INDEX:
5:17 – SICILIAN MARRIAGE TRADITIONS
7:37 – DI SALVO’S SPAGHETTI HOUSE & SEAFOOD
11:00 – MAFIA IN MADISON
15:45 – GREENBUSH NEIGHBORHOOD
24:27 – CONVOYS ON PARK STREET
27:00 – FOOD TRADITIONS
[NOTE: TRANSCRIPT HAS BEEN EDITED BY NARRATOR FOR CLARITY. DIFFERS FROM AUDIO IN PLACES.]
start of interview
INTERVIEWER: This is Laura Damon-Moore. I am here at the Madison Public Library on Monday, November 13, in the afternoon. We’re talking today with Benedict Di Salvo about his family history in Madison and growing up in the Greenbush neighborhood.
BENEDICT J. DI SALVO [BJD]: Hello.
INTERVIEWER: Hello.
BJD: How are you today?
INTERVIEWER: I’m fine.
BJD: Did you grow up in the Greenbush neighborhood?
INTERVIEWER: I did not, no. That’s why we’re talking to you.
BJD: Oh, okay. (laughs) Okay, what do you want me to do?
INTERVIEWER: I would love [for] you to give us a rundown of your family’s history and how they and you ended up in Madison, Wisconsin.
BJD: Okay. I think the place to start would be, first of all—generally speaking—my father is from Sicily. So I’m first generation. My mother, born and raised in Madison—she is Albanian. Sicilians and Albanians are not supposed to get together, okay. It’s cause for talk in the neighborhood. Gossip.
My father was born in Bagheria, Sicily. His mother, Vincenza, and his dad, Benedetto—Mr. Ben, they later called him—they lived there. And then [Benedetto] decided to go to Milwaukee to be—to start a new life, you know? Everybody thought in Sicily that the streets were paved with gold, so he was going to go scrape up some of that. So he left when my dad was three.
[BJD’s father’s] mom, Vincenza, they moved not that far away to Santa Flavia, where her family was from. And they loved it. And she, my grandmother, called [my father] Cosimo. So it was C-o-s-i-m-o. And the first chapter of the book [ed. note: Sicilian Loves, 2017] talks about his life in Sicily. And it was wonderful. He had uncles that loved him, and he loved them. They taught him all kinds of things. It was great.
Well, what happened is one day, his mom got a cable or something from his dad, saying, "Okay, time for you to leave Sicily. Come to Milwaukee. I’m ready for you." Guess what? They didn’t want to go. In the book there begins some of the friction or the conflict. So the first chapter—every chapter by the way is one day—so the first chapter describes his life on that day in Sicily, and the next chapter is in Milwaukee.
So my dad is about sixteen or seventeen, maybe eighteen. My grandfather is mafioso. So my mother—excuse me, his mother said, “No, I want you to be the Cosimo that grew up in Santa Flavia, among love and relatives. A good soul.” And his dad, Mr. Ben, says, "No—he’s following in my footsteps. Cosmo is following." And she said, "Cosimo is going to be like I am." So, Cosmo/Cosimo—there’s another bit of friction. On purpose—she wanted to irritate the hell out of him.
Okay, so, I’m not going to tell you the book, but so what happened is Vincenza, his mother, died—I’m not going to tell you how, you’ll have to read the book, okay? So then they move to Madison because my grandfather became—well, he was a don. He came to Madison, he’s a don. People kissed his ring on the street and all that crap. Anyway.
So in Madison is where my mom and dad met. My dad and my grandfather had lots of different businesses. He had brothers, too, but at the time they had a bakery, and my dad would deliver bread to my mom’s dad—Maisano, is her [family] name, Angelo is his first name, so he would deliver bread to Angelo Maisano because Angelo had a grocery store. Same building, still standing, and that’s where I grew up—but I get ahead of the story.
So, one day my dad delivers the bread and he [says], “Oh, hey, who’s that?” And [Mr. Maisano] says, “Nevermind who’s that. That’s my daughter. You leave her alone. No.” So the next day, somebody else had to deliver the bread. So my mom and dad—in the middle of the night they would exchange notes—not kisses—notes, back and forth. So, that’s how they met.
Then, of course, they get married, and the third chapter, therein is the seed, if you will, or the precursor to the restaurant, because—well, it’s [sarcastically] hilarious, the horrible things women had to go through, to endure. The trousseau display— “Oh yes, this is my white underpants, this is my pink underpants”—everything was on the table. But the women would come through, and they’re snooty as hell, you know, like they're looking at an art exhibit, back and forth. And they’d sip anise, and eat cookies, and stick some in their pocket. Anyway. But the eighth day, after their marriage—women had to stay indoors for eight days—
INTERVIEWER: So, this was all—I’m sorry to interrupt—this is all part of their wedding celebrations.
BJD: Sicilian wedding traditions.
INTERVIEWER: Gotcha.
BJD: They get married, they have a dinner, which we can talk about someday—Mafia influenced, by the way. Then, she goes home, closes the blinds, turns off the lights, cannot have visitors. A couple of her friends snuck in. My dad, the groom, is free to run around town, drink with his buddies, go out, go to strip—well, I don’t know if they had strip joints back then—he—it was horrible [for his wife Mary].
Then, on the eighth day, when the week was over, my mom and my dad dressed up, and they had to go through the neighborhood, and people who gave them gifts, they’d give a picture of their wedding to them. And that was pretty tedious. And embarrassing, you know. My mom’s, you know, like this [pretends to shield eyes] for the last week. Anyway.
So that’s how they met. They served their friends dinner after the seventh day was over. And it was like a precursor to the restaurant, because they both loved to cook. [They both had] different methods—well, not methods. Different seasonings and styles. They were not that far apart—but, again, Sicilian and Albanian.
So that’s how they met and the restaurant started, and my sister came along—no actually she was born before the restaurant. And I came along, and we both worked in the restaurant, she as a—cleaning shrimp. It was famous for French fried shrimp.
INTERVIEWER: What was the restaurant called?
BJD: Di Salvo’s [ed. note: Di Salvo's Spaghetti House and Seafood, 810 Regent Street].
INTERVIEWER: Okay.
BJD: It was—(pages rustle) Yeah, here’s an article: French-Fried Shrimp, new dish in the Di Salvo menu. I got the picture of it right here. So my grandfather actually decided to do the restaurant (pages turning) but it was—yeah, that’s the sign, okay.
So they did the restaurant, they started it, but then World War II came around and my four uncles went to service—went into the service, not outside of the country. So it was my dad, my grandfather, and then my uncle Ralph, who was too young to go in. He was only seventeen. He took over the bar and then my dad and my grandfather—well, my dad ran things, my grandfather [gestures, makes a noise reminiscent of Marlon Brando in The Godfather] agreed or disagreed.
So finally the war—oh, by the way, this is important. Truax Field airmen, they frequented the restaurant. My mom was a great hostess, they loved my dad too. So what they did is, they filled in. They would come in, they would serve guests, they would bus the dishes, they would wash the dishes. We had a couple of cooks so they didn’t do that. But Jerry Vail, I don’t know if you ever heard of him. (blows raspberry) I shouldn’t make noises. He’s a singer, pop singer, he was one of the guys from Truax Field. So without Truax Field, and those airmen, those dear friends, it would have folded. They just couldn’t run it without help.
And that’s the connection: my sister cleaned the shrimp and [was] really good at it. In fact they served hundreds of pounds of shrimp on weekends. Huge business. I went over there just to be a pain in the butt brother. [mimes getting in the way] I was just a little kid. You know, you give me a sharp knife, and you’re supposed to split them down the middle. Well, if I was lucky I’d split half of it down the middle, and the other half was—well, anyway.
So you see the relationship between my mom and dad and my sister and me, in the fourth chapter which is the restaurant. Chapter five is their 57th wedding anniversary and celebrated in the hospital, my dad’s hospital room. It was pretty exciting. We go from Sicily to Milwaukee, with my dad. We come to Madison, my mom is here. He marries into the Maisano family, or, the Maisano marries into the Di Salvo family. I gotta tell you a Mafia story.
INTERVIEWER: Please.
BJD: At the head table [at my parents’ wedding] is, my mom and dad, my grandfather—he’s got a new wife, by the way. He’s sitting up there, and [asking], "Where’s Mrs. Maisano, and where’s the Maisano family?" Well, Angelo, her father, had died, but there are no Maisanos up there.
The Mafia dons, from Chicago, Milwaukee, Rockford, are all sitting at the head table.
Is my mother going to say something? No. But the reason is that, in the trousseau, they were tearing it down—my mom, my grandmother, and her two sisters were tearing things down. And Mrs. Maisano says, “What’s this?” And she sees an envelope (paper rustles) and she opens it up and there’s a hundred dollar bill in there. “Oh my god!”
And now they’re going through the underwear and the slips—and strategically placed, hidden, were these—I don’t know how many envelopes there were, but there were a lot. And each one had a hundred dollar bill, from the Mafia. Yeah, okay. That’s nice. You got a plus, and you got a minus.
My aunt Rose, this is [my mother’s] sister—she was born in Albania. They were living in Madison and went back to Albania to visit. So she is the oldest of the three daughters in the family: Rose, Anne, and Mary. My mom is the youngest and then there was a brother, Joe. Mr. Maisano ran the grocery store.
INTERVIEWER: What was the name of the grocery store?
BJD: Uh—damned if I know, I think was Maisano’s.
INTERVIEWER: Maisano’s? Okay.
BJD: In fact I found a coin, like a chip of some kind, and it said Maisano’s, good for two cents or something. I’m sure it was Maisano’s. Anyway, it was a grocery store.
A Mafia guy comes in from Chicago and says, “Hey, who’s that?”—sound familiar?
“Hey, that’s my daughter.”
He says, “I want to marry her.” She’s fourteen years old.
“I don’t care, I’m going to marry her and bring her back to Chicago.”
So he [Angelo Maisano] goes to my grandfather, Ben—again, mafioso—and [Angelo] says, “Hey, this family—” Told him the story. My grandfather goes, “I can’t do a thing. It’s too powerful a family.” And my grandfather, Angelo Maisano, says, “Okay.”
Well, guess what happened. [Angelo] goes to Joe (unintelligible) and says, “Joe. You like [Rose]?”
“Yeah, she’s all right.”
“Good. You think she’s cute, pretty?”
“Yeah, she’s a nice girl.” Joe’s in his twenties—she’s fourteen.
And then he goes to Rose, he says, “Hey, you know Joe, right? You like him?”
And she says “Yeah, he’s nice but he’s kinda old.”
“Nevermind. You’re going to get married. Now.”
“What do you mean—“
“If you don’t, it could result not only in the store being bombed, but in the death of some of us.”
So, she married him, within two weeks. The guy came in after, from Chicago, he says, “Okay, I’m here to claim my bride” or something, whatever the hell he said.
And [Angelo] said, “I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean, you’re sorry?”
“She’s already married.”
So when he went back to tell his family [in Chicago], they were not upset. They applauded Mr. Maisano for his ingenuity, for his thinking, you know. He resolved the situation without violence. Okay? Want to hear more, you gotta read the book. (laughs) No, there isn’t that much more.
Okay, have I answered your question—did I give you enough background, as to how they came together, where they came from and how they came about?
INTERVIEWER: I think so. Okay, so let’s dig into some neighborhood-specific things, if you can do that. So our first question for you—you’ve answered this a little bit, but I’d love to hear your response is: What is your association with the Greenbush neighborhood?
BJD: I grew up in the house that my grandfather Maisano, Angelo, built. My mom and dad, when they were married, moved into that. Now, there still was a storefront, but there was an apartment behind and an apartment above. So when my sister was born in ’32, they lived downstairs. And when I was born in (pause) ’84 (interviewer laughs) no, ’39, we lived there.
