Angelo Massari came to the United States from Santo Stefano Quisquina, a small city in the province of Agrigento, Sicily, when he was sixteen years of age. With little schooling but endowed with a strong will, he became an apprentice in a Tampa cigar factory and, six months later, an expert and highly paid cigar maker. After two years of hard work in the factory, he decided to start his own business. Using his savings, he went into the construction of frame houses; then he bought a grocery store. Six months later be disposed of it and went into the wholesale food business, importing from Spain and Italy large quantities of commodities that were in demand. Later he became a shipowner, and his three sailing vessels covered the Caribbean ports with shipments of lumber. Once retired from marine traffic, he organized the International Bank of Tampa, of which he was president for thirty-five years.
Today, having arrived at the age of eighty, and retired, he devotes himself to a study of the past and the present. He is a self-made man who through the years has added to his deep knowledge of literature and philosophy by traveling dozens of times throughout the United States, Europe and Central America, not as a tourist but as a student in quest of truth.
Emigration
Not very pleased with the shallow life of my little home town and with what went on there, and convinced that I had no future in the place, on reaching my thirteenth birthday I decided to emigrate. I had heard of America, but had only a very slight idea of what America was. Mine was possibly a childish aspiration, but I wanted to chain fortune to me, as others had done. After all, I was disgusted with narrow country life, for I felt that I was living in a cul-de-sac. And while I understood that not everything would be a garden of roses, and that I would have to cope with good and evil, I did not get discouraged, for I knew that by working hard elsewhere I would fare much better than in my little town.
I ignored how far America was from Sicily, for I had no geographical knowledge of any sort. As far as my recollections go, I had not been out of Santo Stefano farther than six or seven miles. My father had taken me to the fair of Prizzi, to Cammarata and Lercara, and alone I had gone to Bivona and Alessandria della Rocca, all small places like Santo Stefano, but I had never been in Palermo. My longest trip had been the one that I had taken with my father to the Convento di Tagliavia, when I was five years old, and on that occasion I had seen a railroad train for the first time.
On the other hand, when I began thinking about America I had to settle with my father. When I told him what I had in mind, he did not know whether to laugh or to kick me on the seat of my pants. I kept insisting for four long years without weakening, for I was then, as I am now, persevering and stead- fast. From my thirteenth to my fourteenth year I did not make much progress, but I kept insisting on going to America. At the same time, I was gathering all kinds of information about the country of my dreams. I used to interview people who had re- turned from America. I asked them a thousand questions, how America was, what they did in Tampa, what kind of work was to be had, what compensation did they receive, but the answers were not altogether satisfactory, for the people I interviewed were in great majority uncouth and ignorant. Still and all, I was pleased to meet the Americans. One of them told me that the language was English, and I asked him how to say one word or another in that language. I got these wonderful samples of a Sicilian-American English from him: tu sei un boja, gad, gad morni, olraiti, giachese, kors, misti, sciusi, bred, iessi, bud. I also learned how to say men, sciarappi, Gianna, monii, alo', vischio, strirta, como. He told me also that in order to ask for work, one had to say, "Se misti gari giobba fo mi?"
All in all, when the American left I had stored together about thirty words of the new language, as he knew them, in his un- couth, ungrammatical manner. After all, what could the poor devil do, ignoring as he did the etymology and the spelling of the words? He had never learned how to write, therefore he had stored in his memory the sound of the words that he had needed most, a sound that was not always correct. And I kept pestering my father about my journey to America.
The Italian Community of Tampa
In the year 1880 the Cacciatore brothers, Antonino, Salvatore, and Angelo, and a certain Francesco Di Bona, sailed for the United States. They were the first four emigrants from Santo Stefano Quisquina. The same year they were joined in St. Cloud, Florida, by Salvatore Reina and his brother, Pietro Martino and his brother, and Ignazio Comparetto. These nine immigrants from my hometown were the pioneers of the Italian community in Tampa. From 1886 to 1890 they were followed by Carlo Palermo, Ignazio Leto, Gaetano Ferlita, Nicolo Lo Chierro, Giuseppe Virzi, Antonio Spoto, Giovanni Afilitto, Domenico Zambito, Angelo Piazza, Nicolo Albano, Nicolo' Russo, Paolo Panepinto, Gaspare Virzi, the Ipitisci brothers, and a few others.
