Los Angeles Tech Writer

I received another great reminiscence letter from my dad recently about a lovely family tradition practiced in Lincoln Heights in the "old days" - late night serenades.

My dad, who is in his eighties, comments that he does not know how his Sicilian immigrant parents and their contemporaries managed to accomplish so much, which echoes what I have been thinking lately about our fast-paced twitter and tweet lifestyle - so much, so fast.

Anyway, for those of you wanting to know a little more about East Los Angeles life in the early part of last century, here is a great snapshot.

My dad wrote:

In an earlier letter I mentioned that Tony Giampietro [a close friend of his parents] was a superb mandolinist, and had studied at some prestigious music schools when he lived back east in New Jersey. He also played the triangular-shaped, Russian balalaika, which he played in the Jeanette McDonald-Nelson Eddy movie of old, "At the Balalaika." Anyhow, he and my dad played together at almost every family party or picnic. Dad never studied music at any conservancy, but had a real "ear for music," which [my dad's brother] Anthony inherited.

Back in the good old days, everyone of my parents' friends, like my parents, were self-employed, and most worked extremely long hours in their businesses, often 6-7 days a week. Thus, they were pretty "physically beat" by the end of each workday, yet they had the stamina to do things socially, that would be "out of the question" with even my generation, and for sure your generation.

One of the "social niceties" of that era was late night musical serenade. Whenever one of the couples was celebrating an anniversary, the ladies would do the planning, and several couples would actually gather at someone's home at midnight. Then all would caravan to the "anniversarees'" home, go in the gate, and gather at the bedroom window of the couple. Dad and Tony Giampietro would then softly play an old, old, popular tune, "I Love You Truly," and everyone would sing along. The neighbors would not be "pissed off," as they would today, at being awakened, and when the song was over, everyone would clap, and the anniversary couple would turn on the lights and invite all (including the neighbors) in for a cup of coffee and a cookie.

Mind you, this would now be 1:00 - 1:30 AM in the night hours! After about a half an hour, all would leave, drive home, and most would be at work by 7:00 AM the next morning...ready for another 12 hour day! Sheesh! Don't know how they did it?

Oh, if said anniversary happened to be my parents', or Lucy and Tony's [Giampietro], then there were always other guitar players or mandolinists who would fill in. My uncle, Emil Sanfedele, who lived in our courts, could play a little guitar, but mandolin very well. A guy named Rudy Marino, who was music-school trained and a par to Tony Giampietro. Or my cousin Dick Giaimo played the violin well.

So the custom of an anniversary "serenata" lived on. In Happy Valley [a nickname for the part of the Lincoln Heights where they lived] a similar custom was carried on by the Mexican community as young men would hire a small mariachi group to serenade their brides-to-be, again, in the wee hours of the morning! I always enjoyed the mariachis because of their beautiful, close harmony in singing, accompanied by a lone guitar!

I can say this. The immigrant members of society then were very hard workers, but they made the time for social interface and fun, though it was simple in nature. I think it was what kept them going in the face of adversity that we'll never know. I'm glad I had the privilege of growing up in that era!