So I grew up there, as did my sister. I went to St. Joseph’s for grade school. I rang the bells at the church. And I was an altar boy. And I would get these Mars Bars—well, not Mars Bars, some kind of a candy bar, looked like a cow pie, from the priest. No, none of them ever made advances, okay? None. Never, okay. And then from grade school, then I went to high school at Edgewood, but always lived [at 912 Regent Street].
And that was my anchor. I mean, that was my safe house. I went to the university, graduated, blah-blah. I went out, I lived in eleven states but I could always come back home between jobs, between romances, between whatever. They were always there. So it has been “home” up until my mother—my dad died and my mother had to leave because the house was falling apart. And so she sold it and she goes into a nursing home.
Anyway, so the association was there. The house was closer to the ‘Bush—I don’t mean distance, I mean emotional connection, was greater than mine. Because when I left, I kind of left everything behind.
And I never really got back into the [Italian] culture, because I thought the culture as they were portraying it was second-rate. This may offend somebody, but the first Italian Fest that they had, they had some pizza, Domino’s or you know, some pizza—come on, guys. Be authentic or don’t do it at all. And they got better and better, and I had other things to attend to—I didn’t keep track of what was going on.
However, I was there when the city decided—ah, let’s back up. There was a vote: should we destroy the 'Bush, and relocate everybody and build it up, or should we keep it as it is? Neck and neck—in fact, retaining the 'Bush was probably a bit ahead. And then Eagle Heights came in. Where are these people from? Not from Madison. [mocking] Oh, we’re liberals, we think we should—
So, it lost. And then they decided to level everything. Everything was lost. And some of those houses—it wasn’t a ghetto. Some of those houses were old, but on the inside they were immaculate, nice floors—I mean, complete opposite of what it might have looked like on the outside.
So not only did they destroy peoples’ lives and connections with each other, they destroyed ethnic businesses. Now, Di Salvo’s was not part of that, but across the street they tore down grocery stores, gas stations, houses, a Jewish bakery, you know. Unfair.
What happens? They didn’t put up a parking lot. They tore down the hill—Park Street used to be a hill—go up, there was Meriter, er, Madison General [Hospital], there was Schwartz’s grocery store—or no, not grocery store—pharmacy, and then you went back down the hill. They leveled the hill, they leveled everything and now it’s not a parking lot—it’s student housing, it’s clinics, hospital enlargements, everything but a neighborhood. Some of the houses are still standing, on the 800 block, and a couple of buildings on the 900 block—the Italian Workmen’s Club. Never been there for dinner, but they say it’s terrific.
My association—I have memories, memorabilia, stories that I never let go of. So in a lot of ways I think I’ve held on to it closer because I wasn’t there. I’d left, I don’t want to lose this [indicates ephemera], as evidenced by—if you buy a book, there are different categories. The first one, (sound of handwriting) you get my signature. The second one, you get a thank you note on “surprise stationery”—remember I talked about authenticity? (paper rustles) You don’t have to describe what it is.
INTERVIEWER: [looking at stationary] Oh, wow.
BJD: Yeah, this is right from the forties and fifties.
INTERVIEWER: Yeah.
BJD: Now I know why I hung on to it. And it depends on how much you want to pay—there are bibs that say “Di Salvo’s” on it, and they were used for pasta, for lobster, yeah. (paper rustling) Now lobster—how much do you think lobster tails would cost back then?
INTERVIEWER: Ooh, um—
BJD: Well, let me explain. Lobster tail broiled with drawn butter.
INTERVIEWER: Oh.
BJD: Or deep fried—it’s up to you. Or with oregano sauce. $3.75.
INTERVIEWER: Pretty good deal.
BJD: Pretty good. Walleye pike fillets, French fried, with French fries, bread? Excuse me, French or broiled and bread. Be $2.50. Anyway. This is authentic. And that saying, you can’t tell a book by its cover? It’s not true—[indicates cover of book] that’s in the story, that is, you just saw it—parents, relatives from Sicily. A 45-caliber bullet, which, if you pay a thousand bucks, you get the last one. Pretty funny.
If you go online, it’s kind of zany, you know. I say something about, “You get all the stuff above, plus you get the remaining 45 flat-nose bullet. And the pistol is probably in the bottom of Lake Mendota, floating with the fishes." Or living with the fishes. Anyway. Wow.
So, all of that I kept. Because I’m not a hoarder, but I don’t like to let go of things. The bibs, the surprise stationery, water glasses that say Di Salvo’s on them. So those—a friend of mine bought twenty-four, a guy that I know to give to his associates. I tell him, “I think about going to Amazon, to sell more.” He says, “Don’t do it. You are personalizing it, plus, you’re giving people a part of your history, your heritage. You can’t do that through Amazon. You could sell—what do you want, to sell five thousand books and make a buck and a half a book, or do you want to give part of your heritage and your life to other people?"
INTERVIEWER: Nice. Well, I would love to hear one of these stories you just referenced—about a person, or a place related to the Greenbush neighborhood history that we should know. Something that—something that we should know.
BJD: (sighs) You know, I thought a lot about that. And everybody has a story about their own family. And family—this family could care less about this family. So, what would be meaningful for a lot of people? I asked my sister, but she’s too far gone.
The only thing I could come up with, is, when Park Street was flat—no, excuse me it had the hill, so you’d get convoys coming up Park Street and down Park Street, turning onto Regent right past our house. And that’s where they would put it into second gear. So, convoy after convoy would come by and you know, World War II was going on.
And I remember as a little kid, staring at them and they scared the bejesus out of me. And what we used to do—and I looked it up and found the spelling of it— but we would [eat] semenzies and gigidis.
Semenzies are pumpkin seeds, and you can get recipes—oh, yeah, you’d sprinkle salt—no, these were encrusted with salt. The pumpkin seed was about this thick [indicates with fingers], these were about that thick with the salt [widens fingers]. And if you’re really good, if you had beaver teeth like I do, or did, you could stick one in your mouth, break it in half, use your tongue to maneuver the seed out of it and then you’d spit it.
Gigidis are just chickpeas that are roasted, you know, give it flavor. So we would sit there, and eat gigidis and semenzies and spit the pumpkin seeds out as far as we could at the convoys going by. Other than that, yeah, personal things—I got hit in the eye by a rake, or right below the eye—but who cares? Everybody, every kid—I’m sorry Laura, that’s the only thing I could come up with. Because a lot of people lived in that part of Park Street, and saw those convoys going right through the ‘Bush.
INTERVIEWER: No, thank you. Yeah, that’s—
BJD: I’m sorry, I wish I could do more than that.
INTERVIEWER: No, that’s great. So I guess, why don’t we take a look at number four: share a story about a Greenbush neighborhood community tradition, and if you know of any and if they are still observed by the community or by your family.
BJD: Yeah, there is—and I have not been to it, literally, in years—Italian Fest, Festa Italia. That’s improved since its beginning. And some of the families used to practice Feast of St. Joseph and then there was the feast of Saint—what the hell’s the name—oh, referring to a saint as “hell," sorry! Santa Lucia. You couldn’t eat bread, but you could eat gigidis and honey.
Well, my parents used to do that. And we did make the cuccidati, and the pignolati, and all these wonderful desserts during the holidays and not eat bread for one day. My wife says, "You look at life, or this refrigerator, this kitchen—if you’re out of bread, you’re out of food." (unintelligible) But when I moved away, I lost some of these traditions. My parents got old, and I was gone for twenty-something, twenty-five years, maybe.
And so I lost—but I still use strained tomatoes. Everybody uses these hotshot pulverizers or whatever—it mixes it up and strains it and gets all the seeds out. Yeah, well, it tastes better if you do it by hand. So it’s a big pan. It’s like you’re sifting for gold, you know, gold nuggets. It’s got lots and lots of teeny holes, big enough for liquid, obviously, but not for seeds. Sit there, and you do it. [grinds palm on table]
If you have serviceable peasant’s hands—[shows palm] look at that palm compared to my finger—and you keep doing it, mushing it together, until it’s dry. When it’s dry and you can’t squeeze another drop out of it, then you start with another scoop.
The last batch I made last year—the best I’ve ever made. We had organic—we always have organic these days. You’ve gotta have really good tomatoes. You know, they’re plum tomatoes, they’re very very good, and the garlic, and it was terrific. It’s five-star. I really believe that it tastes better if you use your hands whenever possible.
When I make cookies (noises of grinding with a handle), the nuts (taps, chops on tabletop) just—There’s a line in here [indicates book] about tradition, and I call my dad a “purist." But a purist is not set in its ways—he or she is not set in their way, but they understand the value, the internal satisfaction you get from doing it yourself. And chopping, straining, I mean there are all kinds of things you can refer to. I do not make my own pasta—spaghetti. I mean spaghetti. You can buy better stuff.
The only traditions are food, which would be butterflying and french-frying the shrimp, making pignolati, little balls of dough—they’re piled up and then you pour, they’re deep fat fried, you know, French fried—and then you pour honey on top of them, and little jimmies and thingies, and then you get to eat them. Anyway. So food remains, but holiday celebrations, ah [indicates casting aside]. But I give food away for Christmas. I don’t give presents. I give food.
So does that help?
INTERVIEWER: It does, yeah. Absolutely, absolutely. Well, thank you so much for sharing your stories.
BJD: [old Sicilian man's voice] What, you don’t think I got anything else to say?
INTERVIEWER: (laughs) I think we’re out of time!
end of interview
INDEX
0:49 - GREENBUSH & SOUTH MADISON NEIGHBORHOOD BUSINESSES
1:06 - SECOND BAPTIST CHURCH
1:20 - SCHWARTZ PHARMACY
1:26 - MADISON GENERAL HOSPITAL
2:12, 27:40 - MOUNT ZION BAPTISH CHURCH- SOCIALS
2:42 - AL'S PHARMACY
2:45, 23:10, 25:25 - FRANKLIN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL
2:54 - KOLTES & ESSER HARDWARE
3:17 - BERNIE'S GROCERY STORE
3:50 - SOUTHERN MIGRATION & MEMORIES
8:06 - MONONA TERRACE
1:50, 9:10 - OLIN PARK
9:44 - DOWNTOWN MADISON
10:28 - RENNEBOHM'S PHARMACY
24:10 - MISS SHEELEY'S GROCERY STORE
24:55 - MRS. MAC'S GROCERY STORE
11:34 - BENEDICT ACADEMY- CATHOLIC GIRLS H.S.
13:15 - CENTRAL HIGH SCHOOL
15:-4 - JOHNNY WINSTON SR.- 1ST BLACK POLICE OFFICER
17:15 - TRUAX AIR FORCE BASE
17:30 - BLACK COWBOY- RODEOS
2:08, 20:45 - SOUTH MADISON NEIGHBORHOOD CENTER
27:05 - JUNETEENTH FOUNDING COMMITTEE
[Editor's note: some of the content in the transcript has been edited per the narrator’s instructions and may not accurately reflect the audio recording in its entirety.]
[START OF RECORDING]
INTERVIEWER: This is Laura Damon-Moore, speaking over the phone with Mona Adams Winston. It is November seventh, about 10:40 or so in the morning and we’re here to hear about Mona’s family history in Madison. Okay, Mona, sorry—if you could start again.
MONA ADAMS WINSTON [MAW]: That’s okay, that’s okay. I was just reminiscing about my mother, who was Addrena Matthews Adams Squires, and she was born in Madison. She’s ninety years old, week before last, October twenty-fifth. And she went to school in Madison. We still had, actually, relatives that lived in the Greenbush, the ‘Bush area as I was growing up, that we went to visit on West Washington Avenue.
We went to church at Second Baptist Church, which was up on—trying to think—that was Mound Street, I believe. And, just remembering the different stores: the grocery store that we’d go to after church, and the drugstore, I think it was Schwartz Pharmacy, that we’d go in, and they had a soda fountain. Madison General Hospital was across Park Street, which at that time was just like a little two-lane street. You know, and just remembering things like that, it's—I don’t know. It was an interesting childhood, I think.
