EOCAWKI: What my dad taught me about patriotism

My father, Gino Mattera, emigrated from Italy to the U.S in 1946, joining his father, Antonio, who had been supporting his family by living and working here since the 1920s. My grandfather, a longshoreman on the Brooklyn docks, sent money back to Italy regularly and went back to be with his wife and kids as often as he could manage. World War Two made travel back to Italy impossible for a number of years,  but they were able to exchange messages

My dad, Gino Mattera, enjoying Manhattan Beach.
He loved living in that neighborhood.

through the Red Cross. My dad used to tell of opening envelopes from his father and pulling out letters wrapped around crisp $5 bills. Those letters and gifts were much needed since times were tough in Italy.  My father and his siblings came of age under Mussolini’s fascist dictatorship when both money and personal freedom were scarce. And the messages from my grandfather were signs of hope for a better future.
      My dad and his brother, my Uncle John, both told me at various times how they were required at school to sing fascist songs and demonstrate their patriotism with fascist salutes. Patriotic fervor was encouraged with beatings for those who failed to sing or salute with enough enthusiasm.  Ultimately, Italy was liberated by English and American troops. When the war finally ended and communication with the U.S. was re-established, my dad readily agreed to join his father in the U.S., land of opportunity and freedom. He arrived in New York on a cold and snowy

The Marine Shark, the Liberty Ship that brought my

       Dad to the U.S. in 1946.

day in February 1946 aboard the USS Marine Shark, a Liberty Ship.  My grandfather met him at the dock. He had a warm coat waiting, placed it on my dad’s shoulders and said, “Let’s go home.” My father said it was strange to hear those words since he was so far from what had been home to him. But it wasn’t long before his heart and his home were American.
     My father never took for granted his freedom or the opportunity this country gave him to be successful. After serving in the U.S. Army during the Korean War, he bought a fruit and vegetable store in Brooklyn. After a couple of years, he sold it and went to work in the fashion industry.  He and my mom, Gilda, eventually owned, operated, then sold a well-regarded firm that imported women’s clothing. Ultimately, they retired comfortably in Manhattan Beach, a neighborhood in which my dad always aspired to live and where he was very happy and comfortable.
    A couple of weeks after 9/11, I went up to visit my folks. Like so many others they were traumatized by what had happened. They were glued to the TV. The smoke rising from Ground Zero was visible from the end of their street. My dad and I took the subway into the City to get a first-hand look at the horror. From the moment we exited the subway at Fulton Street, the smell of smoke and death was with us. My father held a handkerchief to his face the whole time. The devastation was horrendous, but I think what hit him hardest that day was the sight of soldiers carrying automatic weapons in Lower Manhattan. Armed soldiers on the street in his city, in his country! This wasn’t supposed to happen here. It must have brought him back to a time he had left far behind. He told me, “This doesn’t feel like the country I came to.” Yet, he loved it here to his dying day, in large part because he knew what it meant to live under an authoritarian regime.
    I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my dad and the compulsory patriotism of his youth under Fascist rule. I don’t for a single second say or even imply that we’ve descended to that level in our country. I do, however, get concerned when I hear people complaining about how others choose to display their patriotism in public — or choose not to.
    I inherited my dad’s love for this country.  I learned from him what it means to live in a country that isn’t free. So, I cherish what we have here. I get chills when I hear our National Anthem at the Olympics and I stand and sing it proudly at ballgames. And one reason I do is because I know that in this land of the free, no one can force me to do that if I don’t want to. And if this truly is the home of the brave, no one ever will.

EOCAWKI: Now I Know What I Shoulda Said Then

We’ve all had the experience of failing to come up with a witty or amusing response to something and then realizing much later what we should have said under the circumstances.  In my case, it took 44 years.
     I was a sophomore at Brooklyn College, enrolled in a theater class that included an improv component.  Our instructor was a professional actor — a middle aged man with slightly gray thinning curly hair.  He was assisted by two grad student TAs — a guy named Roy and Leah, a stunningly pretty young woman with long, red curly hair. I admit that as a healthy 19 year old heterosexual male, 

Brooklyn College days. Or daze?

I considered Leah’s presence in class an inducement to attend every session.  Plus, she really seemed to know her stuff. When Leah and Roy demonstrated improv we marveled at how they were able to come up with such funny material with so little apparent effort.  As I was to discover, it’s even harder than it looks. The three of them taught us the basics of improv, including the most fundamental tenet, never disagree.  It’s always, “Yes, and...”
     Our “exam” required us to take part in an actual improv on the stage at the George Gershwin Theater on the BC campus.  On exam day, a number of theater classes were combined, then split into groups of about 5 or 6 students, each group led by one of the TAs.  Two groups would perform each improv. I was in a group led by Roy. The TAs gave each group a scenario to start with but did not share the other group’s scenario.  My group was told that we were on a road trip and had run out of gas in front of a large house. After talking it over, we agreed that we would begin by ringing the doorbell, explaining that we had run out of gas and asking to use the phone. I was tapped to begin.  So when we were given our cue, I stepped up to an imaginary door, and rang an imaginary bell while one of my group members said, “Ding Dong.”

George Gershwin Theater at Brooklyn College.

In very short order, the entire other group opened the imaginary door.

     “Hi, there,” I started.  “Sorry to bother you, but my friends and I have run out of gas and I was wondering if we might use your phone.”
     It threw me for a bit of a loop when the group gathered around me and grabbed me by the arms. One of them said, “Sure, but first you have to come in and meet grandma.”  Bearing our lessons in mind, I said, “Yeah, sure.” And they literally pulled me to center stage where Leah was lounging across a table in a manner I can only describe as alluring. I was still processing all this when I heard someone say, “Say hello to grandma.”  So I stuck out my hand and said, “How ya doin’ grandma?”
And this extraordinarily attractive young woman with the amazing red curly hair took this 19 year old heterosexual male’s hand and placed it squarely on her perfect left boob. Then looked me right in the eyes and grinned.
     Yes, and...
    Well, I knew I should say something. Something!  But I was so stunned by this turn of events that, with my hand still resting happily where it had been placed, I turned slowly toward the audience where our instructor was seated in the front row.  My eyes were wide and my jaw slack.  It was an unintentional but perfectly timed and highly effective comedic take, and it brought down the house. Even the instructor was laughing.
     It took a while for the laughter to subside, but when it did he let me have it. I flopped.  I failed to advance the improv and I even came out of character. And he said it in front of everybody.  Not good.
      But it was good — for me, anyway.  I had an experience that I’d venture to say most males in that class were dreaming about and then I got a great laugh to boot. And it’s something I remember to this day. So, maybe it stunk as improv but as it was pretty damn terrific as a real life experience.
      So, what should I have said and done? It occurred to me the other day while watching Tina Fey demonstrate improv with David Letterman.  She’s so clever, so quick and so funny that I found myself wishing I had another chance to cultivate that kind of wit.  And it was at that moment I realized what I should have done and said when that beautiful TA took my hand and placed it on her boob.  I should have left it there for a long moment, looked her straight in the eyes and said, “If I’d known you wanted me to use the knocker I wouldn’t have rung the bell.”