The aromas of grape mash and coal ash filled the Cambridge Street air every Friday evening and Saturday morning. Almost all of the houses on the block had a head of household who could and did make wine. My grandparents and uncles were no exception. Grandpa Felice and Uncle John, who was married to Grandma Filomena’s sister, lived at 4024 and 4026 respectively. Aunt Elvie and Uncle Mauro Cellini lived at 4028. The backyard fences separating the three adjoining houses were torn down and a huge grape arbor provided cool summer shade and autumn grapes.

My grandfather and Uncle John made the strongest tasting wine imaginable. You could float a silver dollar on a weak batch and dissolve it in a strong one. I never liked to drink it, but grandpa softened my introduction to vino by slicing a fresh peach, dipping it in his wine and handing it to me. While wine was prominent, drunkenness was almost non-existent and alcoholics lived in some other neighborhood. The consumption of spirits was never a big deal and the adult role models demonstrated temperance. I thank them for that. Today, I have a glass of vino with my evening meal and haven’t drunk to excess since I was 15 years of age. I’ll get to that story later.

Grandma Filomena was a Contadina from Southern Italy, and like all of the Contadina she could grow anything, plant or animals. She kept chickens in the yard, killed, plucked and cleaned them and gathered eggs from the hens. I saw her take a live chicken in her hands while she was facing in my direction and then do a 360-degree spin. When she was facing me again the chicken had been silently and swiftly dispatched to Colonel Sanders Heaven. It ended up in the pot that evening. To say that she was an intuitive cook was to greatly understate her style. When asked for a recipe she would usually say, “Somma dis, somma dat. Two hands, mix’em up.” She sure could cook!

I loved early Saturday mornings in October. The sun was usually shining and the “al fresco” air combined with the aromas of grape mash and anthracite ash to form a heady atmosphere which could drive any 12 year old for a weekend. I loved to watch the street come to life in the morning. If I awoke early enough I could watch the lamplighter as he strolled down the street balancing an eight-foot ladder, four feet in front, four feet behind, The ladder held two pails, one at each end. One pail contained soapy water and a brush, the other held clear water. The lamplighter would approach the lamppost, set down his pails, place the ladder against the post handles, climb the ladder, turn down the switch which would cut off the gas flow until the evening, raise the iron top of the light which was hinged to a stanchion, carefully lift off the protective glass cylinder, descend the ladder, wash and brush the cylinder in the soapy water then rinse it in the clear water, re-ascend the ladder, replace the glass, flip the cast iron top back in place, descend the ladder, gather his materials and proceed to the next gas light. What a job! I wanted it so badly that I never failed to get up early every Saturday morning to watch him. I n the early evening, just before dusk, he would reappear this time carrying a pole with a small hook on one end which he used to flip the switch and set the gas light a-glowing for the night. After careful study, I was able to identify the on/off switch, shimmy up the post and save the man the trouble of setting the light a-glow for the evening. I became the unofficial lamplighter helper.

Saturday was trash and ash pick up day. By late morning Mr. Di Colla would appear driving the ash pick up wagon. His horse,Toby, knew all of the stops by heart. Mr. Di Colla would slowly drive the wagon onto Cambridge Street. Toby would stop every so often and Mr. Di Colla would lift the ashes into the wagon. He was a kind and gentle man whose son would eventually marry my oldest sister, Lillian. He spoke very little English, but his ready smile and pleasant demeanor let us know that we could pet Toby and even hitch a ride on the back of the wagon as it crept down the block.