I actually lived on Lake Monona. My family bought a house across from Olin Park and brought me home from the hospital to that house in 1951. So, I grew up on the lake, but we did almost everything on the south side of Madison: The South Side Neighborhood Center, the church—Mount Zion Baptist Church is located there on Fisher Street. And you know, it was kind of like having, living two lives: to be a “lake” person, so to speak, and live on the south side. And it was actually pretty wonderful when I think about it.
I think now, looking back, knowing that we could just walk down Lakeside Street and go to Al’s Pharmacy, which was right by our school, Franklin [Elementary] School, which I went to from kindergarten through eighth grade at the time. Across the street was the hardware store, Koltes & Esser Hardware Store, and we’d go in there and buy our fishing bobbers and lines and all that and just look around. It was just, ya know nowadays we’ve got Home Depot and Menard’s and all those places. Well we had the little hardware store.
Next to that was Bernie’s Grocery Store where sometimes my cousins and I, we’d get money together and buy a pound of hamburger, and take it home, and we’d make hamburgers for everybody. And so everything, it was pretty close by, and a walkable distance. And that was our little world. I don't know...
When I moved to Mississippi I did not realize I was going to be living within seven miles of where my grandmother was born: Byhalia, Mississippi. A cousin of mine that lived in Gary, Indiana told me. And we always said that Grandma was from Memphis. Memphis is like forty minutes from where I live, well that’s where they went to, after they left Byhalia. They went to Memphis, and then from Memphis they started going north. And my grandmother and some of her children at that time ended up moving to Madison, and that’s where my mother was born. So some of my aunts and uncles were born down south and others were born in Madison.
INTERVIEWER: What year would that have been?
MAW: Well, Mom was born in 1927, so we had figured that they must have moved up probably in 1925 or so. It was just a couple years before Mom was born. And just knowing some of our background—ya know when my grandmother was born, her name was Mamie Taylor Matthews, and she was born in 1885 to a full-blooded Choctaw mother and an African-American father. So we always knew she looked a little different. She had really straight, gray—well, her hair was kind of grayish-black—really straight hair, and we’d play in her hair all the time ya know. (laughs)
But at that time we didn’t know where the Native American part came from, but we found that out later. And I think about all of the days of living in the house on Lakeshore Court, which like I said was right on Lake Monona. Which I just sold that house actually, last year. It was in the family for sixty-five years.
INTERVIEWER: Wow.
MAW: Yeah, just decided it was you know time to sell it once I moved my mother down here [to Mississippi]. We have another home in Madison that my partner and I can go to. That was the family home for sixty-five years. And remembering my grandmother, my Nana—that’s what we’d call her, N-a-n-a, Nana. She’d be in the kitchen, frying chicken, making homemade biscuits, and yellow cake with chocolate frosting.
She would talk about how when she was a little girl, her mother passed away when she was twelve, and her father remarried. And her stepmother wasn’t very nice to them. And, it was just so strange when I read the book and saw the movie and attended the play on Broadway, The Color Purple, because it reminded me of her life. Because her father married her off to a farmer, an older man—she was thirteen years old, and he married her off to an older man who lived on a farm nearby. And she took her little sister Sally with her, and raised her just along with her own children. She had a little baby girl, Willie Jo [Matthews Withers Walker] when she was fourteen years old. And she had nine more children. So, just remembering those stories, thinking about how different our life would have been if she’d stayed down south. But, it is what it is.
I enjoyed living in Madison. I was able to be on a lot of community boards and committees. I love seeing the city grow. I just loved living across from Monona Terrace, and to watch that come up from the ground, ya know just be built. In 1997 when it opened, my mother and I both volunteered that summer to work there. And then I believe it was the next year, that fall, I actually is when I found out there was an opening on the board of directors and applied for it through the Mayor’s office, and was on the board from 1997 until I retired from the board. I was the chair in 2013. And that was just kind of neat when you actually see something be built from the ground up and then you end up being the chair of the board for the building, ya know. That was cool.
INTERVIEWER: Definitely.
MAW: (laughs) But thinking back on my childhood, with Olin Park, that’s where, at that time, we could just take a book and go over to the park and just sit under a tree and read. You didn’t worry about anybody talking to you or bothering you or anything. You just said, “I’m going to the park,” and that was fine; you just went to the park. And I was probably eight years old, just going to the park. And so times have changed. People really have to keep track of their kids.
I remember catching the bus from Lakeside Street when I was only eight years old, going downtown. The big adventure was my dad giving me money to go to the different stores to pay on his different little bills that he had, at The Hub or whatever little store. You took your money—I had envelopes, and I went to the offices and paid the bills. And I’ve thought about that: I'm like, here I was, eight years old, and I probably had maybe $200 in cash in envelopes, and I went and paid the bills. I always had a little money left over to stop at Rennebohm’s—that’s what it was at the time instead of Walgreen’s. Would stop at Rennebohm’s and get a soda, buy some candy, and then catch the bus and come back home. (laughs)
INTERVIEWER: Wow!
MAW: Yes, yes, very very different life than what kids have now. But it was such an adventure to be able to do these things, to be trusted with the family money to go and do that. Because Dad worked sometimes three or four jobs, ya know, and my mother always had several jobs. So if I had a little bit of time, a few hours on a weekday in the summer, that was my job, was to go and pay these bills. So that was kind of cool, to think back on that.
I went to Central High School. I went to Franklin School until eighth grade. Then I went to Benedict Academy, which was an all-girls’ Catholic high school. And I was only there for my freshman year with my cousin, Evelyn Abernathy [Atkins] who, at the time, she was Catholic. I was kind of, just a hang-around-er and go-along-er, and it seemed like a cool thing to do, go to this school. But it ended up closing due to lack of funding. But that was a neat experience, to catch the bus and go out to Fox Bluff, I believe—what’s the name of it now, it’s a retreat out there now, um, trying to think—
INTERVIEWER: On what street?
MAW: It’s out in Fox Bluff. You have to go all the way around the lake, and it’s something, Wisdom, Wisdom Sanctuary. But it’s really a neat place. And there were girls that lived there. It was like a boarding house, a boarding school. And then there were the girls like us that were like the “town” girls and that was a whole bus full of kids, girls, that went out there every day. We caught the bus and went out there, and went to school, and it was really cool. But then after it closed, I went to Central High School, which is where my mother had graduated from, and almost all her brothers and sisters that lived in Madison graduated from Central.
(unintelligible)I was there for 11th and 12th grade. (unintelligble)
MAW: There weren’t as many people in the inner city, so they closed Central High, Madison Central High School, in ’69, when I graduated.
INTERVIEWER: Wow, the last class.
MAW: Mm-hm, we were the last class. Oh, I know—it was called the Holy Wisdom Monastery. That’s what it is. Yeah, Holy Wisdom Monastery. It’s funny, when you know where something is—I’ve been out there several times to retreats, and it’s just a beautiful location. Oh, it’s on 4200 County Road M, in Middleton.
INTERVIEWER: Okay.
MAW: So, then after that, I got married early. My husband at the time went to Vietnam. And that was a little bit of a strange time: when you’ve got someone over in Vietnam, but you’re also in Madison which has all the protests, and war protests going on at the university.
INTERVIEWER: Right.
MAW: John—well, Johnny Winston Sr. was the first black police officer in Madison and that was in 1969, fall of 1969, when he got back from Vietnam. That’s another whole story.
INTERVIEWER: Wow, yeah. So, were you still living by the lake at that point, or—?
MAW: No, the family lived by the lake. My grandmother, my mother, my stepfather, they lived there. And then John and I re-bought, or well, we bought the house from them in 1978. So my youngest son, Jeramie, we brought him home from the hospital to that house. Yeah, so. (laughs) He actually was one of the ones that was like, “Okay, it’s a nice house. It’s a big house. But why do you need it?” You know, you got grandma down south, and my cousin and my brother were living in the house, and it was just way too much house for just two people.
I mean, at one time we had twelve people living there, and we had foster children, and my mom and stepfather lived in the basement apartment. I mean the house has—I went through and made a list of all the people that had lived in that house over the years and it’s just amazing. Just amazing, all the people.
The basement apartment, used to be—we always called it the Underground Railroad, because family would come in from Gary, Indiana, or down south, and they would stay there for sometimes a couple months, sometimes a year. Until they really got on their feet, they lived in that apartment. I mean sometimes it was a mother and father and three or four kids would be in this one-bedroom apartment. But they were just so glad to be in Madison that they just made it work.
And then there were times when Truax Field Air Force Base was in Madison was open, and we’d have maybe a solider renting out the basement. So, it was interesting. It was really an interesting house, that’s for sure. My uncle lived upstairs at that time, and he had different wives; he had like five different wives. But he lived to be ninety. That was my mother’s brother, and he was just—he was cowboy, a black cowboy, and so we had years of going with him, helping him care for his horses that he had.
INTERVIEWER: Really?
MAW: Yeah, and go to rodeos. Oh my god, we used to go to these rodeos up in like Sparta, Wisconsin and Tomah. And people would look at us like we were just absolutely ya know, aliens or something, until he got up on his horse and start riding. And then people were just like, “Whoa! A black cowboy!”
INTERVIEWER: Did he do bareback riding, like—?
MAW: He did like barrel racing, I can remember that. And what is that—roping, calf roping, yeah. I can just see him jumping off that horse and tying that calf’s legs up. But the barrel racing, that was the neatest thing. He was just so good at that. He could just make that horse go every which way ya know. But because we lived where we lived, he couldn’t have the horses there, so the horses were boarded at other places. So when John and I bought the house, he [MAW's uncle] actually bought a farm at that time, out in Stoughton, and that was his dream, was to be able to have his horses on his property. So he lived there and then he lived—I remember he lived one other place too, out by Columbus. But after he left the lake, then he always lived someplace where he could have his horses and board other peoples’ horses like he used to have to do. So that was kind of neat.
INTERVIEWER: Wow. What was his name?
MAW: His name was Edward Matthews. He just passed away four years ago. He was ninety. He was Mom’s last brother. Mom’s the last woman standing out of both sides of my family, because Dad passed away in 2013, and he was the last one on his side of the family. Now Mom’s the last one.
INTERVIEWER: Well, congratulations, and happy birthday recently to her.
MAW: Oh we had a party. We had family come from all over. It was very nice.
INTERVIEWER: Well, thank you so much. I’m just looking at my questions here; I think you touched on several of these already which is perfect. So you definitely have shared several stories about people and places. Do you have any other kind of stories about a person or a place related to either the Greenbush neighborhood, South Madison, the lake neighborhood where you lived, that we should know?
MAW: Well, I mean, South Madison Neighborhood Center played a big role in our lives, which is now the Boys and Girls Club. But at the time we went there for classes, like sewing classes, dances, ya know we had birthday parties there, and it was—for me to walk from my house over to the neighborhood center, probably took me about a half hour. It was something that I probably did, whew, I bet I did that six or seven times a week.
I mean literally, I mean just walked over there, or left from school and went over there, and then it was probably a little less, maybe twenty minutes. And if it was nighttime, we’d get picked up. Mom or Dad would come and pick us up. We never had to walk home at night. But it was just one of those places that was the hub of our neighborhood: South Madison Neighborhood Center. And that was just—I can just remember that so vividly that I can actually smell different things. You know how you get that smell—I can smell like, popcorn, because we’d have movie night, and we’d have popcorn. Somebody would make hotdogs and hamburgers. I just remember the kitchen, the whole kitchen area. It’s totally different now, totally different. But when I think of it, I see it as how it was. It was an air force barracks that they had brought over from Truax Field.
INTERVIEWER: Really.