In 1891 the emigration from Santo Stefano was quite intensive. The emigrants that I have been able to trace were Francesco and Niccolo Ippolito, Stefano Zambito, Niccolo' Provenzano, Castrenze Ficarotta, Ignacio Pezzavecchia, Filippo Dino, Giovanhi Lo Monaco, Ignazio and Salvatore Maruzza, Salvatore Di Dio, Stefano Giunta, Francesco La Longa, Filippo Ippolito, Giovanni Parrino, Giovanni Provenzano, Salvatore Giglio and son, Vicenzo Cacciatore, Castrenze Ferlita, Vincenzo Pullara, and Antonino Castiglia.
The total number of these immigrants was about one hundred and fifty, and they gathered in St. Cloud and Tampa. In St. Cloud there was a sugar-cane plantation where they found work 'upon arrival. They earned one dollar a day and led forlorn and wretched lives. Sanitary conditions were poor, the country was in a primitive state, and quite a number of them, through malnutrition and other insalubrious factors, became ill.
The first immigrants called the others from their home town, paying their fares. The voyage in steerage from Italy to New York in those days was only one hundred and fifty liras, while the fare from New York to St. Cloud was twenty dollars, a total of about fifty dollars. The route from New York was through Jacksonville, Sanford, Kissimee, and then St. Cloud. Those who were indebted to relatives or friends in St. Cloud for their traveling expenses had to pay back one hundred dollars. Those were the prevailing conditions then.
As I said before, most of them were first employed in agricultural work on the sugar-cane plantation. They made a dollar a day and had to work from sunrise to sunset. It was hard work, and quite a few of them, because of sickness or other reasons, moved to Tampa, to do any kind of work that it was possible to get. They worked on the railroad, then under construction between Plant City and Port Tampa, in the citrus belt, at the Tampa Bay Hotel, then being erected, and in the phosphate mines. I remember Gaetano Ferlita telling me that he had worked as a helper in the construction of the Tampa Bay Hotel.
At the same time, the cigar industry was moving from Key West, where a strike was in progress, to Tampa. It was on January 1, 1884 that Vincent Martin Ybor bought a large tract of land on which he built a cigar factory. That section was to be known thereafter as Ybor City. Two weeks later, the first train from Plant City reached Tampa, and the new Plant City-Tampa line was inaugurated on January 14, 1884.
At that time the population of Tampa was very small. The census of 1880 showed only 720 inhabitants, and there is no doubt that the cigar industry was a great factor in the further development of the city, for in 1890 the population went up to 5,532. It was 15,839 in 1900, 37,782 in 1910, 51,680 in 1920, and 101,161 in 1930. Today Tampa has reached the 300,000 mark.
Many of our immigrants learned how to make cigars, which was not an easy task, for it took almost a year of apprenticeship, without earning a penny, before one could get on a payroll. It was necessary for an apprentice to have enough money to sup port himself for a full year, before becoming a cigarmaker and earn wages.
At the same time, the sugar cane plantation in St. Cloud was going from bad to worse, and was soon given up for good. Be-cause of this, the Italians in that city moved over to Tampa. In 1895 not a single Italian was left in St. Cloud.
On April 4,1894 in Ybor City, the "Italian Society of Mutual Assistance" was founded. Members of the first board of directors were A. B. Filogamo, president; Calogero Sparacino, first vice president; Giuseppe Gullo, second vice president; Francesco Pugliesi, grand marshal; Giuseppe Licata, treasurer; Salvatore Reina, administrative secretary; Santo Gullo, secretary of finance; and Michele D'Asaro, collector.
The advisory board was as follows: Giuseppe Reina, Giovanni Cacciatore, Pietro Chillura, Francesco Cassaro, Gaetano Cagnina, Angelo Lo Cicero, Francesco Castiglia, Ignazio Reina, Giovanni Pendino, Nicolo' Valenti, Francesco Pitisci, and Cabgero Pitisci.
The membership at that time was 107, according to the books of the organization. Adding the officers to this number, we have a total of 130. All the immigrants from Santo Stefano had also drawn to their group immigrants from other parts of Italy. After 1895 Ybor City and Tampa were known to many.
