The Willow Glen Resident Photograph courtesy of Cookie Curci-Wright Radio Days: During World War II, Italian-American families like the Vincencis were often forced to give up their radios. Giving the gift of true friendship: A Christmas story to warm hearts By Cookie Curci-Wright Papa Vincenci nestled comfortably into his rocker and, with a twist of his hand, clicked on the dial of his RCA Victor Radio. It was Papa's habit each night, after one of Mama Savadia's robust Italian meals, to position himself by his beloved radio and tune in to the nightly antics of popular radio characters such as "Fibbar Magee and Molly," "Amos 'n' Andy," "Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy" and "The Lone Ranger." There were no complexities to Papa Vincenci's lifestyle; his wants and needs were easily satisfied by a good meal, a warm home and a loving family. He lived his life by the simple and old-fashioned creed: "Pray for the things you want, work for the things you need." If Papa had one luxury, it was the acquisition of a household radio. The radio had become a vital component of his daily life. It restored his energy and brought back his sense of humor after a long work day in the fruit orchards of the Santa Clara Valley. With the impending arrival of World War II, the economy had begun to tighten, but budget-wise Papa had managed to scrimp and save enough money, from his meager earnings as a tree pruner, to purchase the new radio. Although Papa had known poverty in the Old Country, he felt he'd never been poor, only broke. Being poor, Papa believed, was a state of mind; being broke was only a temporary situation. Papa loved his new radio, but great-Grandma preferred listening to her old Victrola or puttering around her woodstove to sitting by the radio. Until the day she heard her first episode of "One Man's Family" on NBC radio. From that moment on, she was an ardent fan of new media. In time, Grandma came to believe the radio had been sent to them as a blessing. It helped both her and Papa Vincenci to learn better English, and it was a boost to their social life as well. The radio gave them a common topic to discuss with their neighbors, who also listened nightly to the same radio programs. On warm summer nights, Papa's neighborhood cronies, Mr. Goldstein, Mr. Rosenfeld and Mr. Miller sat with Papa on his front stoop discussing their favorite radio programs. There were times when Mr. Goldstein would explain the meaning of a Yiddish word Papa had heard on the "Molly Goldberg Show." Other times, Papa would translate a Puccini opera for Mr. Goldstein. And, some nights, the old friends had a good laugh at the expense of the contestants on the "Ted Mack Amateur Hour." The radio had helped to bond these old friends, who came from vastly different backgrounds, in a way few things could. The men had left their old countries to escape tyranny and oppression, and as young immigrants they settled into the neighborhood together. Although they came from varied parts of the world and followed different religious beliefs, the old friends shared a common love for their new country, and for family traditions. And so their friendship grew until that fateful December 7th in 1941, when Papa's radio brought him the terrible news that Pearl Harbor had been attacked. He would hear President Roosevelt declare war on Japan, and the Axis powers Germany and Italy--a declaration of war that would change Papa's life. The knock on Papa's door came early that December morning in 1941. It brought with it a special delivery letter from the government of the United States. The message declared that Papa must surrender all radios on his premises--effective immediately! Papa Vincenci had no political ties to his former country. He had worked and lived in America for more than 35 years and had raised his children and grandchildren as honest, hardworking American citizens. But the fact remained that 65-year-old Papa was a native of Italy, a country now ruled by the fascist tyrant Benito Mussolini, who had chosen to side with the Axis powers against the United States. As Papa read the dispatch, tears of indignation rolled down his face. Losing his beloved radio would be sad enough, but Papa was more concerned that he might lose the respect of his friends in the community, which he had earned over 35 years. More than anything else, Papa prided himself on his honesty and high moral character. His word had always been his bond. Now he feared that a war thousands of miles away had cast a shadow over him. It appeared that Papa's fears were well founded; some of his employers, leery of Italian aliens, had begun canceling their job offers. Papa worried that his longtime friendships with the Goldsteins, the Rosenfelds and the Millers were also in jeopardy. Would they also view him differently now? Could they somehow believe he shared the same political beliefs as the terrible tyrant Mussolini? Papa had good reason for concern. The political atmosphere of America had begun to change. Hollywood films, such as The Saboteurs and The Great Dictator, helped to fuel the country's suspicion and unrest. A once-friendly nation had now become distrustful of foreign-born citizens. That Christmas Eve, in 1941, Papa and Grandma sat quietly in their favorite chairs warming themselves by the fire. Papa couldn't help but miss the raucous sounds of his household radio; moreover, he missed the daily banter with his friends and neighbors, which he feared he had now lost. A knock on the door brought Papa to his feet. Opening the door, Papa was surprised to find his old friends the Goldsteins, the Rosenfelds and the Millers all standing on his front stoop. Mr. Goldstein was the first to speak up: "Vincenci, my friend. The United States government says that you can no longer own a radio, is this correct?" With a quizzical expression on his face, Papa answered, "Yes ... yes, this is so." "But the government did not forbid you should listen to a radio, correct?" inquired Rosenfeld. "Correct," Papa repeated. Papa's neighbors handed him a sheet of paper. On the paper was a handwritten time schedule listing all of his favorite radio programs. Each program and time corresponded with a neighbor's address. His old pals had gotten together and worked out a radio listening schedule for Papa and Grandma that included every show from "The Goldbergs" to "Little Orphan Annie." "Read it, my friend. It's all there," said Mr. Rosenfeld. "All your favorite radio programs are accounted for. You won't miss one radio program if we can help it, Vincenci." Papa's eyes filled with tears, but this time they were tears of great joy and gratitude. While Grandma served freshly baked biscotti, Papa filled their glasses with homemade red wine. Before going to sleep that night, Papa and Grandma said a silent prayer of thanks. Papa may have lost a valuable radio on that somber day in 1941, but what he'd found in friendship that Christmas Day was truly priceless. [ Back to Contents Page | Willow Glen Resident Home Page | Archives ] This article appeared in the Willow Glen Resident, December 23, 1998. ©1998 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.