MAW: Yes, they brought it all the way across town. And that’s what they started out with, and then built onto that. And then there was a fire there, and it was rebuilt. You just remember all these little things that happened. Between [South Madison Neighborhood Center] and Franklin School—the library at Franklin School, that was the beginning of my love for reading. I believe I was in fifth grade when I was able to help the librarian, and you had to get picked to help. And the new books came in and you had the chance to look at them and help catalog them and put them on the shelf. And what was so neat about it is that you got to actually take them out before anyone else did, you know. You could check them out.
I bet I read every mystery. I got crazy into mystery. I bet I read every mystery in that library before I left there in eighth grade. But it was just such a—I’m not kidding, when I think about my love for reading, it just takes me back to that library. And then she started giving us like a nickel on Fridays, so we got a nickel to go up to Miss Sheeley’s store, which was like right behind the school on Potter Street. You could go there to buy penny candy. I mean, I didn’t need to be paid, I really didn't need to be paid, because I was doing what I loved doing, but she insisted that everybody that worked got a nickel. (laughs)
INTERVIEWER: That’s so great.
MAW: Isn’t that funny? I mean we really did have a lot of little neighborhood stores because down closer to John Nolen Drive, where—do you know where the VFW is on Lakeside Street, right by John Nolen Drive?
INTERVIEWER: Yeah, yeah.
MAW: So right next door to that, is a little store—the building’s still there, but it used to be Mrs. Mac’s grocery store, and she had penny candy. So, if Miss Sheeley didn’t have what you wanted, on your way home you stopped at Mrs. Mac’s and spent the rest of your money there. So— (laughs) Oh my god.
But, this was before the causeway was built. There were just railroad tracks that we had to cross. You just crossed the railroad tracks to go to school. And walk right up to Franklin School. Now, when my kids were starting to go to Franklin School, we had to get a bus because they had to cross—I mean, that was considered a highway, John Nolen Drive. And so they had a school bus that actually came down to that area and picked the kids up and brought them back across until they were like in middle school. By the time they were in middle school they were old enough to cross the highway, ya know. But I saw a lot of things change ya know, a lot of things change, just by being there a long time.
INTERVIEWER: I think you kind of spoke to this already too, but one of our questions—and this will be the last one that I ask you, but I’m happy to keep talking, too—is share a story about a neighborhood or community tradition, and if they are still observed by the community or your family.
MAW: How far back do I have to go for that?
INTERVIEWER: I’ll leave that up to you, yeah, if you have something that was in your family. You have so many Madison generations, I’ll leave it up to you to—
MAW: Hmm. Well, I mean, Juneteenth, that’s been going on for quite a while. I was on the founding committee with Annie, Annie Weatherby-Flowers, and the whole family got involved in that. That’s been less than thirty years. [The thirtieth anniversary] is coming up though. I remember church picnics—I guess they called them really “socials," church socials, that we used to have, where my grandmother would bake cakes and we’d do like the cake walk. And sometimes we’d end up bringing home three or four cakes from the kids winning them. But we had those like over in Brittingham Park which is on West Washington, and then in Penn Park on the south side.
INTERVIEWER: And was that for Mount Zion?
MAW: Mount Zion, right. Mount Zion used to be down on Johnson Street, and then it moved out to the south side. I think it was 1961, when the old-new church opened on Fisher Street, in ’61. And then we built the new sanctuary that’s on—that actually faces Baird Street, much later. That was like, I wanna say, 2000. Let’s see, I have a granddaughter that’s going to be 14, and she was the first child baptized. And it’s weird, because I was the first child baptized on Fisher Street, in ’61. I was ten. (laughs) So she was really more like christened there. She’s going to be 14, and so that would have been 2003—so probably 2004, because she was almost a year old. We had many a church social up in Penn Park and in Brittingham Park.
INTERVIEWER: Sounds like so much fun.
MAW: It was very nice, very nice. Brings everybody together, that’s for sure.
INTERVIEWER: Those cakes sound great, too. (both laugh) Well, as we’ve been talking, is there anything else that comes to mind that you’d like us to know about?
MAW: Well, I guess that there’s still a lot of family there, and I feel like Madison is always going to be my home, my hometown. I was just there a couple of weeks ago, and it’s just so much fun, visiting everyone, but it’s—that’s our home. I think it’s a great place to be. Like every other place, there’s room for improvement, that’s for sure. But as places are that I’ve been, and I’ve traveled to, it was always good to get back to Madison, for me.
INTERVIEWER: Well, thank you so much. I’m going to conclude our recording.
[END OF RECORDING]
INDEX:
0:28- GROWING UP IN GREENBUSH NEIGHBORHOOD (AFRICAN AMERICAN AND ITALIAN)
3:53- WASHINGTON ELEMENTARY SCHOOL
6:06- COMMUNITY CONNECTIONS WITH GRANDMOTHER (FRATERNITY HOUSE; NAACP; MARY BETHUNE CLUB
7:58- GREENBUSH BAKERY; JOSIE'S ITALIAN RESTAURANT; MADISON GENERAL HOSPITAL
10:35- CENTRAL HIGH SCHOOL
[START OF RECORDING]
INTERVIEWER: Hello, my name is Laura Damon-Moore. I’m here at the Goodman Community Center. It is January twenty-fourth, and I am speaking with our narrator today. I’m going to have her introduce herself.
EDITH HILLIARD [EH]: My name is Edith Lawrence Hilliard.
INTERVIEWER: Hi Edith, it’s so nice to speak with you today. I’m going to open by asking you to tell us a little bit about your and your family’s history in Madison, and where you lived.
EH: Well, my family has been in Madison for over 108 years. And, um, we lived in the area called Greenbush, on Conklin Court and Mound Street. I remember the address on Conklin Court was 607 Conklin Court. And it was just probably like a three-block area, for Conklin Court. But right on the other side of us there was a grocery store called Frank’s Grocery Store.
Of course it’s no longer there, but I can remember as a child running across the little alley and going over to Frank’s Grocery Store and putting groceries on a charge account, if you will. And then my grandparents would pay on that charge account. So that’s one of the fond memories that I had.
I lived with my grandmother on Conklin Court; I did not live with my parents. So it was my grandparents that I lived with.
The Greenbush area was just a phenomenal area because in that area there were a lot of African-Americans there, and a lot of Italians. And what was very interesting to me is that it was like one big, happy family. The Italian kids and the African-American kids, we just all really kind of blended together as a family.
I can remember, you know, just going outside and playing in the neighborhood, and being at other folks’ homes. And it was never a problem whose house we were at. But the rule was, for all of us, that when the streetlights came on, we had to be at home. And so that was our timeframe. We could be anywhere we wanted in the neighborhood. We could be in anyone’s home in the neighborhood. But when the streetlights came on, we had to be in our house.
And, you know, that’s so different from today, because now I look at my grandchildren and I want to know exactly whose home they’re going to; and not only that, I want to know the people, you know. It’s just a different world now.
When I think about living there, in Greenbush, it was so open and caring and loving. Like I said, it was like one big, happy family because everybody just blended together. If I got in trouble and I was at one of the Italian homes, then that’s where I was reprimanded. And then they would tell my grandmother and then I would be reprimanded again. And in today’s world you can’t even do that, you know, because people are afraid to. So looking back on those times—just absolutely incredible, beautiful memories of blended families, you know, if you will. The whole community was like one big, happy family.
INTERVIEWER: Thank you. I guess you kind of addressed this already but do you have anything else to add about your association with the Greenbush neighborhood, maybe—?
EH: Yeah, and still—and I will be seventy years old this year, but I still have friends from way back then from my childhood that we still communicate with each other, do things together, because again, it was like a family, so it was still like a family unit, getting together and doing things.
INTERVIEWER: Yeah. Can you share a particular story about a person or place related to the Greenbush history that we should know?
EH: Washington Elementary School. Right now, it’s the Madison Metropolitan School District Building, over on Dayton Street. But when I was growing up, it was an elementary school. And it was my elementary school.
One of the fond memories that I have was—first of all, my grandmother worked on campus. She was the cook at Chi Phi fraternity house. So, I was at Washington Elementary School, and I had decided that I was going to be president of our class. And I was in sixth grade, and so the guys at my grandmother’s fraternity house made up all kinds of posters and slogans and everything for my campaign.
And one of my campaign promises to the kids was that I would get them chocolate milk. (laughs) And I’ve gotta laugh. I didn’t say I would get them chocolate milk for the whole year; I just said “chocolate milk”, so we only had to do that for one time if I won the election.
I also remember that the guys at the fraternity house made up a campaign slogan for me. And my campaign slogan was, “Edie-weedy sure is speedy, vote for Edie, yes indeed-y.”
And I did win the campaign. What’s even funnier—I did, I did—so what's even funnier than that is that now—like I said I’m seventy years old—I sometimes run into some of my old friends and they’ll say, “Hey, Edie-weedy sure is speedy, vote for Edie, yes indeed-y.” (laughs)
I had to laugh because I remember that. And it was just a real fond memory, and it was just a really fun time. And like I said we had the whole school decorated up. It was like a real political campaign, you know, for a sixth grader in elementary school.
INTERVIEWER: Did they get the chocolate milk?
EH: They did: one day. One day for the chocolate milk. My grandmother was a little upset that I made that promise, but it was only for a day so she went along with that.
INTERVIEWER: So you may have addressed this already, too, but the Living History Project is being developed as a way to preserve the day-to-day activities that seem sort of ordinary in the moment, but become extraordinary as time passes and things change. Can you share an ordinary day-to-day story that will show the neighborhood’s extraordinary qualities?
EH: Well, I guess when I think about that—just getting up in the morning, as a child, and going to school. And then after school, for me, would be going to the fraternity house, because that’s where my grandmother worked. And sitting at the big tables in the fraternity house, doing my homework, and being helped with [homework] by the guys in the fraternity house, which was really nice, and again, a fond memory for me.
As I grew up older, my grandmother was very involved in the African-American community. She was involved in the NAACP. At the time there wasn’t an Urban League, but she was involved with another club called the Mary Bethune Club. And like I say, very actively involved in the community. Those organizations are still going on, and I can remember being able to go to the meetings they were having, as a teenager.
And just really sparked my interest in things that were going on in the Madison community and in the world. And like I say, again, those organizations are still going on. So I just really felt, as a teenager, being a part of what was going on in my own city, in my own little area, by being a part of these organizations with my grandmother.
INTERVIEWER: What was your grandmother’s name?
EH: Grace Lawrence.
INTERVIEWER: I would love to hear, and I know the Greenbush is a little unique in that it was a very close-knit neighborhood, and now it has dispersed because of the urban renewal process in the sixties. Can you share a story about a Greenbush neighborhood community tradition, and if they are still observed by the community or your family today?
EH: The Greenbush Bakery, which is on Regent Street. It was a tradition to go to that bakery, for the kids—and not just the kids, for the adults also—to go by the Greenbush Bakery, and to go at a time when they were just making the donuts, when they were just coming out nice and fresh.
That was one of the traditions that continues to go on today, because every time I’m in the neighborhood I stop at the Greenbush Bakery and I’ll get a couple of donuts. Because I can remember as a child and as a teenager—my whole life, going to the Greenbush Bakery and getting some donuts.
INTERVIEWER: Thanks. So are there any other businesses, or institutions, or public gathering places that we should be aware of? These could be things that still exist today, or do not exist.
EH: Josie’s Italian Restaurant. Just a couple of years ago, it’s been gone. But that was a place that I know we would go and have supper there. It was just a great place to go, and for many years. Just a couple of years ago it went out of business. But that was kind of a neighborhood place where the Italians and the African-Americans would go for a nice family dinner, just to sit down and chat with each other. Gone.
But you know, there’s so many places that were there at the time in the Greenbush area that are all gone now. I’m grateful that the Bakery is still there. But most of the places are gone. I can remember Madison General Hospital being there, and now it’s Meriter Hospital. I remember the design, where you could drive into the circle there, but all of that is gone.
