of Americans of Italian descent in the media, the disrespect we face from individuals who look to demean our heritage, and just through the simple passing of time, all that makes our community special is starting to drift away. Very few actually care what past generations have contributed to our great state of the meaning of what it means to be of Italian descent. Ask five people tomorrow if they know when Italian Heritage Month is. Maybe you’ll get one correct answer, if you’re lucky. Therefore, it is up to us to make sure we pick up the flag that was handed to us by the generations before us and lift it high.

As a Gen-Xer, I usually just embrace my inner eyeroll when someone says something stupid about Italian-Americans because I know better. However, that is no longer the case. And it shouldn’t be the case for any of us.

My Uncle Chubby used to tell us to never forget where we came from. While I have always tried to heed his advice, it has brought new meaning to me over the last year. As I mentioned in my previous post, this year I joined two Italian American associations: the Italian American Once Voice Coalition and the Italian Sons and Daughters of America. I started listening to the Italian American Podcast, which provides fascinating stories and information about Americans of Italian descent. I am working on leaning Italian. Most of all, I make sure people are laughing with me, not at me.

As I have said, those of Italian descent is the last ethnic group that people not only make fun of openly, they are encouraged through negative stereotyping. Just as I started this blog to increase awareness to the wonders of New Jersey, I also am going to take a more active role in reminding people that our heritage is more than The Godfather and Goodfellas. And for the record, those idiots from Jersey Shore were from Staten Island.

So as this Italian Heritage Month comes to a close, I encourage all of us that are of Italian descent to make sure you preserve the history of your family and our collective heritage. Our future as a community depends on it.

Italian Heritage in New Jersey: Patrick O’Boyle

Now, I know what you are thinking. This is Italian Heritage Month. Why am I highlighting a guy with an Irish name? Stick with me and you will quickly see why.

So far this month, I have highlighted important figures who have been important parts of the foundation of Italian heritage and culture in New Jersey. But I worry about the future of what it means to be of Italian descent. It is up to us as a community to make sure we take what we have learned from the generations before us and carry it forward.

Enter Patrick O’Boyle. Yeah, I know. The name. Like I said, stick with me.

He may have an Irish last name, but he is exactly what we as a community need to make sure our history is not cast aside. To make sure our proud heritage is not forgotten or nothing more than a stereotype in movies. Even better, he is a true Jersey guy.

Originally from North Arlington, he has a strong Catholic faith. He attended Queen of Peace High School. He completed his undergraduate studies at Seton Hall University (another reason I like this guy) and received his J.D. from Seton Hall Law School. He has his own private law practice in New Jersey and is a professor of law at Montclair State University.

He may be an attorney, but I am convinced he is a teacher at heart.

As part of the ensemble that makes up The Italian American Podcast, his knowledge of Catholic history and canon law is simply impressive. His knowledge of Italian history is equally impressive; from food to culture to all that is Italian. Listening to him and the ensemble of the podcast is like sitting back and enjoying a cross between a lecture on Italian culture and eating Sunday dinner.

Patrick is working hard to protect our heritage and has been recognized for his efforts. He is the Vice-President for New Jersey of the Italian Sons and Daughters of America (ISDA) and President and Prior of the Congregazione Maria Ss. Del Sacro Monte di Novi Velia Salerno di Jersey City, NJ, a member of the Boards of the Italian Cultural Foundation at Casa Belvedere and the Coccia Foundation for the Italian Experience in America, a Founding Board Member of the Sandumanghesi Del Cilento Society, the former New Jersey Area Coordinator and Member of the Youth Activities Board and Young Professionals Council of NIAF, and the Past National Youth Committee Chairman of Unico National, the nation’s largest Italian American service organization. He is also a Knight of the Order of Merit of Savoy, the Equestrian Order of the Holy Sepulchre, and a Knight Official of the Sacred Military Constantinian Order of Saint George and the Order’s Vice-Delegate for the United States.

Patrick has inspired me to take a more active role in cherishing my heritage. I’ll be honest, when my Grandmother passed away, I felt like a lot of my connection with what makes me Italian was lost. A part of me died with her. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her. Every few years I made a half-hearted attempt to learn Italian. Needless to say, it hasn’t gone well. I just started up again.

I recently joined the Italian Sons and Daughters of America. As I mentioned, I am working on learning Italian. I’ve picked up on my family history documentation in Ancestry. Years ago I made a family recipe book with all the recipes written out by hand. I’ve been adding to it with recipes that weren’t documented anywhere at the time. I joined the Italian American One Voice Coalition. I am making a conscious attempt at rediscovering and preserving my family heritage as well as my ancestral heritage.

So my lesson to you is this; regardless of your heritage, take a page from Patrick’s playbook. Embrace and celebrate it.

Italian Heritage in New Jersey: Joseph Rotunda

Many of us have passed by Rotunda Pool in Newark on our way to St. Lucy’s Church or coming out of Branch Brook Park and have not given it a second thought. It is, however, an important location in the community and New Jersey Italian heritage.

