The Federal Hill District of Providence, Rhode Island was the destination of thousands of Italian immigrants.
The district's Italian-born population continued to grow in the early 1900s:
18,000 in 1905
42,000 in 1920
50,000 in 1930 (20% of the city)
Residents of this "Little Italy" called it "the Hill" or "the Little Hill" or "Colletto."
Atwells Avenue lay at the center of it.
http://www.providenceri.com
Over the years, Antonio Fantetti has delighted and enlightened us with stories about life on "the Hill." It was, then, a great joy to learn that Tony was writing some of his memories, and a great honor that he allowed us to present his story and photos (below) as an "Echo" from Gli Immigranti of Providence.
Part 1:
Introduction
Seasons on Federal Hill
The Tenement
School
The Great Depression
Part 2:
The Federal Hill House
The Bonefro Club
Mount Pleasant Relatives
Sundays
Homemade Bread, Healthcare, Evil Eye
Coming Next Installments:
The Blacksmith
Prohibition
Crime and Punishment
Shopping the Hill
Slideshow of 1912 Providence,
Rhode Island (a couple decades before the Providence of Mr. Fantetti's story).
Photographer Lewis Wickes Hine,
1874-1940
for National Child Labor Committee
Child Welfare Exhibit 1912-1913
US Library of Congress (original titles and digital identification captioned)
Click a photo to enlarge and open a slideshow on a new page.
Introduction.
On November 17, 1921, I first saw the light of day in a coldwater flat on
One could not forget the strength we (I say “we” because I'm including my brothers Michele and Jimmy and my sisters Anna and Jenny) drew from my father, Donato Fantetti and dear mother Giovannina (Barletta) Fantetti, a family unit that held together throughout the difficult depression of the 1930s and the difficult political times fast approaching. Our family was considered a stabilizing influence on a street that included the most diversified characters and family units that at times seemed to be in constant conflict with each other over matters that concerned children, husbands, the best regional cooking, peddlers, police and old world towns of origin.
IN SUMMER, walking the streets of the Hill, I heard the sounds of the colonial band rehearsing for a coming event-- whether it be a funeral or a parade, 
and the music from radios blaring out the Italian programs. The aroma of the Sunday meals being prepared permeated the air.
A summer activity that enlightened me on the trials and tribulations of the various families on the street was the nightly gatherings of the wives on the front stoop of our house on
Most of the tenements were hot and crowded, and on a warm evening the cool granite steps offered relief. The conversations varied from sex, religion, schoolteachers, cooking, old country, husbands, children and crime. The discourse was in English and at least four different Italian dialects. Most of the older kids sat on the curbing, with ears perked. We learned a lot about life at an early age, much to our benefit.
What were the men doing all this time? They congregated in the local bars and clubs in the area, and some in the few local wine cellars, for card games and violent political discussions about local and international news. The Duce was always the main topic, pros and cons always in verbal battle. The political future looked grim to all. After a night of cards, wine and talk, they retired to their tenements, to bed and looking forward to another day of labor and earning the family’s daily bread.
This was a ritual for all seasons. They worked hard in all kinds of adverse working conditions, language difficulties and an alien urban environment. Most men were from small hill towns in
THE FALL was filled with the smell of wine making and the washing of the wine barrels, which left the streets and sidewalks, stained red from the draining wooden casks.
WINTER on the street was taken over by the boys. All the working and old folks and most all the “good girls” were off the street by dusk.
There were three different gangs of boys. Each had their own hangout spot under a street lamp, where games like wild horse, jump the fence, kick the can, peggy, relivio and of course card games like tre sette, scopa, and briscola were played... and if we had money, craps.
I also remember winter nights around curbstone fires where we would cook our potatoes taken from Mr. Mattera's vegetable stand. Johnny Mattera would be in the raiding parties on his father’s store. The potatoes would be cooked and eaten just a few feet from the scene of the crime.
Later time was spent around the kitchen table or around the kitchen wood- and coal-burning stove for storytelling. My father told us tales about the old paese, Bonefro, and my mother would read the Italian newspaper Il Progresso. Her reading was for the benefit of my father who did not read well, but of course, we all benefited in the long run.
Italian became our primary language. Though this would cause a little problem when school time came around--one of the obstacles we had to overcome--it was one of my mother's greatest gifts. Conversations with our dear mother were in Italian. With our father, English was intermingled with Italian. He was in the saloon business, came in contact with the public daily and had more opportunities to hear and speak English.
My mother was well schooled in
Most of the memories I am recalling were events in my pre-teen years. This was before the enlightenment of the Church, the Federal Hill House, and the Boy Scouts, which came to occupy some of our evenings 7:00 to 9:00 p.m. when we were older. The comradeship that developed between us boys in those early years was developed in the street. 