INTERVIEWER: What else should we know?
EH: That it was just really a great time. Madison was a real community. There weren’t a lot of African-Americans in the city at the time. And even when I went to high school, Central High School. Now Central High School—right now it’s the Madison College building. I remember going to high school there. It was downtown, and that was a really fun thing to be in a high school that was downtown. So that was a great place, it's gone also.
But that was one of the high schools and all of us went to school together there, so that was a nice comraderie. We still have class reunions and still the same people are coming back to the class reunions, the Italians and the African-Americans. Like I say, I’m seventy years old. I just had my fiftieth class reunion for high school, and [I'm] still interacting with some of those people. I think that’s really rare. Because in a lot of communities people leave, and they just don’t come back. But there’s so many people that stayed here. And so we still get together for the different class reunions and everything, which is really nice. So Central High School was a highlight, yeah, it truly was. So you most definitely should know about that.
[END OF RECORDING]
INDEX:
0:23 - PERSONAL HISTORY AND COMMUNITY LIFE IN SOUTH MADISON
3:23 - BLACK-OWNED BUSINESSES
5:37 - RACISM AND DISCRIMINATION, MOTHERS WATCH GROUP
11:50 - ORIGINS OF COMMUNITY CENTER IN SOUTH MADISON
14:11 - DESTRUCTION/"URBAN RENEWAL" OF TRIANGLE NEIGHBORHOOD
16:46 - WILEY FAMILY EXPERIENCE IN THE TRIANGLE
24:03 - DIVERSITY, DISCRIMINATION, SAVING SOUTH MADISON SCHOOLS
27:54 - PENN PARK
29:57 - RACIAL DISCRIMINATION IN EMPLOYMENT
37:30 - COMMUNITY GATHERING PLACES IN SOUTH MADISON
39:21 - JOB OFFERS AND MOVE TO CHICAGO
45:32 - RETURN TO MADISON, SOUTH MADISON NEIGHBORHOOD CENTER
47:02 - SOCIAL WORK POSITION AT MADISON AREA TECHNICAL COLLEGE
49:38 - IMPACT OF RACISM AND DISCRIMINATION, CALL FOR COMPENSATION
[START OF RECORDING]
INTERVIEWER: Good morning, this is Laura Damon-Moore recording at the South Madison Library. I will have my narrator introduce himself in a moment. If you could say your name for us.
Richard Harris (RH): I’m Dr. Richard Harris.
INTERVIEWER: Thank you, Dr. Harris. Our first, kind of opening question for you is to tell us a little about your and your family’s history in Madison.
RH: Yes, I’d be happy to. Well, I was born in 1937, at the Madison General Hospital, which was adjacent to the ‘Bush area. But I lived here in South Madison on Bram Street. I don’t remember from birth up until about the age of four or five. So I’d say in 1941, or 1942, I can recall South Madison was extremely—kind of back-woodsy. We had no sidewalks, no lights, no paved streets, no curbs, no gutters, no hot and cold running water, outdoor toilets. People raised family—they raised animals out here. My family raised pigs and cows. And it was kind of desolate.
I started out in kindergarten at the age of five. I went to a school called Badger Elementary School. I was there for a year, and in 19—I believe it was ’42 or ’43, the City of Madison annexed South Madison into the City of Madison. And so the outdoors toilets went, no more animals, we had sidewalks, curbs, gutters, hot and cold running water, and of course an increase in taxes for property.
My family bought their house in 1927. And they really enjoyed that area, not being involved with the City and all of its rules and regulations. So they weren’t happy when they got annexed and had to leave. I also had to transfer into Madison schools, so I transferred to a school called Franklin Elementary School, which is on Lakeside Street. And I grew up, and was raised.
My parents—my mother was very active. She was with a group—and, I’m going to talk about two things: South Madison as it impacted on Blacks, but other areas of the Black community [as well]. Actually there were three black communities: there was South Madison, there was the Triangle, or the ‘Bush, and then there was a Black—a group of families that lived on the near east side, that was Mrs. Miller, the Mitchell family, Goffords, they started the St. Paul AME church over there. So there were three areas. But we were very close.
Now I’m talking globally about the city. Because of discrimination and racism, which still exist today, Blacks were not employed in any meaningful positions. They couldn’t eat in any of the restaurants, and so they started their own restaurants. The Miller and Mitchell family started a restaurant called The Chicken Shack Restaurant, owned by Mrs. Williams, and they were open every day of the week, and they were really busy Friday nights, Saturday nights, and of course all day Sunday. And so there were just enough Black families to keep that business operating. You knew that you would be wanted, and the food was excellent, so we went there at least once a week on a Thursday or a Friday night. You couldn’t get in there on a Sunday, it was just too crowded. But at least you knew you were welcome.
There were several other things that I remember about Madison. There was a man named Curly Seales. He worked for a company called Pyramid Motors, it’s now called Smart Motors, I think. But anyway, he was a mechanic and so if any Black person had trouble with their cars, he would fix it on weekends or at night. They also had two Blacks that owned dry-cleaning establishments. There was one Black who did laundry.
The social life was very good back in those days. There was a Black tavern on West Washington Avenue, in the middle of the ‘Bush, was owned by my uncle Zachary Trotter; a lot Blacks went there of course. And then once a month Black people would have a dance on Park Street—there used to be an Army reserve center right next to—I guess it’s Pick’n’Save, or whatever this store is down on Park Street. So, there was enough social life, you know, for Black people at that time.
What I remember, getting back into South Madison and also … the extent of racism and discrimination. I was introduced to racism and discrimination along with a lot of my other friends. There was a group of women, and we didn’t know what to call them, but these Black women would meet once a month somewhere on the East side, probably in the basement of St. Paul’s church, they had about forty or fifty women, and they would socialize, you know, have coffee, pie, and what have you, and they would meet to discuss the problems of the day. And there were a lot of problems dealing with racism and discrimination. The biggest one that I can remember—and we didn’t know what, when we would talk about these things with the kids walking to school, we’d say, “Did your mother talk to my mother about something…” and that’s how we would…so.
Eventually we just began to call them, this group of women who watched over us, we’d call them the Mothers Watch Group. That was the only [INAUDIBLE] we could think to call them. You spoke of…who’d you speak to in Mississippi?
INTERVIEWER: Oh, Mona Adams Winston.
RH: Mona Adams, yes. Her family was very involved. Her grandparents, and her aunt were very involved in those activities.
And I remember the first—they did a number of things, but the one that I can remember the most is that a group of Black women began a complaint that when they would go down to the shops in downtown, the store owners would not let them try on shoes, or outfits or anything like the white women could do. This was at three stores, and they said that white women did not want to try on shoes or clothes that, what they said, “colored” people had tried on.
So they got fed up with that, and they met with a man named Reverend Joseph Washington, and Reverend Washington and about, oh, let’s see, thirty of these Black women met with these store owners, or whoever they were, and told them if it didn’t stop, they would come down and march before these stores every day until they would do it. Well, [the store owners] didn’t want that, so they changed that policy.
I remember when Reverend Washington announced it from the pulpit, he said “I want you women to know that [aside: and he named the three stores] we met with them. And they promised us that you could change—you know, [try on clothes], and if you have any problems, let us know, and we’ll take action against the store.”
We thought that was great, how they went—because [the store owners] didn’t want “colored” people, that’s what they called us back in those days, to try the clothes on.
And they were involved in other things in race discrimination. There were areas where Black people could not buy homes, because they had these charters and property, so they would fight against that.
Blacks could not find decent employment, so they began a struggle against that. So that’s how I got involved in, and became aware of, discrimination.
In South Madison itself, like I say, after the age of six or something, South Madison was just like any other area physically, except that we knew that you could never move out of South Madison. It was still kind of country. Park Street was just a one-lane dirt road, that became paved, and went to Oregon and when you went to Chicago that’s how you got to, you drove down that way.
This area where we’re sitting here, was a large golf course called Burr Oaks Golf Course. We used to work over here for fifty cents an hour picking up golf balls, that type of thing. As young people, we weren’t really aware of the impacts of discrimination and racism. We knew that it existed, because our parents would tell us this. Most of the families—everyone came from the South. So there was a great deal of distrust that Blacks had toward white people.
Even to the extent—I remember I was going to, I went from Franklin School to Central High School, and I wanted to go to Central High School in seventh grade, because I wanted to play sports and get a jump on everything. And my mother said no, because she had talked to one of the Black mothers who lived on the east side and she said those white girls up at that Central High School are just too fresh. And I don’t think it’s a good place for Black boys to go because they’re going to be trying to date them, and you know what happens, there’ll be…
Our parents, and a lot of the other parents, when they came from the South, they remember the lynchings that occurred if a Black man even looked at a white woman. So they didn’t know whether that would be a factor up here or not, so we were just told not to date any white women.
So I was put off. I couldn’t go to Central until ninth grade, and I was very disappointed, but so be it. But that’s how I became aware of racism, discrimination, and the difference between Black and white people.
In the 1950s, my mother and a man named Kenneth Newville…my mother’s name was Willie Lou Harris, Willie Lou Harris and Kenneth Newville, and a white fellow by the name of George Gerard, they met with the head of the Madison Neighborhood Centers, his name was Chester Zmudzinski, and they talked about the possibility of getting a neighborhood center in South Madison.
They talked to the congressman…I forgot his name, but he asked the United States Air Force if they have any more use for the barracks that were out there, because the war’d ended and they had a lot of surplus things, so they said, we’ll give you a barracks.
They gave them two barracks. And a moving company called Reynolds Transfer and Storage moved those. It took them three days, but they came up East Washington Ave, around the Square, down West Washington Ave, out Park Street. They had a dickens of a time on Park Street because Park Street—right now Park Street is called Beld Street. I don’t know if you know where Beld Street is, but anyway, it was very narrow. But they got it up, and they got it over here to Taft Street, and they tried to go further but that was about as far as they could go, so they put them there.
My mother and Mr. Newville and Mr. Gerard were instrumental in getting the first South Madison neighborhood center out here. And the carpentry union donated most of the labor and all of the materials, the plumbers…and so a lot of people donated a number of things. I think my perception of whites began to change a little bit, because these were all white guys doing something to help Black people. But at the same time there was discrimination in these entities. So, my mother was involved in the beginning of the South Madison Neighborhood Center.
I’m going to go back, just to the Triangle, because in the—my mother died in 1954. And I think about two years before she died, in 1952 or 1953, the City of Madison began to talk about what they called “neighborhood revitalization.” A number of the Black people [in the Triangle] did not own the property, they lived in apartments down there. But some did own homes, and what have you. So then the City called it the Madison—they opened up a new office called the Madison Redevelopment Authority: MRA.
The Black ministers, I think we had three Black churches then, at least two. I know of two for sure. They warned their parishioners, you better be careful if you lived down that way because the City was talking about “revitalizing” the neighborhood. And when people asked, what does that mean, [the City] said, well, we’re going to tear down all the homes, and you can come back, we’re going to put new apartments here—oh, new “living units,” that’s what they called them—small homes and what have you.
There were also Italian families and Jewish families too, they all took a beating. The City did not follow through on its plans. I can recall a number of Black people, they woke up one Monday morning, here were graders out there ready to tear down—I mean, they knew nothing. The landlords did not tell them anything.
And I can recall a number of Black people, they had the pastors of these two churches calling people at all hours of the night, saying, hey, look, if you’ve got a car, go over here and help someone move whatever they had, into the trunks of peoples’ cars. And they brought them out to the churches to live temporarily, and this, all different places for them. Most of them had relatives out here in South Madison, so they could put them up and help them. That’s why South Madison’s Black population went pretty high after that.
I wrote in my book [Growing Up Black in South Madison: The Economic Disenfranchisement of South Madison, 2012] the story of a family called the Wiley family, W-I-L-E-Y. And that family epitomized what happened to Black people.