The Rotunda Pool plaque
Source: Newark Historical Society

Rotunda Pool is named after Private Joseph Ralph Rotunda Jr., the first soldier from Newark’s Italian-American community to die in World War II. The dedication of this pool stands a testament to his sacrifice, as well as the sacrifices of the countless Italian immigrants and Americans of Italian decent that fought on behalf of their new homeland. The official renaming from Clifton Pool to Rotunda Pool took place in 1966.

By the early twentieth-century, approximately 21,000 Italian immigrants made Newark the fifth largest Italian-American community in the country.

Private Rotunda was killed by a land mine while serving with Cannon Company, 168th Infantry, in Tunisia, Northern Africa, as part of the first invasion forces. He had only been overseas for three months. A letter to the family from Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson, dated June 9, 1943, informed the family that their son was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart.

On June 16, 1943, the Newark Evening News reported on an announcement from the War Department which listed the death of Private Joseph R. Rotunda, Jr. as one of four soldiers from New Jersey to lose their lives in combat. In total 229 U.S. soldiers were reported killed in action in North Africa and 630 more wounded, 11 of whom were from New Jersey.

In February 1944, after seeking permission from Joseph Rotunda, Sr., officials from the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) designated the Pvt. Joseph R. Rotunda Jr. Post (No. 848) in honor of the “first soldier from the First Ward to be killed in action in this war.” This post became the ninth V.F.W. unit in Newark.

So next time you ride past Rotunda pool, maybe take a moment and bow your head or tip your cap to the memory of Private Rotunda.

October is Italian Heritage Month

If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know I am a proud New Jerseyan. I am also very proud of my Italian heritage. October in Italian Heritage Month and as I do each year, I plan on writing about New Jerseyans of Italian heritage that have made a significant impact on our state or our country.

Italian immigrants and Americans of Italian descent have a unique history all our own. More than 1.45 million residents of New Jersey reported having Italian heritage according to the U.S. Census Bureau. The town of Fairfield is home to the most residents with Italian heritage in the United States. Seven of the top 20 towns in the United States with the most residents of Italian ancestry are right here in the Garden State.

The great migration from Italy took place between 1880 and 1914; a total of 13 million Italians came to America and made it home.

At its height, Seventh Avenue in Newark was one of the largest Little Italies in the United States with a population of over 30,000 within one square mile. The center of that neighborhood was St. Lucy’s Church, built by Italian immigrants in 1891. St. Lucy’s holds the National Shrine to St. Gerard, the patron saint of expectant mothers.

That’s where the story of my family begins. The First Ward of Newark.

Like the countless other Italians that came to America, they came to build a better life for their family and future generations. They worked hard, many changed their names to sound American, they learned English, and became citizens. My Uncles joined the military along with the 1.5 million other Italian Americans during World War II, making up 10% of the total fighting force, eager to prove their loyalty to their new home country. While they were off fighting against their homeland, however, tens of thousands of Italian immigrants in America were subject to curfews, forced from their homes, and lived in military camps without trials. They were considered Enemy Aliens.

These Italian immigrants came to America looking for a new home and were ready to prove themselves as good Americans and work. Unfortunately, they weren’t always able to find it. “Italians need not apply” was a common theme. We were looked down upon, no matter where we went in the country.

The lynching of eleven Sicilians in New Orleans in 1891 was the largest and most outrageous mass lynching in United States history. The lynchings took place on March 14, 1891. New Orleans Police Superintendent, David Hennessy was gunned down in October 1890. As he gasped his last breath, he supposedly uttered, “The dagos did it.” Officials quickly arrested numerous area Italian immigrants and attributed the slaying to “Mafia activity.” After a public meeting where people called the Italians “not quite white,” a mob gathered shouting “Hang the dagos!!” To avenge the murder of a popular police superintendent, unrestrained mobs went into the city jail and beat, clubbed, and fatally shot eleven Italian prisoners.

Dago. WOP. Guinea. Ginzo. Goombah. Just a handful of the names Italian immigrants and Americans of Italian descent have been called over the years. Each of which gets a giant eyeroll from me. They are meant to hurt. They only hurt if you let them. I remember hearing a story from my Aunt who said when they moved into a new neighborhood, a neighbor approached her mother (my Grandmother) and asked if they would be going to “our church,” to remind them they were outsiders. Without missing a beat, my Grandfather said “I though it was God’s church.”

From name calling, to lynchings, to being considered enemies of the state, to the stereotype that all Americans of Italian descent are “connected,” I say… whatever.

Let me tell you what it means to me.

Being an American of Italian descent is never forgetting where you came from and honoring it every day. It is about faith and family. It is recognizing our ethnicity is that last one it is “allowed” to be made fun of and not letting it bother us. Ours is a history of food, culture, art, and music that should be celebrated.

I am a New Jerseyan. I am an American. I am of Italian heritage. I hope you go on this historical journey on me for the next month.