Our Family
Francesco Crinella
Anna Crinella
Domenico Zurlo
Teresa Zurlo
Marino Crinella
Marian Zurlo Crinella
Uncle Domenic
Uncle Lou
Aunt Marguerite
Cousin Marina
Family Photos
The Letters
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About the Crinellas •
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The Letters
Theresa Zurlo
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Theresa Azarro
"Nona" Zurlo was born
on February 19, 1887 in
the seacoast town of
Lavagna, in the province
of Liguria, about 25
miles south of Genoa.
The region is commonly
known as the "Italian
Riviera." She described
her parents as very
loving and kindly
townspeople who had
fallen on hard times due
to a widespread
economic downturn in
Italy. There was great
hardship and starvation
all about them. Malaria
and pellegra were killing
millions of Italians.
Crops had also failed.
Nona remembered the
wrenching sounds of
starving dogs howling in
the streets.
She always proudly
stressed that she had
lived in a "town" as in
the Italian social
hierarchy at that time
this conferred more
status than if one had
come from a village or
lower, the countryside,
and lowest of all the
remote mountains of
southern Italy. This
distinction escaped us,
as over on the other side
of the Italy on the Adriatic Sea, the Crinellas who lived in a "village" were eating very well. It
hardly seemed an advantage to be starving in a town.
Theresa was very well educated for a woman at that time having an education at least
equivalent to completion of ten years of school in the United States. After that she was sent to
apprentice with a tailor for several years, her parents having adopted the revolutionary idea at the
time that a woman should always have some way to earn a living if she needed to do so.
Theresa's parents also had two younger sons and there was little food. When Nona's Aunt who
lived in Los Angeles wrote about a rich Italian real estate tycoon who was looking for an Italian
wife, her parents made the arrangement by mail and Nona sailed from Genoa having pledged to
marry Domenico Zurlo who was twenty-five years her senior. She was sixteen years old and it
seemed like a great adventure.
She spent several weeks at sea and stopped briefly in New York and then proceeded on to Los
Angeles by train with three friends, "two couples" as Nona termed them. Years later Nona would
describe the six day trip to the West Coast to her granddaughter Ramona in great detail. This train
trip was the highlight of her life and she related the it many times including the meals they had
eaten and the impression she had had of the vast American landscape.
She also fell in love with one of her companions, a young Italian immigrant about her age. When
she arrived in Los Angeles, Nona begged to be released from her engagement to Domenico but her
aunt would not hear of it. She pointed out that Domenico was a cultured man who had considerable
wealth in real estate. By contrast, Nona's young man was not established and had nothing at all
and if Nona married him, she would have a life of hardship. Thirty-five years after Nona's death, we
found clear evidence of the very strong feelings she had had for this young man. When we removed
the formal portrait of Nona taken soon after she arrived in California to have it copied, there was a
portrait of the lost love where Nona had placed it more than ninety years before.
Against her own judgement and on the insistence of her aunt, Theresa parted company with her
first love and entered into her pre-arranged wedding. (We pieced the story together after ninety
years from bits we all remembered. And it seemed that she had purposefully told her
granddaughter Ramona parts of the story repeatedly so that perhaps when the other photograph
was uncovered sometime after her death, it would all be clear.)
Part of her aunts insistence may have been that with Theresa's comfortable marriage she
would be able to soon send for her parents and younger brothers as was the custom in families at
that time. And because of the terrifying conditions in Italy it must have been considered almost a
matter of life and death for the family. But Theresa was never to see her parents or brothers again
although they all corresponded by mail regularly except for a few years during World War II.
Following her marriage to Domenico, six children were born in close succession, and, by the
time that the youngest was born, the Zurlo family had moved from Los Angeles to Santa Monica,
Ventura, Sacramento, Colusa, and finally Santa Rosa, where they arrived in 1912. By then, the life
of ease Theresa had expected to have with Domenico had evaporated. He had lost much of what
he had owned at the time of their marriage and far from being the astute businessman he had
appeared to be, he was actually an impractical risk taker who was always on the lookout for the
instant deal that would make him a millionaire overnight.
