I'm not really clear on all the details of where my great-grandmother was born, but I think her mother was already in the US before her birth. I do know that said great-great grandmother (who was named Josie Genta), lost her husband on the ship while traveling to the US from Italy.
I also don't know how it was that she came to live in Arkansas. It seems like a strange place for a young widow with a small child to go. Maybe she had friends here or maybe her new husband did. I really don't know how she found her second husband, who's last name was Vardo, but I do know he only lived long enough to get her pregnant and then, like her first husband, died.
It must have been so scary for her. Here she was in a country she didn't understand, with two babies, and no husband. I think about how much hope she must have had when she and my great-great grandfather boarded that ship. I imagine them holding hands and her so excited about raising her family in America. All of that excitement was replaced by grief and fear when she lost him.
And then again, she found a new husband and thought things would get better. She and her daughter would have someone to help them get through life. When this second husband died, she must have been so devastated. She probably felt like she was doomed. All the while, she had herself and her two children to feed.
What I do know, what is legend on my father's side of the family, is that after her second husband died and her second child (a boy she named Johnny) was born, Great-great-grandmother Josie did not marry again. She moved to a small community called Frogtown, where the Italian immigrants in the area clustered, and she worked by herself to support her children.
Josie didn't speak English, though over time she came to understand it. My grandfather told me that when he was a boy, he spoke Italian with her, though when he spoke in English, she would answer him in Italian and understand him. She wasn't comfortable with the speaking of it though. There were no English as a Second Language classes in this area back then and her access to English speakers was limited.
In fact, the only time she saw English speaking people was when they came to bring her their laundry. This is what Josie did to support herself and her children. Laundry was hard in those days. No washing machines, everything hung on a line to dry, irons solid masses that sat on the stove (that had an actual fire inside, fed, in this area, by wood and coal) and left to get so hot you had to hold it with a towel to keep from scorching yourself.
People would bring their laundry to her and she would beat out the stains, scrub til things were clean, spend hours hanging this stuff out, and then brave the heat of the iron to make it all perfect before folding it into neat piles to be sent back to them. My grandfather said her hands were so rough to the touch. My great-grandmother explained that she would sometimes work until her hands were raw. Actually, I'm not even sure about them bringing it to her part. She may have had to fetch the clothes and stuff herself.
I do know, from what my great-grandmother and my grandfather told me, that the people she worked for were never kind to her. On more than one occasion, they both heard her called "that dirty Italian wash woman." Because she was a widow and young, there were always rumors about her. From what I have been told, she didn't let that phase her. She used what money she got from her work to make clothes for her kids, have enough food on the table, and see that they stayed warm and secure.
I don't know how old she was when she died. I don't know the circumstances of her death or where she even was. I know it was after my grandfather was at least ten, but no one has even discussed more of the details with me. I don't know if she was happy much in her life. I don't know how often she smiled or how her laughter sounded. I don't know what her favorite color was or how much she believed in her faith.
What I do know, is that, while I never met Josie, I love her. I am proud to have come from this woman. I am in awe of how strong she was, how noble she was, in the face of lose and disappointment and so many obstacles. Josie Genta was a problem solver, a survivor, a provider, a champion. She took care of her family when no one else was there to do it. She took care of herself when she lost everything, and did so in a country that was strange to her and where she did not even speak the language. I admire this woman so much.
And I hope that time is more fluid than linear. Because then Josie (in those moments when she was too tired to walk, when her hands were too sore to continue, yet she knew she had no other choice but to keep going) somehow, some way, felt this love from me. I hope that while I'm sitting here in 2011, writing about her and adoring her, back when she needed to feel embraced by someone, she felt it from my love in the future.
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