INTRODUCTION TO OUR IANNARINO - LA MANNA FAMILY HISTORY

The first years of my life were lived close to my dad's Italian-American family. Until I was 14 years old, my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania were just a short walk or bus ride away. Even as a small child I knew my grandparents were of Italian descent, that they had come from Sicily to make a new life in the United States. But as a small child I never knew why, and I never asked.

My grandparents had chosen to make a home in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in 1911, learning to speak, read and write their adopted English language. Both became American citizens, my grandfather in 1925, grandma, a little later in 1932. Each one of their six children, three boys and three girls, were born in Pittsburgh. As the children grew and matured, each child making his or her own version of life, my grandparents' home remained a centerpiece in the family's life. The warmth of the parental love and the exuberance and welcoming nature of the Sicilian culture drew all the grown children and their growing families together no matter where they lived.

There are so many moments which I remember vividly of that love-filled childhood -- special family celebrations as well as weekend visits to my grandparents' small home at 1300 Sandusky Street. Both my dad and and his youngest sister had been born in the Sandusky Street home. The house is gone now, it's special location taken by the emergency room entrance to the expanded Allegheny General Hospital.

The hospital was once a couple of city blocks away. The tall yellow brick tower that formed the original part of the hospital was a beacon that would guide me back to Sandusky Street when I wandered off by myself on the twisted city streets. The yellow brick tower still rises majestically above the Northside of Pittsburgh, but all the streets I once knew have been changed, and quite a few that I once walked are now missing, gobbled up by the ever-growing hospital.

Above left Allegheny General Hospital with the new expansion shown. Photo from the 1970's from the collection of Frank E. Henry. The large brick structure in the center is the original tower.

I have fond memories of that Sandusky Street house, of the warmth and love that existed within those walls, of the wonderful smells always coming from my grandma's tiny kitchen. For such a small home -- four rooms including the kitchen and a small unfinished basement -- there always seemed to be room for anyone who came to visit. Around that red formica-topped metal table, grandma could always squeeze another chair, set another plate, find enough food to feed another hungry visitor. For people who had so little, how could my grandparents provide so much? That extra helping of culinary magic my grandmother performed will always be a mystery to me. Like a biblical miracle, grandma could make just a little seem like a lot when it was served with a plateful of laughter, love and companionship.

Long before I had the sense to ask questions about my grandparents' life, my grandfather had died. I was nine years old when grandpa's heart stopped beating, though he had been ill for a year or more. Grandma lived on without grandpa for almost 30 years, just for a few more years in the Sandusky Street home. Grandma never spoke easily of the past, never starting a conversation with "when I was a child" or "when we first came to America". If you were wise enough to ask the right questions, it was possible to start grandma's memories and words flowing. And then what a gift it was!

Even though I had asked a lot of questions during those years between my grandparents' deaths, I realized soon after grandma had taken her leave of us that I had not asked all of the right questions. My many past questions had garnered some facts about my grandparents' lives, but I knew too little of Sicilian or even American history to fit my grandparents' story into the larger, wider history in which they had lived. Without that knowledge of history, my questions could only touch the surface of my grandparents' lives. My questions could not expose the many small events they had experienced or the feelings or thoughts which accompanied those events. Since my grandfather had died when I was so young, information about his youth and his early journey to America before marrying my grandmother would never be available to me.

Twelve million immigrants entered the United States through the Ellis Island immigration station during the years 1892 through 1954. Ellis Island is a small island in New York Harbor, within sight of the Statue of Liberty, which was enlarged through the years from the original 3 acres to over 27 acres acres by landfill obtained primarily from excess earth removed from the construction of the New York subway system. The photos above were obtained from EllisIsland.org, a service of the Statue of Liberty-Ellis Island Foundation. The first photo is from a collection which shows immigrants aboard a steamer coming to America. The immigrants had sleeping berths in the steerage compartment which lay within the hold of the steamship; in addition each immigrant was allowed a set number of hours on the deck as determined by the captain and crew of the steamer. On the right from the same collection is a photo of the eye examination of immigrants at Ellis Island. According to the history of immigration described on the Ellis Island website "the inspections took place in the Registry Room (or Great Hall), where doctors would briefly scan every immigrant for obvious physical ailments." More information about immigration to the United States during the early years of the 19th century, photos of the historic site and passenger manifests of immigrant ships which brought their passengers to Ellis Island can be obtained by visiting Ellis Island website To return to this page, use your browser's back button.

