Carlo "Poppa" Mirto (continued)
My grandfather was a big man, not tall, rotund, pear shaped. All his trousers were held up with suspenders and a belt. He stood five three and carried himself with assurance and dignity. His round head was bald and fringed with thin gray hair and he wore wire rimmed glasses. His house was furnished with Oriental carpets, silk drapes, oil paintings, ornate furniture and tables of mahogany. He loved auctions and it was not uncommon for a furniture van to pull up to the house, much to my Grandmother’s annoyance, and unload a shipment of goods from his most recent purchase. Many of these items were acquired with the winnings of card games at the Italian Center. In the end my grandmother forbid him these after work exploits.
Sunday mornings when my grandmother returned from mass and started cooking sauce and meatballs for the family dinner and my Uncle Tato was still sleeping in the bedroom off the kitchen, Pop would offer his rendition of “La Donne Mobile” and my grandmother would silence him with “Charlie”. He called her “Picina”, affectionately, Italian for little one and moved on to making his morning coffee and milk, warmed together in equal proportions until steaming and then poured into a bowl, never a cup. He then added cereal or left over cake or on occasion graham crackers and with a tablespoon ate the mix. And then drank the coffee. If there was left over pizza or pasta in the ice box, breakfast was a two course meal. Later Pop would preside over Sunday family dinner where it seemed every living relative would join the feast at his table and the fellowship in his wine. After the food was enjoyed and the dishes were cleared away, one by one all the grand children were marshalled into the kitchen and Pop would trim or cut their hair and then he would give each one a dime to go down to the corner store to buy a Vanilla Dixie Cup to be eaten with a store provided wooden spoon.
Once a month my grandfather and grandmother would take the New York Central train from Poughkeepsie to New York City and spend Friday evening at the Metropolitan Opera House. Every other Saturday afternoon at two she would listen to the live radio broadcast sitting in her chair in the parlor while Pop sang along to the music as he cut hair in the Columbia Barber Shop on Washington Street. He never learned to drive a car so each workday morning he walked down Worrall Avenue to Main Street and rode the bus to Market Street and walked to his shop on Washington. This was his second shop. The Union Barber Shop on Market was his first and he left his former partners to be his own boss. At six each evening my Uncle John or Uncle Tato was dispatched to pick him up and drive him home and we ate dinner after he washed up. He was a kind man who did not raise his voice except to sing; a generous man whose house and hospitality was available to the family, friends and stranger in need.