The thought of writing a book occurred to me after our adventure in Sicily had ended. I had thrown myself into studying the Italian language and at the tail-end of the trip, we stopped at a smallish city, Termini Imerese, perched on the northern coast of Sicily to explore the roots of my father’s side of the family.
Termini Imerese, Sicily
I was a new driver in Sicily and very happy to grab the first parking space we could find for our Fiat Panda rental. We needed to get directions to the Ufficio Anagrafe (vital records office). Being a guy, I wanted to wander until we found it on our own. My better half, Joanna, convinced me otherwise.
As I approached these men, I could feel them eyeing me suspiciously. When I said my grandfather was born in Termini Imerese in 1882, their demeanor seemed to soften and they became quite interested. In fact, the man standing in front of me removed the car keys from his pocket and offered us a ride! I politely declined and said we wanted to walk through town. They had to repeat the directions a couple of times because my Italian wasn’t so great back then.
The language classes paid off because a mere fifteen minutes later, we had completed the walk to our destination. Once inside, we weren’t sure we would get any help until I retold the story of my grandfather. We spent most of the day searching births, deaths, and marriages recorded in books like the one in front of me.
A kind man, Domenico, became my newest and best friend.
Except for recent events, records are not computerized. Information pertaining to my family from the 19th century and earlier are kept in these large ledger books. A search by hand is quite time consuming.
A treasure trove of information is carefully safeguarded under lock and key.
We found it! The record of my grandfather’s birth in July 1882.
Armed with a handful of vital records we decided at the last minute to stop at the town’s cemetery to pay our respects before leaving the island.
City cemetery – Termini Imerese
It was a Saturday, the first of November. We had no idea it was Ognissanti or All Saints’ Day. We also had no idea the cemetery would be overrun with people (this shot intentionally didn’t include any people). It’s a large cemetery and we quickly realized that trying to find my family’s graves was impossible.
In my best Italian, I asked where we might look. Sadly, we learned there were no grave sites for my family to be found. They were either buried in a cemetery that had since been built over or more likely buried in this communal grave with no marker.
communal grave – Termini Imerese
On a quiet two-hour drive through Sicily toward the mainland, I came to realize that family is family no matter whether I knew them or not. To honor them, I wrote the outline of the story for Leaving Marinella in my head, then took several years to put it down on paper.
It was a day I’ll never forget. I learned and confirmed many things; I was also left with questions that cannot be answered—in this life at least.
My grandfather, Tommaso “Thomas” Amato, said goodbye to his home when he was a young boy and traveled to the U.S. without his parents. Although I gathered some information and was in possession of certain clues, no one can say for sure why he left, nor does anyone have any idea what he did until he was an adult.
One thing is certain. My grandfather was the inspiration for Leaving Marinella. And even though I never had the opportunity to meet him, I came to love this man.
My grandfather as a young man living in Virginia.
Christopher Amato 