The Italian community in Tampa was made up of sixty per cent who were originally from Santo Stefano, thirty-five per cent from Alessandria della Rocca, and five per cent from Cianciana and other small places.
It was at this time that several of these emigrants returned to Santo Stefano, and I, a teenager but already a keen observer, asked them many questions. I learned very little. I heard of Ybor City and Tampa, but nothing of St. Cloud. I wanted to know something definite about America, and Tampa in particular. What did people do there, what were their average earnings? But those ~called Americans I asked could not read or write; they were ignorant of the country; they had no geographical knowledge; and they had very little to tell me. They had traveled from America, or, to be more specific, from Tampa to Santo Stefano like automatons, and I had nothing to learn from those unhappy people. They told me, however, that in Tampa they made cigars with tobacco leaves and that it took a year to learn the trade. However, I understood that they had never learned this trade and bad never made cigars.
In Tampa very few of the first wave of immigrants are left. Most everyone of them rests in peace. The last few of this noble generation are fading away like the rays of the setting sun, and in a few years we will have only a kind remembrance of them.
I have spoken lately with two of the first immigrants in St. Cloud, where they landed in 1891. They are now eighty-three years old, and one of them told me of the troubles they went through. Those poor fellows, not knowing B from a bull's foot, without any general knowledge, without means, lacking any understanding of the English language, traveled the long distance from New York to St. Cloud in a real cloud. Castrenze Ferlita told me that when they arrived in Savannah, Georgia, they were hungry. They sighted a cheap restaurant and approached its owner, a Negro, using the international sign language. There were twenty-five men in the immigrant group, and they were fed fried fish, but when the time came to pay they had no money to offer the Negro, who remained in his shack, forlorn and dejected. When this group reached Jacksonville, a Greek who ran a beanery across the street from the station was asked for bread, but the Greek wanted to be paid in advance, and the immigrants had no money to pay with. Then and there the Greek agreed to trade twenty-live loaves of bread for two strings of dry figs, which one member of the famished group had brought along. This quieted their hunger, but in Kissimee they had to sleep on the hard floor of the station, on empty stomachs, and when they reached St. Cloud they were welcomed with a repast of fried sweet potatoes. Poor devils, they had expected a big supper and they ended up with yams.
Castrenze Ferlita told me that in St. Cloud they used to bake their own bread, if one could have called what they made bread. Their lunch at midday, out in the cane plantation, consisted of boiled sweet potatoes that they had prepared the night before, and that they carried attached to their belts. In the evening they mixed some flour and made lasagne, eating it without seasoning of any kind.
My good old friend told me many other things that moved me, and I have the greatest respect for these pioneers of the Italian community in Tampa who surmounted the many difficulties of life in St. Cloud without batting an eyelash, and made life easier for the later immigrants.
To those men who never went to school goes the glory of having built out of nothing a striving community, which is second to none in this great country of ours. To them goes my greatest respect and veneration. Today, the Italian community in Tampa can be considered the richest and the most evolved in the United States. My statement is, of course, based on a numerical proportion. In Tampa we have many Italian businessmen, a' real Italian bank (the only one in the United States) capitalized only by Italians, and many professional men-doctors, dentists, surgeons, attorneys, judges, druggists, school teachers, and so on. In the field of politics the descendants of St. Cloud's immigrants are forging ahead. The new generation owes without any doubt a debt of gratitude to the fathers and mothers who sacrificed themselves at the talleres (workbenches) of the cigar factories, in order to send one or two sons to college.
In Tampa about ninety-five per cent of the Italian cigarmakers own their own homes. In the beginning they were modest Wooden houses which in those days did not cost more than five or six hundred dollars, but lately their homes are more luxurious, arid cost from fifteen to twenty-five thousand dollars. I do not Justify this splurge because I think people should live according to what they are. It is a kind of ostentation that from my point of view is not justified.
Tampa is for me an aristocratic city in the true sense of the word. The way the worker lives in our city has no parallel in any other part of the world. For the workers there is only one Tampa in the world, and the reason is very simple. Tampa's prosperity was built on the development of the cigar industry and not on its agricultural products. As a matter of fact, when Malatesta was in Tampa, about three years before my arrival, that is, in 1899, he said that in Tampa there was no proletariat. Evidently the Italians in those days were doing quite well. When in 1914 I made a trip through Atlanta, Chicago, Milwaukee, New York, and Washington, I had occasion to say, time and time again, that there was only one Tampa in the entire world, for the worker cannot enjoy in any other place the living conditions that have always prevailed in this city of ours.