Domenico preferred the excitement and status of a real estate speculator or investor but in
Santa Rosa he opened a shoe store with an adjoining grocery-delicatessen, most likely at the
insistence of Theresa who wanted security for her family of some sort, even if it was not on the
level Domenico envisioned. She wanted him to forget about the adventures in search of huge
financial returns and get "down to earth." She would do her part and instead of being the pampered
young wife of a prosperous man, Theresa cooked for the deli early each morning, making many of
her Genovese dishes, but also dishes that reflected the tastes of Domenico, who was from the
Province of Abruzzi.
For a number of years the family worked and prospered. Theresa kept Domenico on the straight
and narrow, for as she matured she developed a fierceness where protecting the interests of her
family were concerned.
Under Theresa's guidance they did well and began to live a life of luxury and ease. In those
days a car cost about as much as the average house so having one was a real luxury. Our mother,
Marian, learned to drive in her father's Cadillac which then, as now, was a top of the line
automobile. Our mother also had beautiful couture dresses, one of which we still have of hand
beaded, silk georgette and when she was fourteen has father had given her a full length fur coat of
seal skins. The family had a house in Santa Monica and spent summers there.
But something happened and once again the family fell on hard times even before the
Depression hit the rest of the United States in 1929. Most likely Domenico risked most of what
they had on some stock market scheme. Our mother, Marian, then supported the family for a
number of years. One of Theresa's sons, Vincent, was afflicted with a mental disorder from which
he never recovered and another son, Michael, who was brilliant and wanted to become a lawyer,
died of blood infection.
Nona sold the Santa Rosa house and moved to San Rafael where she had bought a little
neighborhood grocery store on Lincoln Avenue. Domenico had returned to his old ways of trying to
hit the big deals; after all, now he could say he had tried it Theresa's way and it hadn't worked.
The marriage ruptured more or less permanently at this time and Nona found herself close to fifty
without the very thing she had been told she would always have, financial security.
Nona Zurlo was a pillar of the Italian American community in Santa Rosa, and then in
Petaluma, where she relocated in 1940 after selling the grocery store in San Rafael which she ran
for several years. Her house was constantly filled with friends, with whom she would have
animated discussion, always speaking the formal Italian, although she understood the dialects of
other Italian immigrants, and her neighbors seemed to understand her. She had a wicked sense of
humor, and onto each of her friends she would unfailingly bestow a nickname (not always a
complimentary one) that was known within our family. As was the custom in those days,
nicknames were often pertained to anatomical peculiarities, and hearing them spoken (e.g., "denta
longa" "starloccia," "zingara") was source of great delight to us although to be fair, Francis didn't
think it was so funny when one of these withering epithets was applied to his girlfriend.
Nona Zurlo was also a consummate story teller. These were folk stories,
largely unwritten and passed on orally for centuries, such as Aesops
fables, and, though she told the same stories over and over again, they
would always be spellbinding to the listener. When we began to chuckle at
some new embellishment, she would continue to embellish the tale until we
were in stitches. Her house was always filled with friends, laughter, and
also good food. No matter how we now try to emulate her cooking, we have
never matched the aroma of her home.
Nona held court from her front porch every afternoon after she had done
her chores. A parade of women would pass by her house on their way home
from shopping. All would be beautifully dressed, in high heels, hats,
gloves and dresses or suits as in those days the way a woman dressed
conferred a lot of status on her family. Laden with packages and
groceries, and perhaps exhausted with a good distance yet to walk, it was
a pleasant custom to sit on Nona's porch and chat over iced mint tea for a
while if she invited you.
In those days women never talked about their family troubles, politics or
even the War. They probably would rather have been skinned alive than sit
with a bunch of strangers and discuss their family problems as we do now
with our "support groups." If there was a breath of scandal in Petaluma
we never heard anyone talk about it. Even when we were growing up, for
example, a reference might be made, "You know, her family was in the
Donner Party." "You know, her husband, well, you know......" The women
would shake their heads knowingly and that was all. They never talked
about careers or the arts either. They talked about food, fashion and
housekeeping. The most scandalous indictment we ever heard of any of the
townswomen was that she was a poor housekeeper.