In the ‘50s the MRA sent them a letter. Now, [Mrs. Wiley] came to church and explained all this one Sunday. Reverend Washington said, I’m going to turn everything over to her. She read the letter that they sent. The letter said that, “This area is being revitalized. Your property will be assessed and you can do one of two things. Either we’ll give you money for what we think the property’s worth, or you can relocate temporarily, we’ll tear your structure down, put another structure up, and you can move back.”
Well, she—the other thing you have to understand is, we had no legal representation. Lawyers would not represent us—you had to go to Chicago to get a decent lawyer, or Milwaukee. So when she went and asked questions about this, they told her, it’s either this or no way. You can’t…
[The Wileys] had bought a two-story apartment and they bought it in the late 30s, or early 40s. So they’d been there about ten or twelve years and they paid off their property, so they owned it. The City came along and said—and they were living in the basement, and renting out the other two stories. So they were doing very well. The City said well, you’ve got to move. And Mr. Wiley said, give me something in writing, or give me some money now…I want to know that I can come right back to this spot…and then, [the City] sent some building inspectors out there, they claimed they found some building code violations.
They argued with these people for a good two years, and finally Mr. Wiley had a stroke and died. So Mrs. Wiley…and they finally sent her a letter saying she had to be out in thirty days. So Mrs. Wiley came to church, and I never will forget that day. Mount Zion was on Johnson Street at that time, Mount Zion Baptist Church, and it was located right across from—you know where the Nitty Gritty is? Located right across the street from there [corner of North Frances Street and West Johnson Street]. And it was packed that Sunday, because they wanted to hear her story.
She was crying. And she said, people of Mount Zion, I want you to know what these white people did. They killed my husband. You know, because they were arguing…They took my property. I got a check for…I think she said she got a check for $6,500. They had paid about $13,000 for it. So the value was much higher. She got a check that small. And they said they’re coming out, and the next week they came over there with their graders. She got very little of her furniture out. I think she moved to Rockford Illinois, and then…she died, somewhere along the way.
When I think about that, it brings tears to my eyes, because I remember when she was…and, when the graders were tearing the house, they were singing “Bye Bye, Blackbird.” The guys running these big machines.
The MRA was supposed to—they had hired about four “relocation workers” and they were supposed to help people relocate, people like Mrs. Wiley, Mona, and everything. Never helped them at all. They were also supposed to get money for moving expenses. If you had an apartment, you were supposed to get some sort of reimbursement for what you owned. And, they were supposed to help you find a place. Well, because of race discrimination the only places they could go to was either the near east side, and that was packed, or South Madison. So of course everybody lived in South Madison, and you lived with people until you could find a place.
And when the City tore everything down, and they did put in, I guess it’s like a housing project there, I can’t think of the name of it now. But it was not open for these families. They couldn’t reapply for it. And they were not, they were big apartment complexes—Bayview, that’s what it’s called. It was an apartment complex. And they were promised small, individual homes. They had gardens down there…it was just tremendous.
They tried the same thing [neighborhood revitalization] out here in South Madison, but the Black people would have none of that. They did have what they called “selective renewal,” where they tore down homes that were very dilapidated, so maybe one out of every five homes was not good. And that’s how they should have done the other [neighborhood] but they didn’t.
So the Greenbush area was totally destroyed after that. Italian families…I mean, you could go down there and the Italians are having some sort of picnic, in Brittingham Park, Black people were, others, Jewish families—the park was used every day during the week. Especially after work, or on weekends, and that was just their…and they got along famously, those people. Very nice neighborhood. But the City said it was an eyesore, because if you drove downtown, and up West Washington Avenue, you ran right past—and that, they didn’t like that. And they almost said the same thing about South Madison, coming to Park Street, you see all these “problems.”
So I think of Mrs. Wiley and I mentioned that in the book, because she was so typical of the families really that were treated unfairly, on the basis of race. Or in the case of the Italian and Jewish families, on the basis of economic status.
In South Madison the thing I remember is that everybody had to live out here because of discrimination. But like the Bush it was a very solid community, and it was a community that welcomed people. I remember when the first Hispanic families moved in to South Madison, they were welcomed. And of course in the last maybe five to ten years, the Southeast Asians and Muslim families. South Madison has always been a tremendously warm and accepting melting place.
And I’m so happy to see that the Urban League is here, and the Nehemiah Corporation, right up the street there. You’ve got a Black church, Mount Zion Baptist Church and you’ve also have Reverend Alex Gee’s church just up the street. They provide the anchor, to make sure that this area will always be a home for minorities, especially for Black people. Because [the City] had plans on doing the same thing here as to [Greenbush neighborhood]. And when we heard about the plans that they had—what they were going to do was move everybody out of here and put them way over in Sun Prairie. There was some vacant space between Madison and Sun Prairie, and that’s where they would live, and what have you.
INTERVIEWER: Can I ask when that project was discussed?
RH: That was discussed…in the early 1970s, that’s when they began talking about relocating everybody out of here. And one of the things that they had to do was get rid of the schools. So the Board of Education, along with a lot of businessmen and women, decided to close Franklin Elementary School, Lincoln, and Longfellow. And you know, if you close the schools, you can easily come in with different kinds of programs [i.e., neighborhood revitalization programs—ed.].
So myself and a woman named Sandy Solberg, she lived in the Longfellow area, and several others, we went and formed a group, and we went to the Office of Civil Rights and we initiated a race discrimination complaint against the Madison Public Schools in 1978.
Well, the schools decided to go ahead with their plans anyway, and I guess they figured that once you start tearing down things, it’s hard for the government or the courts to come in and say “stop”…so we had to get a stay. And that stopped them from doing anything.
[BACKGROUND NOISE]
We won the complaint. We won the race discrimination [complaint]. So they had to keep Lincoln there, and they had to keep Franklin. Longfellow was closed because it was just in total disrepair. But we kept Franklin and Lincoln open. Once Franklin and Lincoln had to remain open, that plan fell by the wayside, so they couldn’t repeat the [revitalization] program that they did on West Washington Avenue out here in South Madison.
But when I think of South Madison, there’s a park up here called Penn Park, and Penn Park was just a vacant spot. There was a fellow by the name of Cliff Penn, and he owned the electric company called Penn Electric, P-E-N-N Electric. I think they’re still going, too. He asked the City if he could build a baseball park there. And of course they said no, because it would be something that would benefit this area and really make it stable…well, he finally went to court and he got it through, and [the City] approved it.
So he built the baseball diamond up there. It was called Penn Park—Penn Stadium. So for about ten years he’d bring in teams and they’d play baseball out there. He passed away and his daughter officially turned the park over to the City. She was smart. She said, however, I always want it to be a park for the people. So when they tore down the baseball lights and all that they put in, well, it’s a park. And when I think about it, she had foresight because that park is used every day during the summer for different activities and what have you.
We were thinking about that one day—how did they have the foresight to know that people needed some kind of a recreational area? Because you had Brittingham Park, but nothing down here in South Madison. So once they made that a park, that solidified everything because then you couldn’t just kick people out.
But the thing about South Madison that I really think about and can recall is that, for the amount of racism and discrimination, everyone out here could not find a decent job. They would be either orderlies at the hospital, or nurses’ aides at the hospital…I graduated from the University of Wisconsin in 1961. At that time the University of Wisconsin had a program where they tried to place graduates, that’s what it was called, the Graduate Placement Office.
So they sent me, after I took some state tests, they sent me to a job interview at Dane County as a social work aide, or intern, or what have you. They also made plans for me to go to the City of Madison and there was a job there, it was going to be like a Community Liaison. I don’t know what it meant, but it sounded good. So they made arrangements for those two interviews the same day. One was at nine o’clock in the morning, one was at about one o’clock in the afternoon.
So I went to the County one first, and when I walked in, the secretary would not even recognize me. I mean, she looked at me, and went back to doing her work. So finally I said “Hello.” And she looked up, she says, “Well, what do you want?”
I said, “I have an interview with so-and-so.”
She said, “Oh. Are you Harris?”
I said yes, she said “Oh my god. Would you stand over there, in the corner?” Not “Sit down,” just “Stand over there in the corner.”
So I went over there and stood, and I stood for about ten minutes, and finally I got tired and I just sat down. And after I sat down, I’d say a couple of minutes later, a police officer, a Dane County sheriff came in. And this woman pointed at me.
And then another woman came out. She was going to interview me. Her name was Taylor, I forgot her first name. She said, “I’m so-and-so Taylor, there must be a mistake. Because we don’t hire coloreds. Our staff would not want to work with colored people and our clients certainly would not have anything to do with you people. So [the sheriff’s officer] is going to escort you off the grounds.”
That’s why they had called him. There was nothing I could say. The officer comes over and he says let’s go, so we walked out and I said, well, can I use the phone here and he said “No, you have to leave.”
So I drove off and I stopped at a Shell Oil station and I asked the person if there was a telephone I could use. I don’t think—I know they didn’t have cell phones, but I don’t even think they had [pay] phones…so I had to ask to use one.
So I called the University of Wisconsin and I told her what had happened, and she said, “My gosh…” and I said, “Well, that’s what happened, I couldn’t do the interview because I was colored,” so she said “Okay, well, go to the second one at the City of Madison.”
It was somewhere on Doty Street, so I went over there and I walked in, and when I walked in the lady said “What do you want?”
And I said “My name is Richard Harris.”
And she said, “Well, what do you want?”
And I said “I’m here for an interview.”
She said, “No…they must have made a mistake. We don’t hire colored people. We’ll call them and tell them that.”
That was in 1961. A friend of mine, her sister was named Dolores Green—that was her married name, I can’t think of her last [maiden] name. She went to the Madison Public Schools in 1960, and they did the same thing to her.
There was a man named Ed Withers, now he was Mona’s cousin. Eddie Withers was the first Black football player to be named All-American at the University of Wisconsin, and he graduated in the mid-50s, or he went to school in the 50s and then he graduated in like 1959. His degree was in math.
The football coach at Madison Central, who was his football coach when he was in high school, he said, “Ed, after you graduate, when you get your degree, I’d like you to work with me as an assistant coach. You’d be tremendous with these kids.”
And he said “Okay.”
So they even put him on the payroll. At that time, to be with the football team, you had to teach. So the football coach said, “Ed, just tell the principal that I sent you over and that you want to teach math.”
So the principal didn’t know—he just didn’t draw. So when [Ed] walked in he said, “I don’t know.”
So he called the superintendent. And the superintendent said, “Under no circumstances do I want a N-I-G-G-E-R working for me.”
So he can’t do the football, you know. So he left went to Milwaukee, and got a job as a public chool teacher there, and I think he coached football for them, too.
I would hear all sorts of stories…so when it happened to me…I remember all these things while I was growing up, and it’s all coming back to me, with Mothers Watch and what happened with Black people in the Triangle area and here in South Madison. I think of racism and discrimination.
The area where I grew up in in South Madison was nice, I mean physically. I still like South Madison; I have relatives out here. And I think that’s about it. I still can’t get over Mrs. Wiley. This has got to be in the mid-50s; that was almost 60 years ago. But what she said there in church, “This is what they’re doing to me.” And she just sank to her knees.
INTERVIEWER: Thank you.
RH: So that’s what growing up black in South Madison meant to me.
INTERVIEWER: Let’s see. So you talked about the close-knit nature of South Madison, and the Bush as well. Do you remember any sort of traditions, or, you mentioned gathering places a little bit. Were there other gathering places, or places where that community was really felt, and developed?
RH: Well, during February, just for one week, we would have Negro History Week, which now became Black History Month. So we would meet at various churches every night, have a prayer, have dinner, and talk about the spiritualness but also what we were going through as Black people.