At the very beginning of the cigar industry, cigarmakers made good money, for they worked by the piece, and were paid according to what they produced. Living expenses were low, too. I remember that from 1916 to 1923 many cigarmakers used to go to work in Buicks. The Ford was considered a cheap car.
I have written about the immigrants from Santo Stefano be-cause they gave me food for thought when, at thirteen years of age, having decided to sail for America, I visited them on their return to our town, in order to learn all that I could about the promised land of my dreams.
On the Eve of My Departure
Everything was ready for my departure, and I was anxiously waiting for the arrival of the great day.
For several weeks I had seen an occasional trace of tears in my mother's eyes, but she tried her best to hide her sorrow from me, while I, on my part, tried to ignore the evidence that she had been crying.
At last came the evening of the thirteenth of October. I made the rounds of my friends and relatives, and they all came to wish me Godspeed. My father had already paid my fare to New York, and had given me five hundred liras to meet all necessary expenses during the voyage, and after my arrival at Tampa. Five hundred liras in those days was quite a large amount of money, especially when it is considered that about ninety-five per cent of the emigrants sailed without a red penny in their pockets. Their passage money had been advanced in Tampa by relatives or friends.
I was asked by Giuseppe Spoto to give him part of the money my father had entrusted to me, so that I would not have to carry it in my pockets. He proposed that I give him the cost of the trip from New York to Tampa, and he would write his sons in Tampa and have a like amount deposited to my account at the Banca Gilardi in New York. I could not refuse such a request so instead of being his debtor I became his creditor.
On the eve of my departure, I wrote with white chalk and in large letters on the inside postern of my balcony: 13 Ottobre 1902. My good mother preserved that sign for many years, for it had been written by her son. That evening she could not keep back her tears, and she cried like a child. I will never forget those tears and my good mother.
How crowded my home was that evening! Relatives and friends flocked in. I thanked them for their good wishes, trying to be as calm as possible, hiding behind a stern front the commotion that was in my heart, but there were no tears in my eyes. At last my dear Ciccina, with her mother, came to wish me a good voyage and say good-by. That visit was the one that I appreciated most.
That very day my cousin Niccolo' had got married, and he was crying when he came to see me late in the evening. I scolded him and said: "Why so much crying? Go to your bride, who must be waiting for you, and stop crying." I took him to the door and gave him, jokingly, a slight kick in the pants. This caused a good laugh in the room. My cousin Niccolo' was older than I. He must have been about twenty~two.
The visitors had left, and only my family was waiting for the time set for my departure for Palermo. Those moments were heartrending. I was trying hard to hide the pain that was in my heart, and to a certain extent I succeeded.
It was a beautiful evening, rather warm, and our neighbors were still up, for they wanted to see me leaving. About 10:30 P.M. a man came to tell me that the carts were ready. The saddening moment had arrived.
I kissed my mother, and she kissed me as only a mother can kiss. Her soul was in her kisses. Then I kissed my father and my brothers. The two younger ones were half asleep and did not understand what it was all about. I went down the stairs and on the threshold my good mother hugged me and kissed me again and again. Her last words were "God speed you, my dear son. God will always be with you. Write me as soon as possible and write me always."
All our neighbors were at their windows, on balconies, or in front of their doors, and all were saying: "Good voyage, Angelo, and good luck. Do not forget to write when you land in America." And two young girls of my age, Carmela and Rosina, asked me if, when I reached America, I was going to marry Rosina, zia Peppina's daughter. They were jealous of her, and when I said no they were satisfied.
At the end of the street I turned around, and in a resonant voice I thanked and saluted all. Then I said: "Good-by, Vasca del Castello" (the castle's fountain), and I walked toward the place where the carts were waiting.
