{"id":3522,"date":"2014-08-26T14:32:40","date_gmt":"2014-08-26T12:32:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/rickzullo.com\/?p=3522"},"modified":"2016-04-21T17:53:08","modified_gmt":"2016-04-21T15:53:08","slug":"reverse-culture-shock-little-italy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/reverse-culture-shock-little-italy\/","title":{"rendered":"Reverse Culture Shock in Little Italy"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"reverse<\/a>
Il Caput Mundi<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Travel, especially air travel, can be so disorienting.\u00a0 Just when I had almost recovered from an acute case of culture shock after flying from Sicily to Switzerland<\/a>, a few days later we hopped on a plane again in Milan and\u2014voil\u00e1!<\/em>\u00a0 We found ourselves in\u2026\u201dLittle Italy,\u201d New York City\u2019s version of the Old Country.\u00a0 My brain wasn\u2019t prepared for so much confusion, especially being the sleep-deprived father of a precocious little principessa.<\/em> (I wonder if culture shock has ever been fatal?)<\/p>\n

This was not the first time that I\u2019ve experienced reverse culture shock upon my re-entry into American society\u2014and yet I\u2019m still always caught off guard when my own culture \u201cshocks\u201d me.\u00a0 But that\u2019s exactly what happens, and it\u2019s a very enlightening phenomenon when you\u2019re able to take an objective look at your own cultural reference points after being detached from them for a long period.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Case in point.\u00a0 We were standing at the curb in Manhattan, waiting for a bus somewhere near City Hall Park with a dozen or so New Yorkers (I assume they were locals, anyway).\u00a0 I was a little anxious, because I didn\u2019t know the bus routes and wasn\u2019t too sure if I could buy a ticket on board.\u00a0 It was hot, my baby was cranky, and the last thing I wanted was to get on the wrong bus and wind up in Queens or Brooklyn or god forbid, New Jersey.\u00a0 We were tired of walking, we were hungry, and we wanted to go up to Little Italy for lunch.\u00a0 (Yes, that\u2019s a whole other discussion; we had just flown in from \u201cBig\u201d Italy, so why were we keen to encounter the American version?)<\/p>\n

\"statue
Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to have a cannolo<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

A few minutes later the bus pulls up and parks, but the doors don\u2019t open right away.\u00a0 None of the New Yorkers seemed bothered by this, which I found a bit unsettling.\u00a0 In Rome, the people would be banging on the doors and calling the driver\u2019s wife and\/or mother all sorts of colorful nicknames within about 4 seconds.<\/p>\n

So now the driver pushes a button and gets up from his seat.\u00a0 The door opens, and he slowly walks towards us while a steel platform begins to emerge from the undercarriage.\u00a0 All the while the locals are still just standing there patiently, and I\u2019m looking around for the Candid Camera.\u00a0 That\u2019s when I spot a woman in wheelchair, which I hadn\u2019t seen due to my own petty concerns.\u00a0 But I was oblivious, pushing my way past everyone, including the woman in the wheelchair, to get onto the bus with my baby.\u00a0 My wife immediately noticed the odd looks coming my way, but it took me a few more minutes to figure out what was going on.<\/p>\n

So exactly what was going on then?\u00a0 Well, it seems that in New York, other passengers are not allowed to board a bus until the wheelchair passenger has been secured into place by the driver.\u00a0 The amazing thing about this rule is that people actually obey it without protest.<\/p>\n

I started to think about how back in Rome I always complaining about the cafoni<\/em> who cut in line and push their way onto buses that are already stuffed beyond their capacity.\u00a0 I can\u2019t count the times that I\u2019ve said swear words under my breath pointed in their general direction.\u00a0 What an\u00a0awkward\u00a0surprise when I realized that in the U.S., I<\/em><\/strong> was now the cafone<\/em>.\u00a0 Really?\u00a0 Had I been so conditioned by all of my time living in Rome?\u00a0 Or is it just human nature to adapt to the culture that surrounds you?<\/p>\n