Now that I am older, now that my own child is grown, now that my dad is gone to join his family in that heavenly realm, I have a need to know more about my own beginnings -- the forces which shaped me and made me who I am. Those beginnings are the result of the choices made by my grandparents and their own parents -- choices which led them on that long and difficult journey to the United States and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. But how do I find the answers that I seek? And are there any answers to be found?

My dad, Francesco Iannarino, began the research into his family's history more than twenty years before he died -- in fact, not long after his mother had passed away in 1982. While his mother, Provvidenza La Manna, was still alive, dad would ask her questions about her past in Sicily and her early years of marriage living in America. Being one of the youngest children, dad's experience of his family's American life was limited to the years lived on Sandusky Street. Though dad knew that the family had once rented living accomodations in "the Ward", a riverfront area of Pittsburgh, he had no experience of what it meant to live in that close-knit Italian neighborhood where most of his dad's brothers and their families lived.

What my dad, and then later I, have discovered in this quest to understand our family history is that the questions which we ask are always more complicated than our words can convey; the answers we seek often require a different kind of information than the person questioned may be able to give. We are not merely seeking facts such as names and dates. Our questions are seeking the "why" of choices and times lived.

In 1984 my dad and mom traveled to Italy and to the town -- Termini-Imerese -- where dad's parents had been born. Dad walked the same streets, saw the same scenes his parents had seen -- not much had changed in Termini Imerese in the 80 years since my grandparents had left their homeland for their new life together in America. When dad passed away in 2005, I inherited all of dad's research and his hungry need to find the answers.

The photo - above left - is part of a handbill which was posted in an Italian harbor advertising the Cost of Passage to America. The names of the ships are shown as well as the ports in which the ships' will be stopping and the ships' final destinations. The postcard - below right - is advertising a new kind of berth, combining "privacy and perfect ventilation", patented by the White Star Shipping Line. Click on the following link to see a copy of a brochure which advertises the luxurious accomodations being offered to steerage passengers. White Star Brochure. The brochure lists how much baggage an individual was allowed to carry with him/her and what types of individuals will not be allowed on board the ship. There are also descriptions of the meals which will be served. Click on your back button to return to this page.

What I have begun to write in these pages is the history which I have learned -- a small part of the history of Sicily, a bit of the immigrant experience in America and the story and the names of my brave ancestors. As I learn more of our family's history, I will add those facts to this website. Putting all these pieces together in this one place reflects my desire to pay homage to all those brave souls, including our own family, who made the difficult journey to a new life in America.

My research has surprised me with names of relatives which are linked to non-Sicilian cultures from long ago in Sicily. The names of ancestors I have discovered flow all the way back to the mid-1700's, to a landscape and a way of life which I can only try to imagine. The faces of those ancestors are almost visible in my mirror -- for in some familiar way I know that they all look a little like me -- the same round face, the same curly dark hair, the same dark brown eyes. My research has revealed to me a little of how these ancestors all lived and how capricious was each individual's journey. Each long ago family was challenged by a harsh and unforgiving environment as they attempted to survive and pass on to their own children some small slice of the sweetness of life.

Though my grandparents lacked material wealth, they had a wealth of a different kind -- physical strength, common sense and an uncommon courage, great dignity and a firm purpose. Please read on with me in awe and gratitude of what these simple, strong and loving people accomplished.

©2010 Franciene McDonald