On the Piazza del Castello can be seen the great feudal castle of Belmontes. Here the Prince of Belmonte used to stay when in Santo Stefano, and in that palace was the administrative office of the thirteen feudal estates that the Prince owned in the vicinity. On that piazza there is also a fountain, a masterpiece of art, which the Prince had had built. Because I lived about one hundred and fifty feet away from the fountain, the piazza was the place where I had spent the happy days of my childhood, playing with other children of my same age. Therefore I had to say good-by to the Vasca del Castello.
There were seven of us leaving Santo Stefano that evening. Myself, Santo Gullo, his wife and a niece, Mrs. Spoto and her daughter Rosina, and Niccolo Valente. The subagent, Mr. Tortorici, was coming with us, and a few other people came along. Among them was Giuseppe Spoto and Don Felice Leto. As soon as we took our places in the carts, the caravan moved on. Our destination was Lercara Bassa, where we would take the train that runs between Catania and Palermo.
It was not yet daylight when we reached Lercara Bassa, and we had to wait two hours for the express to Palermo. When the train arrived, we got on board, and it then left for the capital of Sicily.
It was the first time I had ridden on a train, and I got the impression from its speed that the world was revolving around us. We reached Cefalu and then Termini Imeresi, where I saw the Sea for the first time. I had never thought that the sea was so immense, and I was really impressed. Arriving at the Central Station in Palermo, we were taken to the Albergo della Concordia near Piazza Marina, and the subagent informed us that we were going to leave for Naples on the fifteenth. We had two days to rest in Palermo.
Going through the city I felt lost. I looked at the streets, at the palaces, and at the crowds with a sense of wonder. All in all, it was a wonderful spectacle.
On the fifteenth the subagent and the others took us to the waterfront where the mail boat to Naples was getting ready to sail. We went on board, and the steamer left for our destination in Italy, whence the big steamer owned by the German shipping company would take us to America.
Before leaving for Naples, Giuseppe Spoto asked me to take care of his wife and daughter, and I promised him that I would not fail to do so. Strange as it may seem, I was legally under the stewardship of Mrs. Spoto. I did not enjoy the crossing from Palermo to Naples.
In Naples we had to undergo a medical examination, but chiefly of the eyes. Those who were found sound and sane, and without any infection in their eyes, were passed. The unfit were rejected and left behind.
We spent a day near the pier, and I had my shoes shined in the Piazza del Porto (the harbor's plaza). A man sitting along-side me was also getting a shine. I asked him where he came from. He answered, "America." I don't remember whether he meant North or South America. He told me that he had returned to Naples because things had not gone well with him in the New World. I listened to him, thinking at the same time that here was a man who had seen the New World and was not satisfied with it, while here was I leaving for the new country without knowing what was going to happen to me. Such thoughts, however, were like crying over spilt milk, for in a few hours we would be on the high seas.
While waiting for sailing time I was taken through the city in a carriage. In a very wide street, probably the Corso Toledo, I saw, to my great surprise, a carriage that was moving without horses. It was the dawn of the automobile in its primitive and imperfect form. If somebody had told me at that moment that nine years later I would own an automobile, one of the best on the American market, I would not have believed him.
Came the final medical examination. I was one of the first passengers to be accepted, and I went on board. Mrs. Spoto and her daughter were once again rejected, and had to return to Santo Stefano, and I found myself in a world of confusion. First of all, I considered Mrs. Spoto as my second mother, inasmuch as she was my legal guardian, and I could not enter the United States without a guardian. I was at a loss. I went to Santo Gullo who had been admitted on board with his family, and he told me not to worry, because Giuseppe Spoto had told him that in case Mrs. Spoto was rejected, he (Santo Gullo) should take me under his wing and be my legal guardian until we reached Tampa. After what Santo Gullo told me I felt much better. I had nothing to worry about.
From that moment on I paid my respects to him, to his wife, and to his niece. His niece is still alive and has been working fifty-one years in a cigar factory. I tried to be as useful to them as I could. I have since befriended them, for I have never forgotten what they did for me. I appreciated their company, for Santo Gullo knew the ropes, and I felt safe. Santo Gullo was a man of advanced age and a limited mentality, but he was a cunning person, no fool, and he knew how to take care of himself. All in all, he was a good guide.
Toward evening the steamer, whose name I have forgotten, left the pier and started on the long voyage.