We never entered each other’s homes, except on rare occasions. The tenement living quarters did not allow, and were not intended for, fun and games. Of course, within the family and close cousins, this was not the case, although I might add that holidays and Sundays were the times for family gatherings and only rarely on a weekday.
Space was limited to bedrooms and kitchen. The kitchen, which barely accommodated the family unit, was the entertainment center. In some houses, a shared common toilet was located in the hallway. Hot water for bathing and house cleaning had to be heated on a gas range or the kitchen stove. The older children made use of the public bathhouse usually on Saturday mornings. The afternoons were reserved for adults.
My first adventure outside the family unit was attending
The Great Depression of the early 1930s was most memorable not for the lack of food but for the lack of good clothing and the toys that children all craved. 
My mother made bed sheets by sewing flour sack material together. Our neighbor and dear friend, Fortuna Mattera, made shirts and under clothing for us. Mother would buy material from the door-to-door salesmen and women. One we called “arabiana” the Arab, who was really an old Italian woman from the neighborhood. Cloth material was her specialty. The Jewish man we called “u'giudo,” was my mother's favorite because he came with material my mother was putting away for my two sisters' dowries. I remember my mother liking both these people. In fact, I am sure she looked forward to their calling days because she did not like store shopping.
She did spend most of her not at home time at her father's tailor shop on
Another thing that stands out in my mind about The Depression was the fact that my father owned the house we lived in, and as a property owner was not eligible for the various welfare items that were distributed to needy families, such as shoes, clothing and staple food goods. My brother and I would go to “papa reedy” (the term used--I guess he was the person authorized to hand out the items to the people). Like I mentioned, we would go with our friends pulling the carts with them, and could never understand why none of the goodies were for us.
Nonetheless, we made it through the hard times. Our table was always filled with the food we loved. Come to think of it, later that very food would be considered gourmet.
The Federal Hill House. The Theater Guild comes to mind. Some of the adult plays: “A Tree Grows in The Little Theater Guild was for the younger members of the drama club. I was in several plays. One was “Jack and the Beanstalk,” a smash hit. Admission to the play was free. Good behavior was the only requirement. A few catcalls were heard, but hey, what were friends for?
The Federal Hill House was located on
Other activities at the Federal Hill House were woodworking, art, drawing, block printing and our Troop 99 Boy Scouts of America. The girls had sewing and embroidery instruction, some cooking and girl-talk clubs. There was a small gym in the basement and a volleyball court on the roof of the building. Balls going over the roof had to be retrieved at street level--a ball chaser was on duty there. However, at times the ball vanished, later to show up in some back yard in full play.
[Note: The Providence, RI official website states:
Like the immigrants that came before them, the Italian immigrants had to deal with social segregation, as well as problems of overcrowding in the already densely populated Federal Hill. These problems prompted various community-based efforts such as the establishment of several settlement houses in Federal Hill. The Sprague House opened in 1910 at 417 Atwells Avenue and later, Federal Hill House was established at 400 Atwells Ave. These two entities provided services which included both industrial and vocational training and health services. Today, Federal Hill House (Association) still continues to be an active service provider. ]
Another memory of my early youth was the visits to my father's Bonefro Club, where the men of the old paese would gather after work and on weekends to play cards, shoot pool and plan their social programs. The annual outing at
At the club while the men played cards, my brother and I would shoot pool or play the pianola which had lots of piano rolls of music of the times. The soda cooler was a treat for us. At home, we very seldom had soda, though my grandfather's house was another place where soda was always available. All the club's business and conversations were in Italian.
There was something magical about Friday nights. No school the following days; the shopping; the end of the workweek for those who worked in the mills and factories; the visits to the houses of our cousins living in the
In turn, our house on
We looked forward to weekends. Sunday Mass at the Holy Ghost church was at 9:30 in the lower church we called “the basement.” There, the nuns kept a strict watch over us…”on your knees”...”no sitting on the bench”…“no talking”…”pay attention to the priest and the prayers.” Most all of my friends attended Mass. It was also a meeting place to plan the Sunday afternoon movie going after dinner.
My mother, with help from my two sisters, would prepare the Sunday meal, always a feast-day meal with roast chicken killed that same morning; roast potatoes; onions; macaroni with tomato sauce we called gravy, made with home preserved tomatoes, tomato paste, olive oil, chopped salt pork and garlic; braciola-bottom round; meatballs; and a piece of codena-salt pork rind. A green salad (that never included iceberg lettuce), escarole, wine vinegar and olive oil, home-made bread, fruit and ice-box fresh cold water (never soda), sometimes wine or beer. My father made home brew. The leftovers were our Sunday evening snacks after the movies.