Which brings me back to Little Italy.<\/p>\n

The Old World meets The New World on Mulberry Street<\/h2>\n

Eventually we worked out the bus route, I got over my self-loathing, and we found ourselves on Mulberry Street, which is about all that\u2019s left of Little Italy.\u00a0 These three blocks of nostalgia are frozen in time, calling to mind images of my great-grandfather who must have passed through here at some point.\u00a0 (My ancestor, Giovanni Zullo, quickly moved on to Chicago, but the ship\u2019s manifest said that he was meeting some cousins in New York first\u2014probably to drop off some salami and prosciutto.)<\/p>\n

Although visually evocative, in reality this small strip of Italian-American history is little more than a continuous string of identical \u201cItalian\u201d restaurants, broken up by the occasional discount bodega selling cheap Chinese products.\u00a0 We spotted a place called \u201cCaff\u00e9 Palermo,\u201d which had a loud sign outside claiming, and I quote, \u201cThe Best Cannolis on Planet Earth!\u201d \u00a0Upon spotting this declaration, an incredulous look appeared on the face of my Sicilian wife, who was at once intrigued and appalled by the impudence of this restaurant\u2019s proprietor. \u00a0So of course we sat down at a table to investigate.<\/p>\n

\"cannoli
No Comment<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Jessica immediately got up to survey the pastry case, while I attempted to distract our little bambina.\u00a0 Then one of the old guys from the neighborhood wandered over to my table to strike up a conversation.\u00a0 At first it was the usual banter: where are you from, what do you do?\u00a0 He told me that he grew up in the neighborhood and lived there his whole life, recounting its history as well as the recent uncomfortable changes.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn da old days, dey were all Italians, ya see, but each block had its own identity.\u00a0 Mulberry Street here were da Sicilians, Mott were da Calabresi, and over on Baxter were da Napolitani.\u00a0 And if you was Sicilian, your mamma better not catch with a girl from Mott Street\u2026and vice versa.\u00a0 Dat\u2019s how it was back den, capish?\u201d<\/p>\n

Yeah, I \u201ccapished.\u201d\u00a0 His story pretty much squared with what I heard my grandparents say about the old Chicago neighborhoods.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo it\u2019s not like that anymore?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNaah.\u00a0 Everyting\u2019s changin\u2019.\u00a0 Hell, there\u2019s more Chinese \u2018round here than paisans these days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugged and puffed out a long sigh.\u00a0 \u201cDey got all da money.\u00a0 My brother-in-law was selling a building he owned last year\u2026right there, just down da block.\u00a0 He wanted a million bucks for it, even though it was worth \u2018bout a million and a half.\u00a0 None of da Italians \u2018round here could afford it.\u00a0 A month later, a Chinese guy shows up and offers him two<\/em> million. Cash. \u00a0In a suitcase.\u00a0 What da hell\u2019s he supposed to do?\u201d<\/p>\n

Just about then my wife comes back with a piece of New York cheesecake.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat looks good,\u201d I remarked, \u201cbut what happened to the best cannolo on the planet?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCannolo?\u201d she huffed, \u201cI didn\u2019t see any cannoli up there! \u00a0There was a soggy pastry filled with frosting or something\u2026how can they call that a cannolo?!?\u00a0 First, they didn\u2019t even use real ricotta.\u00a0 Second, a cannolo must<\/em> be filled only once it\u2019s ordered, NOT two days before!\u201d<\/p>\n

I winced.\u00a0 I didn\u2019t want offend our new friend standing four feet away.\u00a0 I need not have worried.\u00a0 My wife was speaking Italian, and as it turns out, our \u201cItalian\u201d friend didn\u2019t understand a single word of the language.\u00a0 Yes, things in the old neighborhood have certainly changed.\u00a0 I said goodbye to him in Chinese and we were on our way.<\/p>\n

The Great Melting Pot<\/h2>\n

Perhaps 100 years ago the Italians played the role of the unwelcomed Chinese, displacing the Irish, Germans, or other assimilated communities.\u00a0 I can imagine some Dutch-American in the summer of 1914 lamenting to his drinking buddies, \u201cThe neighborhood is really going to shit now that all these Italians are moving in!\u201d<\/p>\n