The crossing was not so bad, but to travel third class is not the best way to travel. Thrown like beasts in dirty holes where hygiene was lacking and foul odors were constantly in the air, on account of the collective throwing up of ill-digested food, any clean passenger felt filthy and disgusted. Without doubt I suffered more than the others.
A few hours after the ship had left the harbor, we answered a general call and were individually supplied with the necessary utensils for our meals. The passengers were to group together, and one was made a corporal. The corporal's mission was to go to the kitchen when mealtime came, get the food for his group, and distribute it. We were five in our group and I was the corporal, being the youngest and the nimblest. To each passenger was assigned a fork, a spoon, a knife, and a tin container. To the corporal was given a tin basin large enough to take care of the food for the entire group. for several days I did well in my capacity of corporal, but when I started to throw up what I had in my stomach, I could not serve any more, and I spent most of my time in the cabin, skipping most of the meals. Now and then, when I felt hungry, I would eat something, but a few minutes later I was giving up what I had swallowed. I spent the rest of the voyage that way, keeping count of every day, for every day seemed to me like a century. There was twelve days to go before reaching New York.
The sea, all through the voyage, was not very stormy, but at times, when I was reclining on my cot, I could hear the noise of pots and pans dancing the dance of death in the kitchen. Evidently the ship was not on an even keel. The passengers were praying, especially the women, asking the intervention of God, of the Madonna, and of all the saints in the calendar. "Good God, help us!" "Madonna of mine, save us!" "San Gennaro, help us!" They were all crying. It was a discouraging scene and at the same time impressive. I think that I also prayed to Santa Rosalia, but quietly and without making any noise. Then when the waves subsided, everybody kept silent, and started praying and crying again when the sea was once again getting ruffled and angry.
On the tenth day a rumor spread around that land had been sighted. We went on deck to take a look, but no land could be seen. It was a pious wish to see land again. Then, at last, we saw the land of our dreams. What joy! What gladness! One more day, only one more day, and we would be on terra firma.
The ship slowed down as we entered New York Harbor. The passengers were overjoyed, for it was our last day at sea. What a relief, after twelve long, tedious, and unpleasant days cooped up in our filthy holes.
They pointed out the Statue of Liberty to me, and I looked at the immense structure, but I was ignorant in those days of its glorious meaning.
A few days before landing, all passengers, especially those who had been friendly during the crossing, exchanged greetings. "Where are you going?" "Who is going to meet you?" Philadelphia, Chicago, Buffalo, Rochester, Denver, and New York were the destinations of most, while we were bound for faraway Florida. They were going to meet brothers, sisters, cousins, and friends. The lucky ones were those who were staying in New York, for they had no further traveling to do. They were the happiest of the lot, for they had already reached their goal. But we were all happy. A few hours more and we would be off the sea.
I was told that we had reached the quarantina, the little island in the harbor, that I heard called in later days "the island of tears." A pilot was going to bring the ship in. What did I know of these things? Nothing. It was the first time that I had heard people talk of such matters. At last the ship was brought alongside the pier, and we walked slowly down the plank. On the pier there were many itinerant vendors selling wares out of straw baskets. One of them was selling pears, and I was so famished, having eaten so little during the voyage, that I bought six luscious pears and devoured them in a few minutes.
When all passengers had disembarked, we were taken to a place that looked like a court of justice. It was the place where the immigration authorities were going to ask questions, while the doctors were ready to examine our eyes. We were placed in single file. The doctors examined each immigrant's eyes, then said, "Forward." When my turn came I was called "Massari, Angelo di Francesco." I came forward. "Where are you going?" "To Tampa, Florida," I said. "Who are you going to meet in Tampa?" "My cousin Giambattista Massari," I said, "Have you any money?" "Yes," I answered. Then I was sent forward.
These examinations weighed heavily on the shoulders of the poor immigrants, for if they could not answer the questions in an intelligent manner, they would be rejected, and returned to Italy on the same ship. When I went through with flying colors, I was overjoyed. I had surmounted the last barrier.
When my group was released, we were led to a cart that was waiting for us, and taken to Mr. Gilardi. I had heard of this gentleman in Santo Stefano, and Mr. Spoto had told me that he had the money that his sons had sent from Tampa to pay for my railroad fare to that city. In Gilardi's office we sat down any place we could, and about seven o'clock we were taken to supper. I ate a big portion of macaroni with tomato sauce, and 1 don't know what else. At the conclusion of our feast it was time to go to sleep, and we were brought to an old, dilapidated house not far from the restaurant. The rooms were in complete darkness, and we threw ourselves down on straw mattresses like tired cattle. I slept very little that night, for the roar of the elevated trains, which I was not used to, was not very conducive to rest.