Both parks, Brittingham Park and Penn Park, were very helpful as far as knitting the social fabric—at least you had a place to go where you could feel comfortable, eat good food, barbecue ribs, oh, just—I think of those days, they were just so good. And then, as I say, there was enough social activities for Black people not to feel isolated. But once a month, to be able to go down to this place [GESTURES] and have a dance, it was a tremendous experience.
INTERVIEWER: Was this at the neighborhood center? The South Madison Neighborhood Center?
RH: No, the South Madison Neighborhood Center was not nearby. They used the Army Reserve Center, because you could serve drinks there. You couldn’t serve drinks at the neighborhood center.
INTERVIEWER: Can you tell me a little bit about the [South Madison] Neighborhood Center? Because, you were the director there.
RH: I was the director of the neighborhood center at one time, yeah. It’s really interesting because when I didn’t get the job in Madison, my wife and I got married and we moved to…well, when I didn’t get the job here, I went back to the UW Placement Office and they said well maybe you should try to go to where there are a number of Black people. So she said, there’s either Detroit, Michigan; Milwaukee, Wisconsin; or Chicago, Illinois. So we chose Chicago.
She found some places for me to interview—there were three places. One was Cook County Hospital, it’s called the Stoger S-T-O-G-E-R Hospital now, the other was Cook County Department of Public Assistance, as a social worker, and the last one was as a social worker at a neighborhood center called the Hyde Park Neighborhood Center.
I interviewed for all three of those in one day. And it was really funny. I was offered a job at each one of those positions. After the interview. And the other thing was, I was interviewed by three Black women.
When I went to Cook County Hospital, the thing about the medical thing was that, gosh, going to the office I saw all of these people all bandaged up and I said, oh my goodness. And she said, what you’re going to be doing is working with the families of these patients. And I said, “Ooohhh.” [LAUGHS] But, based on your resume and I did talk with your pastor, I’d like to offer you a job. And I’ll give you a week to think about it.
So then I went to the Cook County Department of Public Assistance and the woman who interviewed me, I forget her name, but she had a PhD. I’d never seen a Black woman with a PhD. And we talked for a long time about Chicago, Illinois, and she said it’s much different of course than Madison Wisconsin, you have to be on guard more, blah blah. But as a social worker, she said, you’ll have to go out and visit people and that type of thing. And I did talk to your advisor at the University of Wisconsin, he was a social work professor, I’ve known him a long time, and based on what he said, I’d like to offer you a job.
So I went to the Hyde Park Neighborhood Club, and the assistant director was Black, her name was Norma Pendleton, and she was so warm. We talked and walked the neighborhood. I was going to be a social worker with, it was like a boys to men program; they were having a lot of trouble with boys getting into gangs so it’d be working with them. I really liked the idea of helping them find jobs, walking them to school, and that type of thing. She offered me the position and I took it.
When I told my wife, she said, “Isn’t that something. Three interviews, three job offers.”
When I went through this thing here in Madison, it was the middle of May, because school was still in session as I was graduating. And we didn’t move to Chicago until about September. I was say in about December, had to be December of the same year, I got a letter from—I don’t know if Madison had a mayor then, or did they have a…I forgot what they call them. It was like a City Director, some kind of a pilot thing, lasted just a couple of years, then they went back to the Mayoral system.
But anyway, the letter was signed by someone who was an assistant to [city director/manager role] and it said, Dear Mr. Harris, we heard about what happened with you at the City of Madison Relocation Program, and we just found out because we talked to someone at the UW Job Placement…we couldn’t believe it. We do hire Black people—Negros—that’s what they said, the letter said we’d love to talk to you again, we do have a position for you.
So I got that letter in about December. And I got another letter in December. In February I got a phone call and it was from the same person. And he said “Mr. Harris I’ve been trying to reach you, and wouldn’t you like to come back to Madison.”
And I said, “Wait a second.”
I reached into the drawer and I got those two letters out. And I said, “I want you to listen carefully.”
And I tore the letters up over the phone.
And I said, “Did you hear that?"
And he said "Yes".
I said "What do you hear?”
And he said, “I hear paper shredding.”
And I said, “That’s right, I’m never coming back to Madison to work, and don’t call me.” And I hung up.
So about four or five months later, Chester Zmudzinski, he was the man who helped start the South Madison Neighborhood Center, he called me.
And he says, “Richard, I understand what happened…it’s all over Madison what you went through, blah blah blah.” And he said, “Listen, tell you what—we have a position open here. Our director wants to go back to graduate school and I talked to the board, and they’d love to have you here. Your mother helped start this thing, we’ve got a room named after her, would you consider coming back?”
Now he said, “Put all the other stuff behind you. You don’t have to worry about those people anymore.”
I said, “Well, Chester, let me think about it.” So I talked to my wife. She was from a small town in Louisiana, and she said, “I did like Madison.” She was living with her brother who was stationed at Truax Field.
She said, “I did like Madison, because it was small, and…”
So we decided to come back. And I became the director of the neighborhood center for about two years, and while I was there…I really liked it. It was very challenging. I got business administration experience, which was so needed.
While I was there, at a Rotary Club meeting, talking about what we were doing at South Madison and what have you, and the director of the Madison Area Technical College was there, along with the Superintendent of the Madison Public Schools—they were part of the Rotary group. I met them afterwards.
About two or three days later, the public school superintendent called, and he said, “You know”—this was a new [superintendent] now—“We’re desperately trying to make up for a lot of issues that went…and I understand what you went through…can I talk to you about working as a school social worker here in the schools?”
And I said, “Well, I’ll think about it.”
About three days later, the guy from MATC calls and he said, “I was really impressed with your organizational skills, would you think about working here…we’re downtown, but we’re planning to move somewhere, I don’t know where…”
So I took him up on his [offer]. I talked with Chester Zmudzinski and we found a person to replace me that he liked, so I was only there for two years and then I was at MATC where I stayed for thirty-three years. But I enjoyed my work at the neighborhood center. Very challenging, but I didn’t have the issues—the South Madison area wasn’t facing the same kind of issues that they were facing in the Triangle. The families weren’t nervous, that was a big difference.
INTERVIEWER: Yeah.
RH: I enjoyed the experience, and I didn’t think I’d ever come back to Madison again. I enjoyed my South Madison experience. Got involved in program planning, organizational planning, budgeting, supervision, writing progress reports, writing letters for contracts for grants, community work, working with boards. All of that kind of thing, which was good.
INTERVIEWER: Is there anything else you would want us to know?
RH: Well, I just can’t say enough the impact that racism and discrimination had on not only Black people in South Madison [BACKGROUND NOISE], but when I think of how it impacted people in the Triangle area.
I wrote a letter to the Urban Renewal Program, in Washington, D.C. and I asked what could we do to have—at least have those Black people that were surviving, get some kind of compensation. And I sent a copy of the letter to the Mayor, Mayor Paul Soglin. He was very gracious. But the Urban Renewal Program said, we can’t do—that’s almost thirty, forty years ago. We couldn’t touch that. We wouldn’t know—we don’t have those records, we wouldn’t know how to make compensation. “It was too bad.” Maybe you could have a symbolic something; maybe you could have the mayor say something, put a statue that “this is what happened”. And I’m going to talk to him about that again.
But anyway, I think of South Madison, and I think of the Triangle area, and they’re both rich. I don’t think they get the proper respect from the Madison community. They’ll talk about other neighborhoods, but they missed the mark…and those people should get some kind of compensation. They never will. When you think of all the money they lost. So I think that was it.
INTERVIEWER: Thank you very much.
RH: Thank you.
[END OF RECORDING]
INDEX:
10:00 – MRS. COLLETTI’S PORCH
14:30 - PROHIBITION
26:00 - NEIGHBORHOOD DIVERSITY
33:00 - GRANDMA’S COOKIES
38:15 - ITALIAN WORKMEN’S CLUB
41:00 - JOHN ICKE
48:00 - URBAN RENEWAL IN GREENBUSH
51:30 - RESPONSE TO URBAN RENEWAL
1:00:02 - WHERE DID YOU GO ON A DATE?
[START OF RECORDING]
[SOUND OF PEOPLE TALKING]
FRANK ALFANO (FA): Living History of the Madison Public Library is a pilot effort to work with community members and organizations to gather and preserve Madison history. The community history panel tonight, these distinguished people, sets off an ongoing set of events that will range from one on one interviews to group story sharing and events. Living History is not possible without community members who are willing to share their stories. The first set of events for Living History are place-based, meaning focused on a particular neighborhood; in tonight’s case, the historic Greenbush Neighborhood.
As you can imagine, once I started looking around, the first place that came to mind is the Greenbush. That’s why we’re here tonight. Upcoming efforts will focus on the East Dayton Neighborhood and South Madison. If you can speak to the history of either of these neighborhoods or know folks who can, please follow up with the people from the library and the City here tonight after we’re done.
To introduce the panel; we have Nick Baldarotta, from the Italian Workman’s Club; John Caliva, with the Workman’s Club; Katie Stassi-West, with the Italian-American Women’s Club; Sam Moss, a member of the Jewish community, is from the Bush era; and Tony Bruno, who is with the Italian Workman’s Club.
To introduce two people; Laura Damon-Moore, who is with the Madison Public Library; and Amy Scanlon, who is with the City of Madison Planning Department. They’re the two who contacted us original. With our president back there, Dave Rizzo, it’s sort of comical, they had this whole program worked out [about] why we should get involved with this. We’d be in the Italian Workman’s Club. Probably about five minutes into their presentation, we said, “Give us a date. When do you want to do it?” I think it ruined their whole program, and they’re still wondering what’s going on.
(laughter)
I’ll ask a question and then direct it to each of these people for an answer. We’ve done this before, and some of the answers can be rather interesting.
First question: what is your association with the Greenbush Neighborhood? Nick?
NICK BALDAROTTA (NB): I was born in the Greenbush. I was born right across the street on Park Street. I lived in the neighborhood until I was 21. I know a lot about the Greenbush and the Italian neighborhood that we had and the things that we did. It was a great neighborhood. I don’t think any of us had any keys—didn’t have to lock your doors at night because nobody was going to bother you.
The biggest thing is that everybody had a porch. In the summertime, there was no air conditioning, everybody’s outside. When you walk through the neighborhood, you have to say hello to everybody, so everybody knows you. So when I was a kid, if I did something wrong—and we never had a telephone—when I got home, my mother would be here like this (laughter), and I was about this far off the ground. So it was a unique neighborhood.
FA: You never did anything wrong, though, right?
NB: I never did anything right! I kept pleading my case, but my mom just didn’t believe me.
FA: All right. John?
JOHN CALIVA (JC): I’m John Caliva. I grew up in the Bush—717 Mound Street. I’m a proud Sicilian. My grandmother and grandfather Caliva came over here in 1911 on the Italia. They came through Louisiana, worked their way up to Madison. My mother’s parents came through Ellis Island, 1913. They all settled in the Bush, one of the best neighborhoods, ever, in all of Dane County, possibly the state, until they had some idiot with a urban renewal project—
FA: We’ll get to that later.
(laughter)
JC: Okay. Alright. Fine! Like I said, I’m proud to be here, keep our heritage alive, and hope you people will understand our feelings as we go along. Thanks, Frank.
FA: Thank you. Tony? Tony?
TONY BRUNO (TB): My turn?
FA: Yeah, you’re Tony.
TB: I’m Tony Bruno. I grew—the house I lived in was right where Dean Clinic is right across the street here. I lived here in my grandfather’s house. Later on we moved to the end of Regent Street. Tantillo’s Grocery was on the corner of Regent and West Wash. Paley’s junkyard was next to that, and our three-flat was next to that. When I was in sixth grade, we moved to a foreign country—corner of Orchard and Bowen Court down in the Saint James Neighborhood with all the Germans. But managed to hang around here in the Bush. Went to St. Joseph’s Grade School, which is no longer, on the corner there, and St. Joseph’s Church.
FA: Sammy?
