Antonella had lifted the lids from two of her biggest pots, and they became her cymbals as she stepped into the doorway to remind the Italians of Williamsburg that today was the Feast of Saint Paulinus. The clanging of the metal rang out through the street. Williamsburg was a colorful Brooklyn neighborhood where kids played ball in the street, men raced pigeons off the rooftops and women sat on window stoops to watch the life of the city passing by. Antonella banged louder and louder. Her call was echoed as a din rose up in all the delis around her. Each cook had their own way of reminding the locals about the Giglio Feast; they tapped keys against tin cans or whistled through their fingers, or scraped forks over barbecue grills. All noise was welcome as the celebrations began. They made whatever din their imaginations could conjure; it was a show of pride, and strength, and one to which the old dame was devoted. “Pepsi Cola! Pepsi Cola! Lasagna e linguine alla pesto!” she cried. “Warm and hot, ready in the pot!” she went on. The passers-by observed her with amusement, and many stopped in front of her little eatery to order food to go. Today was a sacred day for the Italian community in Williamsburg; it was the Feast of Saint Paulinus, their patron. “Pepsi Cola! Come and get it while you can!” Antonella persisted.
In the late 19th century, immigrants from southern Italy had come here in their thousands, packed like cattle into boats bound for New York. When they arrived, they had gazed upon the Statue of Liberty welcoming them with open arms. They had come to seek glory in this land, where it was said anything was possible. They had quickly found work in the great city’s factories, or in the packed warehouses and busy docks of Brooklyn’s waterfront. They had come from Sicily and Campania, and the money they made here in New York had delivered them from the poverty of southern Italy. Giving from what they earned, the Italians had raised enough funds to build a church in Williamsburg. None had forgotten that some of this money must go toward the sculpting of a Giglio – a huge, steeple-like structure adorned with lilies, or giglio in Italian, and effigies of Saint Paulinus. Italian men would carry this gigantic structure through the streets, demonstrating the strength of both their bodies and their devotion. Today, over a hundred men carried the gigantic tower. But what was the story behind this saint and his feast day? The feast celebrated the return of San Paolino di Nola, the Catholic hero of a city in Campania. According to legend, in 410 A.D. North African pirates overran the city of Nola, and carried off many young men as slaves. After meeting a widow who had lost her son to the pirates, Monseigneur Paolino volunteered to take the boy’s place in captivity. Word of this altruistic act made it all the way to the Turkish sultan, who freed Paolino and allowed the bishop to return to Nola. Upon his return, the city greeted Paolino with jubilation and showered him with lilies, the symbol of love. According to Our Lady of Mount Carmel parish church, “that joyous homecoming jubilee is considered the very first observance of what would develop into an annual sacred event.”
“Music! Music!” cried the band leader on a Williamsburg street. The Italians were out in great number to take part in the dance of the Giglio. The atmosphere was joyous, and brimming with emotion. The crowd moved like a flooding river, whose dance carried the Giglio like a bobbing branch. Children admired the fairytale decorations and papier maché ornaments adorning the steeple. The parade had begun. They cheered it on from their balconies, throwing down confetti and sugared almonds. The musicians played O' Giglio e Paradiso, and the hierarchy of the event began to take shape. As the music rose up, the capo strode before the Giglio, wielding his ceremonial cane. The first couplet of the tune ended with a piercing fanfare of horns. As the final note sounded, the capo swept his cane into the air, the lifters bent and rose again, the spectators applauded and the Giglio was hoisted up. The capo signaled the band to stop playing, and then cried “Musica!” This time they played the parade’s trademark tune. Once again the capo struck the air with his cane, and the structure was carried along the street.
The Giglio reached the resting point for this lift, and the capo signaled for the carriers to halt. His cry rang out over the ranks of the lifters and they stopped, continuing to bear the weight of the structure. The capo approached the front row and barked four orders in the Neapolitan dialect, into a microphone attached to one of the front beams. “OK fellas!” he cried to draw their attention. “Lift those shoulders!” The men rose onto their tip toes, forcing themselves to lift the Giglio as high as possible. “Get ready! Steady….let her go!” The carriers would then suddenly bend their knees and dodge to the side, as the structure crashed down upon its foundations. There was thunderous applause, before another capo stepped in to prepare the next lift.
The day was coming to an end. Antonella was exhausted as she tidied her little kitchen. The cans of Pepsi Cola had sold out in a flash. Her pots and pans were empty. The people of Williamsburg were heading home. Antonella whispered a short prayer to the saint: “San Paolino, pray for us, and give us your protection!” Her prayers went also to the grocers, and butchers, and innkeepers and bakers and keycutters and ironmongers and tailors of Williamsburg, who had all helped pay for the building of the sacred Giglio.
Alan Alfredo Geday
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