My Papa was born a few years shy of the start of the Great Depression. His family emigrated from Sicily and he and his youngest sister were born in Brooklyn.
My father was the baby of 7 children, 5 sisters and one brother. His eldest sister was almost 20 years older than him.
Like most immigrants who arrived in NYC, his sisters took factory jobs in the garment district while later on he enlisted in the Army’s Air Force division.
He ran errands for his mother, picking dandelion leaves for soup and carrying up blocks of ice to put in their icebox. Dad always called our refrigerator an icebox.
He was the only one in his family to leave Brooklyn and see the world. He taught men how to fly small planes, communicated through morse code and later worked for the FAA. He made a good salary at that time.