"In the early 1950s, Bruculinu, as the Sicilian immigrants called their Brooklyn neighborhood, was a remarkable place. If the weather was fair, the streets would be teeming with life. Women would be haggling with pushcart vendors in Sicilian and broken English over pieces of fruits and... read more
“In Bruculinu,you imagined that if you could ride the subway a little bit longer,you'd be in Palermo.”
“Today, the tin swords are broken,forgotten,the prizes old and obsolete.Someone,somewhere still cherishes a nostalgic statue of St. Joseph,but the lights of our feast have long been put out.The most lasting souvenier will always be the remembrance itself,magnified through childhood memories,highlighted through the passage of years.”
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