\"the<\/p>\n

But it sure didn\u2019t take long for the Italians to integrate. \u00a0By the second generation, they were already speaking only English at home and firmly embracing America with both arms.\u00a0 My grandfather was born with the name Vincenzo, but somehow it became James and then Jimmy before he started attending the public school.\u00a0 What\u2019s more, he excelled at baseball, a sport that his Old World father Giovanni probably never understood.\u00a0 \u00a0He was a high school superstar, and was even offered try-outs by big league teams.\u00a0 Would\u2019ve been a helluva shortstop for the White Sox, but his mother had passed away and The Great Depression was in full swing, so he gave up his baseball aspirations to go work his ass off in a factory to help support his 10 brothers and sisters.\u00a0 Those old school Italians were a tough bunch, and weren\u2019t going to let anything stop them from realizing The American Dream.<\/p>\n

Despite the changes, I still enjoyed my brief visit to Little Italy in New York.\u00a0 And on some level, I think that the original Italian immigrants that lived there three or four generations ago would have had a certain respect for the current Chinese \u201cinvaders\u201d in their neighborhood.\u00a0 This country is all about opportunity.\u00a0 That\u2019s all you\u2019re promised, a\u00a0fighting chance, but it\u2019s a lot compared to most other places.\u00a0 So now the Chinese are sacrificing, living in difficult conditions, saving their money, teaching their kids English, and celebrating the possibilities of life in a free country.\u00a0 Good for them.\u00a0 And I\u2019m sure their cannoli can\u2019t be any worse than the ones at Caff\u00e9\u00a0Palermo.<\/p>\n

To appreciate what Little Italy once was really<\/em> like, it\u2019s worth a stop at the Italian America<\/a>n Museum<\/a> on the corner of Mulberry and Grand (155 Mulberry Street).\u00a0 I passed through briefly, but would love to have spent more time there.\u00a0 They also have cultural events in the evenings, usually Thursdays; music, movies, festivals, etc., that celebrate the Italian-American experience.\u00a0 If you live in the New York metro area, or are planning a visit, check out their website<\/a> for the full schedule of events.<\/p>\n

\"italian<\/a><\/p>\n

Many cities around the U.S. still have areas with strong Italian-American roots.\u00a0 Besides New York and Chicago, there are great neighborhoods in Boston, San Francisco, and Philadelphia where some of the traditions are still (more or less) maintained.\u00a0 Even the place that I call \u201chome\u201d in Palm Beach County, Florida, there is a seasonal influx of Italian-Americans from up north every January through April.\u00a0 It\u2019s a wish\u00a0of mine to someday help bridge the sizeable gap between the current Italian-American community, and Italians living in Italy.\u00a0 Most Italian-Americans today do not have a realistic view of modern Italy, only having been exposed to the homesick stories about The Old Country told to them by relatives long since deceased.\u00a0 Which is too bad, because there is much to offer one another somewhere in between the similarities and the differences.<\/p>\n

Then again, who knows?\u00a0 Many Italian-Americans might not wished to be associated with the rude cafoni<\/em> pushing their way onto the bus, stepping over children and people in wheelchairs.\u00a0 And those are the ones just visiting New York, fresh off the plane from Milan.\u00a0 Yes, amici miei,<\/em> that would be me\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Travel, especially air travel, can be so disorienting.\u00a0 Just when I had almost recovered from an acute case of culture shock after flying from Sicily to Switzerland, a few days later we hopped on a plane again in Milan and\u2014voil\u00e1!\u00a0 We found ourselves in\u2026\u201dLittle Italy,\u201d New York City\u2019s version of the Old Country.\u00a0 My brain […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3529,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[304,211,6,42,5,66],"tags":[281,141,277,279,278,280],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3522"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3522"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3522\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3529"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3522"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3522"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/rickzullo.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3522"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}