The next morning, after taking our coffee, I told Santo Gullo that we should go to the Banca Gilardi and find out if the money that should have been forwarded by Spoto's sons from Tampa had arrived. But at Gilardi's there was no money for me. I was a little upset, but Gullo calmed me down by saying that Spoto had asked him to pay my fare if the money from Tampa had not arrived on time. This settled things for me, but I wrote a strong letter, just the same, to Mr. Spoto. Gullo paid for my ticket and that afternoon we were loaded once again onto the same cart and taken to a steamer that plied between New York and Norfolk, Virginia.
It was not a long journey, the coastal waters were not as rough as the ocean, and we reached Norfolk without any trouble. At Norfolk we parked at the railroad station, waiting for the train that was to take us on the last stage of our voyage to Tampa.
I do not recollect how long it took our train to reach Tampa, but it was in the evening of the next day before we were in Ybor City. Carrying our baggage on our shoulders, the five of us, led by Gullo who knew where he was going, tramped the distance between the station and the corner of 8th ~venue and 17th Street, where two of Gullo's brothers owned a bar. They had a happy family reunion, but I had to go to Tampa, where my cousin Giambattista was living. Therefore I parted from my traveling companions, and in the company of an uncle of mine (a cousin of my father) who happened to be in Gullo's bar, I boarded an electric car and reached my cousin's residence at Fortune and Franklin streets. Ybor City in those days was a dismal fraction of Tampa. Today, there is only one big city, Tampa.
My cousins, Giambattista and Maria, welcomed me, and after a good dinner we talked long into the night about our relatives and our little home town. Then I went to bed for a long and untroubled rest.
I had come to the end of my first long voyage. It was the evening of October 31, 1902.
I spent my first two weeks in Tampa receiving people who came to inquire about their relatives and friends. When this restful period was over I told my cousin that I was anxious to start working, He asked me what kind of work I intended to do, or was able to do, and I told him that I just wanted work, no matter what kind of work it was.
My cousin advised me to learn how to make cigars, and I followed his suggestion, for he was seven years older than I and had been living in Tampa for three years. He knew better than I what should be done. He was working in a bar and was doing well, after having tried his hand at cigarmaking with little or no success.
I liked the idea of learning to make cigars, for that kind of work paid well. The only flaw was the long and costly period of apprenticeship. I asked how long it took to learn the trade and I was told that I should be satisfied if I could become a cigarmaker in eight, ten, or twelve months. In those days there was nothing else to do in Tampa but make cigars, and all immigrants, no matter whether they were intellectuals or not, with a very few exceptions, landed in the cigar factories. I was one of them.
As a matter of fact, for the next twenty years all the new arrivals ended in the cigar factories. Later, there were a few exceptions to the general rule, and one of them was the coming of my last three brothers, who arrived in Tampa after the year 1914, and found employment in my wholesale grocery business, where help was badly needed. They thus avoided the cigar factory.
Knowing myself, I was convinced that it would not take me a whole year to learn. On the other hand, I did not want to be a burden on my cousin's shoulders for such a long time. I wanted to show that I could do things the way I wanted. I had many occasions to prove this, in the days to come, to the point where I was the object of a little envy, from those early days to the present time. I have always been aware of a jealousy that my way of doing things, my initiative, my personal qualities, my intelligence, and my strong will power, has created.
From a mere cigarmaker, I became a trader, an importer, a ship owner, and then a banker. My neighbors were ill at ease as they observed my rise, but I want to repeat again that I have never bragged about my financial position, and I have always led a very modest family life, maybe a little too modest.
I have not been able to hide my fifteen Journeys to Europe, which I have made in luxury surroundings. If I had been able, I would have kept them secret. On the other hand, I have always traveled incognito. When I have been asked who I was, and what I did for a living, I have always answered that I was a businessman, without going into details. I have never said, for instance, that I was a banker, and president of the International Bank of Tampa, Florida.