Life interrupted

The family is split for six years as

Bruno fights for his WW I pension

After the birth of Carlo, the new Corry family spent the next four years in Canton, surviving on Bruno’s World War I disability pension and part-time work embroidering leather pocketbooks and wallets. But with Bruno battling attacks on his health from war-induced tuberculosis, they concluded that Sant’Andrea’s casual coastal lifestyle and warm climate would do him wonders. So in 1929, with Carlo now four years old, they uprooted from Canton and returned to Sant’Andrea, entirely expecting that they would remain there for the rest of their lives.

Bruno had a house built on the outskirts of the town off Via Trieste, a road that led back to the heart of the village. The house had three entrances – one from the front, one from the side alleyway and another from the rear. It had two rooms and a small kitchen on the bottom, a big bedroom on the second floor and another two rooms and a terrace further up. An oven at the back of the house was used to bake bread, and the family used its piece of land to plant a vegetable garden.

Carlo was soon immersed into the slow-paced lifestyle of Sant’Andrea. He started kindergarten and made fast friends with the boys in town. He also took to teasing a cute girl in his class named Vittoria Codispoti, who found Carlo to be a pest and wanted nothing to do with him.

In 1931, their lives were interrupted once again by news from America. In the midst of the Great Depression, his disability pension was cut off. At the same time, cash-strapped non-disabled veterans desperate to feed their families wanted immediate access to the small bonuses Congress had approved in 1924 for their service to the country. The bonus, approved over the veto of President Herbert Hoover, wasn’t to be paid until 1944, but veterans grew tired of waiting.

Bruno left for America in 1931 to join other World War I veterans in the famous Bonus March on Washington in an effort to bring attention to their cause and, with hope, wrest payment from the government. It wasn’t like it was a lot of money. Unlike the benefits afforded to World War II veterans, non-disabled Great War soldiers had no G.I. Bill of Rights – no pensions, special home loans or financial assistance for college. They were simply to be paid based on their days of service: $1 a day for every stateside day served and $1.25 for every day served overseas – $250 on average.

During the summer of 1932, veterans were shot at, tear-gassed and horse-trampled by a military force led by George Patton. It wasn’t until 1936 that Congress, again over the president's veto, voted to give veterans their bonuses and restore disability pensions.

With a decent load of back pay in hand, Bruno, now living in an apartment on Sandford Street in the Bedford Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn with his father’s cousin, Vittorio Nero, sent for his wife and son.

A young romantic

Before leaving Sant’Andrea, Elvira Corry and her son made the rounds to say good-bye to friends and family. One particular visit had Carlo nervous with anticipation.

On most days, Concetta Codispoti’s children could be found assisting her at her shoe store. She was alone, however, when Elvira and 11-year-old Carlo came to pay their respects.

Concetta and Elvira grew up together in Sant’Andrea, so it was easy for Elvira to share her excitement about the prospect of reuniting with her husband for the first time in six years. Concetta’s own husband had been in America for years, regularly sending back money to the family.

As the two women went on to talk about other issues in the store, which was lined with shoes imported from the northern town of Torino and other leather goods, Carlo’s anxiety bubbled to the surface. He tugged at the back of his mother’s shirt.

“Tell her, mom, tell her,” he pleaded, his head poking up just around her hip. Elvira patted him on the head reassuringly, smiled, and then turned to Concetta.

“Signora,” Elvira said skittishly, pausing for a moment. “I don’t know how to start. My son says that when he grows up, he wants your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Concetta chuckled at the notion and looked down at the boy sympathetically, as if to say, “That’s sweet.”

“He’s a kid, she’s a kid. Who knows?” Concetta said, shrugging her shoulders. But this was serious business to Carlo, who promised his heart to Concetta’s daughter Vittoria.

This was all a big surprise to Vittoria, who was at school during Carlo’s admission to her mother. If nothing else, she thought Carlo was a nuisance.

Though he was born in Canton and spent his first four years there, Carlo remembered nothing of the experience. As far as he knew, he spent his whole life in Sant’Andrea. And six years apart from his father, he held only few memories of the man whose name would later bring tears to his eyes as the kindest, most generous person he ever knew.