I remember my father taking a nap after dinner. We had to wait until he awoke to ask for the money, 25 cents for the movie and candy--unless we went to the Bijou or the Capital Theater (called the “scratch house”) where it cost only a dime. In this case, we had enough for a meatball sandwich after the movie.
The first movie house I recall was La Serena on
Mother made her own bread. Four were the number of loaves used in our family in a week. My mother would put about eight pounds of flour from a 90-pound flour sack into a large bread pan. The pan had two handles for carrying. She would add the proper amounts of salt, yeast and water, put a bandana on her head and begin to knead the dough to the right consistency. When this was completed, a white cloth was placed over the dough. The pan was then hand carried from our house to the Patriacca Bakery on
Most all the families made their own bread. This caused a rush to the baker’s oven on the allotted day. The dough had to be there when the oven was emptied of the baker's own shop bread. A number would be tied to the pan and a corresponding number on a little piece of paper would be pasted on each huge round loaf shaped by the baker. There were occasions when we kids or the baker himself would not put the correct loaves in the right pans. This caused all kinds of problems when the mothers who made special bread dough using old world recipes ended up with Apulian or Neapolitan bread when their dough mix called for Sicilian bread. I can still hear the screams from our Sicilian neighbor, Assunta.
In time, this practice of homemade bread gave way to home deliveries of good Italian bread from the many bread bakers in the area (also see slideshow photo). Our bread was from Pracacinni's located on
When my sisters were about 6 or 7 years old, one of them became very ill with a throat infection. Doctor Romano, our family doctor, was summoned. In those early days, doctors made house calls. After examining my sister, he informed us that she had infected tonsils and they had to be removed at once. While he was at it, he examined my other sister’s throat and advised her tonsils should be removed, too. He charged $15 to do a tonsillectomy but he would do the two of them for $25. My father and mother agreed and the stage was set for the operations. Two chairs were set up in the middle of the kitchen. Our family friend, Mrs. Cerce, was called in to help the doctor. We considered her an amateur nurse because she helped at the Federal Hill House clinic.
A cone was fashioned from newspapers, then lined with cloth. Two holes were made in a can of ether. My two sisters were placed in the chairs, heads tilted back to receive the cone, and the kitchen operating room was now ready. Every one was sent out of the kitchen. But from the bedrooms and pantry, we could observe all the goings-on. The doctor then dripped the ether from the can into the cone, placed it over the nose and mouth of the patients, one at a time, and when the ether started to take effect he gave this job to the nurse who had been holding down the patients. A few drops at a time as he called for ether was dispensed by the “nurse”. The doctor operated, placed the tonsils in a glass, then tended to the patients. My sisters looked like two little rag dolls. They were put to bed and recovered with no ill effects. The family was grateful for the help of Antonetta Cerce, our nurse. Our mother's prayers were answered.
The used ether can was recovered from the trash by Tatono (Sal) Mattera. He used the fumes remaining in the can to render his pet cat into a drunken cartoon character.
One time he captured a rat, tied a string around its neck and walked around the neighborhood. Need I say he walked alone. Rats were common in the neighborhood as the garbage and trash was never wrapped. We had a bin and a few 50-gallon drums in the back yard, enclosed in chicken wire for the garbage, and a cement ashbin where our stove ashes, cans, bottles and all other trash were thrown.
When it was time to clean out the ashbin, my father would get in touch with Mr. Zinni, the ash man. We kids would watch as he opened the bin door with pitchfork in hand, ready to strike at the rats that always jumped out when their nests were disturbed. He hauled the trash away in his horse-drawn wagon. It was always an exciting time when Mr. Zinni came to clean the trash bin. The garbage collectors were always in peril when they came around weekly on pick-up days. The danger of rats in the barrel-drums was always there. When we heard a scream from them, we knew what caused it.
The malocchio was the “evil eye” ritual that my mother performed for most anyone requesting it. The person would have a headache, no doubt caused by someone envious or wishing them harm and who had gave them the “evil eye” (the horned fingers sign pointed at a person). My mother would put some water in a soup dish with the person standing by. If the oil dispersed quickly, it was a sign relief was imminent. If not, try again. Most always, the oil dispersed and the person was happy and well again. This was always followed by a cup of coffee and sometimes too long a visit. Now was it the malocchio request or the excuse for a visit and coffee that brought the distraught to my mother? I'm sure the coffee and talk was the main reason for the visit.
When mother had a headache, she relied mostly on thinly sliced potato placed on a headband tied around the head. This practice became quite popular. Cucumber slices were also used when in season.
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