Even though Nona had retired from the world of fashion years before when the
narrow hipped styles introduced by Chanel in the 1920's became the new
standard, she knew a lot about it and her advice was widely sought. (She
never forgave Chanel either referring to the Paris coutouriere as "pug
face.") Nona was an avid reader of Vogue Magazine to keep up with the
newest styles. During the War years and even a few years later, they all
but stopped making womens' clothes in the United States. The clothing
factories were busy making parachutes or maybe even bombs and that was
that. Nona did a tidy business doing custom sewing for a select group of
customers. How wise now was the advice of her parents forty years ago
that she learn some way to earn her own living "just in case." With a
Vogue pattern Nona could whip up the latest Paris fashion. It was
considered a triumph locally if you were on her list of clients and she
refused flatly to sew for people who did not come up to her standards.
Some of our mothers friends would beg her to intercede on their behalf to
no avail. Nona would explain to us that there were certain figure flaws
that could not be overcome no matter how clever the seamstress and the
customer would always be disappointed. She understood this very well as
she had very broad hips that simply could not be disguised by current
fashion. This was why she herself had abandoned fashion.
But even women would did not pass muster as clients could sit on her porch
and Nona would dispense advice. A different blouse with that suit would
be better, that skirt should be shortened one inch and so on.
Nona Zurlo had exceptionally good taste, as well as tact, which came in
handy with large ladies who were intent on squeezing themselves into
something a bit too small for their dimensions. She would usually
prevail, and her customer would invariably be pleased. We, too, were
pleased, as Nona would divulge to us, in graphic terms, the challenges
that she had just overcome (e.g., "Mrs. X wanted to fit into a
size 12, so I made her a size 16 and told her it was a size 12"). Years
later American high fashion designers did this exact thing, and changed
their sizes downward so now you buy a size 8 if you are buying luxury
clothing but a size twleve in regular clothing and patterns. As Nona had
surmised so many years ago, women loved to be able to say they were a small
size and we listened with some amusement as Nona's happy customers always
found ways to mention their newly diminished sizes in almost every
conversation.
Her comments on other human frailties were just as entertaining, and,
like Boccacio and Pirandello, it was for those in high places in our
community that she reserved her most pithy commentaries--judges, priests,
and doctors (e.g., "Dr. so and so is full of the stuff that makes green
grass grow" [a favorite expression applied to anyone she considered to be
too smooth-tongued]).
While she had come to this country as a young woman of sixteen who spoke
no English, Nona Zurlo became fluent in English, and read and wrote in
both English and Italian. She also read Latin, the language of her Daily
Missal. She was an avid Democrat, with a picture of Franklin Roosevelt
hung above her bed, next to a picture of Jesus. She was frugal, but
generous. She hated to be cheated out of a penny, but would gladly give
whatever she had to someone in need. Oh, yes, she had a bit of a temper.
She was a short, heavy woman, but on one occasion she knocked down and
half-throttled a young six-footer who had made the mistake of kicking her
little dog, "Stovepipe."
As long as we "towed the line" she was the most indulgent grandmother
imaginable. She taught us to cook, sew and garden. She always found the
time to tell us a story or play a game of checkers. Her standards were
exacting. In addition to not disgracing the family by the usual methods
such as poor grades in school or wearing scuffed shoes, she had two dictums
peculiar to her own view of life. "Never back down if you think you are
right,"
she would say. Violation of this rule would get us into real trouble.
Probably
she felt that by not following her own instincts about her lost love, she
had
ruined her life. The other thing we were not allowed to do, was eat
something in front of another child or a dog or a cat without offering he,
she or it some. Forgetting this rule would earn us a swift slap.
When Nona Zurlo died on November 4, 1958 she had one of the largest
funerals that had ever been seen at St. Vincent's Church, in Petaluma. At
the time of her death, she owned three homes (free and clear) and had
investments. In the years since she had been wiped out in the Depression
she had rebuilt her economic security through her own hard work. Life had
taught her to rely on herself. Thirty-five years later, our friends still
talk about this remarkably talented, industrious, and above all else,
terribly witty Italian immigrant.
Her sauce for pasta asciutta
(literally, "dry pasta"), was one that she
cooked more than any other, and was probably the single most important
reason for the success of Grandpa Zurlo's delicatessen.
By the way, it is not considered more correct whether one serves fresh or
dry spaghetti. The preference seems to be geographical. Nona Crinella
served
fresh, Nona Zurlo servd dry.
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