SAM MOSS (SM): I was born in 1939 and I was born in Madison here. I’ve lived here most of my life. We had the Milwaukee Bakery, which I’ll talk about later. I moved back to Madison after a corporate career out of the country, in 1972, I think. I’ve been here since then.
FA: Thank you. Katie?
KATIE STASSI-WEST (KSW): Katie Stassi-West. I grew up mostly on the 800 block of Regent Street in the middle of it, and there were all Italians and Albanians on that block. Actually there were only two Italian families in that whole block all that time. Let’s see—I’m a third generation member of our club. I’ve been a member of our club for 70-some years—can’t believe it. I joined when I was 18 years old. Because you had to be a member—you had to be 18 years old in order to get into the club, and I have a lot of friends right in this whole place right here. My grandfather was one of about five brothers that came over to this country at the same time, and he was a Parisi. All those Parisis had a lot of Parisi children. And on top of that, he had two sisters who were—one married a Cuccia and one married a Cerniglia. So if you had one drop of Parisi blood, and you were related to everybody in that neighborhood. I miss it a lot. I come by here and I just cannot believe what these buildings are doing to our—when we played, the streets were—Regent Street was very narrow at that time. We played in the streets at night, but I’ll tell you about that later, too.
TB: My mother’s name was Stassi, so Katie and I are cousins.
(laughter)
FA: They often say anybody in the Bush, they were all cousins, one way or another. (laughter)
JC: All cuginos.
TB: Everybody were cousins.
FA: Parisis and Stassis, and, you know. Okay. Next is: share a story about a person or a place related to Greenbush history that you want people to know. Nick?
NB: White Front Grocery Store.
JC: All right!
NB: White Front Grocery Store was on the corner of Mound Street and South Lake Street, and that was a gathering place for all of us kids. We’d go to the park almost every day, so we’d always meet there. Then we’d go out to Brittingham Park and play, and do other stuff, then come back. It was a gathering place for all the kids in the neighborhood. We had a lot of fun. It was a great place.
FA: John?
JC: He’s talking about White Front Grocery. That’s my uncle’s grocery store. They never knew his last name; they’d just call him Mr. Jim. White Front.
NB: Hey, Mr. Jim, yeah.
JC: Last name was Caruso. My favorite place was right down in the next block. Mrs. Coletti’s porch. In the evening, after supper, after everything was done—homework, everything—all of us young men would go to Mrs. Coletti’s porch. We stop either at Mr. Aiello’s, Mr. Jim’s, Mr. Cuccia’s, and get a nickel bag of "semenzies". For you who don’t know what semenzies are, they’re squash seeds. Salted squash seeds. For a nickel, you get a bag like this. We would sit there and crack semenzies until your lips parched. (laughter) Or until Mrs. Coletti says, “you’re going to sweep them up, and you’re not going to leave until they’re all gone.” And that was our gathering spot.
FA: Okay. Thanks. Tony?
TB: Down the street here, next to Buckingham’s Tavern, it used to be Di Salvo’s Grocery Store. Right across the street, Greenbush Monument is there. That used to be Sinaiko’s Junkyard in that area there, and my cousin Dominic and I would sneak in there on Sunday because there was nobody there; they weren’t open on Sunday. And we’d find the leftover batteries from the railroad lanterns—they were all battery operated at that time, and there was always some juice left in that battery. And we’d have a little crystal set, and we’d make a radio from however many batteries we could hook together, and connect it to that little crystal set. We could get—we used to get WGN in Chicago, and we thought that was the greatest thing we ever heard of, was to get all the way to Chicago and listen to the news from Chicago, which was not ever good, but, it was something.
FA: Sam?
SM: I made some notes on one story that I wanted to tell. It’s an interesting story told to me by my Uncle Simon, known as Buck, original name Moskowski, as all the males in our family were. Mine was changed in the 40s when I was still a minor, so it wasn’t my choice. I was named after my grandfather, who passed away in 1934. He was a baker, original baker, and I wasn’t born until 1938. The name was changed in the mid-40s. If it were up to me, I would not have changed my name because I respected him so much I would not have done that. It was a matter of convenience, I guess, for most of my uncles.
Anyway, what I wanted to talk about was—which is not really talked about very often—is the era of the prohibition in the Greenbush area, how it impacted here. And I only know it, because I wasn’t alive at that time, from my Uncle—I call him Shim, Simon Buck—what he told me about it. One such family was the Romano family that lived on the 800 block on Milton Street, which doesn’t exist anymore. At least four of the very stout Romano boys I knew—Tony, Frank—I knew him as Fluffy—Ben, and Paul. Paul, also known as Popeye, was a particularly good friend of my Uncle Shim. They were both on the—members of the 1940-1941 Central High School Big 8 championship football team.
During prohibition era, it was not uncommon for home brewing activity to occur in many Greenbush homes, including the Romanos’. I think the statute of limitations is over on that and they’re all passed away now, so—
TB: They’re safe now.
(laughter)
SM: Yeah! The revenuers are not out looking for anyone now. Anyway, the ingredients required to process brew included sugar. Sugar was restricted to the general population by the federal government, so you could only get so much of it; they didn’t want people making the brew. But it wasn’t restricted if you had a bakery. I remember in the old days in our storage area in the back of the bakery, there was 100 pound sacks of flour of various sorts, sugar, salt, and other ingredients that were used in the baking process. Our bakery was opened in 1924 and remained open until the early 50s, for 28 years I believe.
The philosophy in Greenbush was, you could say, was you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. That was the Greenbush store and home philosophy. Our Milwaukee Bakery was protected from vandalism, and sugar was dispersed by our bakery as needed.
(laughter)
Shim told me that it was not unusual for him to bring some French bread over to the Romano home for a spaghetti meal. During one such occasion, the Federal Revenuers knocked on the door, and the four big Romano boys blocked the door until they dispersed of the ingredients. (laughs)
(laughter)
I don’t know how Paul became known as Popeye—that’s what I always called him—but there was a cartoon in that era with the character named Popeye the One-Eyed Sailor. And I—do you remember that?
KSW: Yep, Popeye the sailor man.
SM: —who ate spinach and had a girlfriend named Olive Oil. I’m sure Paul ate more pasta than spinach, and I don’t know that he had a girlfriend named Olive Oil. He may have, but I didn’t know that. Both my Uncle Shim and he enlisted in the Navy, so they have that, you know, there was a draft back then, it was no volunteer enlistment then. You were either drafted or you enlisted. And they were in the Navy, both of them.
After returning, Popeye had tryouts with the Bears, and I remember seeing him play at Breese Stevens Field in 1948 for the, I think the Wausau Muskies, which was a semi-pro team, against a Detroit team that—
I think he passed away the same year as my mother in 1994. That’s why I remember it, because it’s the same month my mother passed away in—a fairly young man. He was considered by Central High School, Gus Pollock, the football coach, as one of the best of his Italian running backs, and the most versatile of them. There were others, but particularly him. After he returned and tried out for the Bears and played the semi-pro team, he—I think all the Romano brothers that I knew worked for the City of Madison in one capacity or another. Paul was an inspector for the Property Inspector when he passed away. That’s the story I wanted to— (unintelligible)
audio jumps
KSW: Education was very important in our neighborhood. Our—all the parents really didn’t have a good one; they wanted their children to have one. Actually, we produced—we had a doctor, a dentist, a lot of nurses, a court reporter—that was me—(laughs) and they went—most of the kids on our block went to school, went to Central. I went to West because we happened to be living on the other side of Park Street at the time that my brother started school, so we got to go to—
Summers you played with all of them. It was—the language was terrible, really, and I was right in the middle of them. But I went—after school started, I went to West, and I never swore once, not once all the time I was there, but—just a little cycle, but it was so right, it was so easy to do when you were with all these kids.
I just had—I just grew up in a great neighborhood. I didn’t realize it at the time how great it was.
But our people were—we had a lot, we had, I think, about four girls in the WACs, in the WAVES. Every boy, every family had a boy or son in the—that was drafted. But, no, I know—but they, we just—I think about them and I think what they’re doing and I just realize that I’m just older than any of them were at the time, but they were—they did a lot for our neighborhood. Italian boys were very popular, they were very good athletes. So they were very popular and very well respected, too. The girls, we didn't do a lot. We didn't get a chance to do a lot because you were supposed to stay home and learn how to sew and things like that, but it was a great neighborhood to grow up in. I have very many happy memories.
FA: So the Italian boys were popular [because] they were good looking too?
KSW: I know it! They were! (laughter) They are—everybody wanted them. All those American girls, as we called them. (laughter)
TB: Ameriganis! Ameriganis!
FA: All right now. Remember, this is being video-taped. (laughter) This program is being developed—next question—as a way to preserve the day-to-day activities that seem ordinary in the moment, but become extraordinary as time goes on and times change. Share an ordinary day-to-day story that will show the neighborhood’s extraordinary qualities. Katie, we’ll make you first this time.
KSW: Oh great, oh, let’s see. Well, I’d have to go back to education; that’s what did it. We had boys that were going to study in subjects that no one even heard of, you know—would have done 30 years before that—they were very well—the Scaro boys, the Peckara girls—they all went into high—they all got college degrees, they—some have masters, some have PhDs. You probably don’t even know who they—people don’t even know who they are, but they—I remember all of them, and I always wanted to be like that, but I never was quite as smart as they were. My mother wanted me to be a secretary, you know, so I went to business school and got to be a secretary, and I never liked it. So I—that’s when I went into court reporting. I don’t think we have another court reporter in that neighborhood that I can think of, but I just—I got to do things that I never thought I’d be able to do. And I wish I could do them all over again, too.
FA: Sam?
SM: This is a one day story on—
FA: Yeah.
SM: —what happened in Greenbush? Well, from Longfellow School, Central High School, we had to walk from Murray Street to Central. One of my very good friends was Albert Smith, and we used to—get to there until I—my grandmother decided I should have a car. I got the—I don’t want to go into the details of the car business. And we used to get to Central—bunch of us—walking, and my cousin Suzy Pikus always wanted to know why she could not ride in the car with us. I don’t know the answer to that. Maybe it was the language we used or what (laughs). I don’t know, but she never did ride in the car with us. And she complained about it!
FA: Boy, times sure do change. Tony?
TB: My grandfather had a little garden in the backyard, probably as big as this area here—from the treat case to the tables here. He would grow tomatoes, cucumbers, and vegetables that would [be] put up for the winter so he had something to eat in the winter. But that wasn’t enough for him, so he went around to everybody in the neighborhood that had a spare lot next to their house and made a deal with them that, if they let him grow vegetables on that little lot, he’d split whatever he grew with the owner of that house.
When we moved down to Orchard Street, he tried to do that, and that was kind of a strange thing for that neighborhood. People just didn’t do that. But sooner or later, he talked them into it. After he got the first couple and they got some of his tomatoes, then the resistance went right down. (laughter) Everyone wanted their front yard, or their backyard, or their side yard in a garden where my grandfather could grow vegetables.
FA: These guys, they tell you the story about the—you know, the (unintelligible) tomato season when they were ready, they always carry the salt shaker in their pocket. (laughter) To do taste tests of the tomatoes in the neighborhood.
TB: And apple season. Apple season.
JC: What’s the question?
FA: (unintelligible)—that seem ordinary in the moment, but become extraordinary as time passes and things change.
JC: Me? Is this a test? (laughter) Well, first off, we never knew we were poor. We never knew we were poor. We didn’t know that we are/were of color, or different color. We never locked our houses. In fact, I did not find the key to our house until the bulldozer was in the backyard, and the house started shaking, and the key fell off the ledge. It was a skeleton key. You [could’ve] opened up any door in the Bush.
Talk about things—starting on one end of our block was the Briskelady?? club, next door to that was the Neighborhood House daycare center, which was run by Mrs—
NB: Griggs.
JC: —and Ms. Braxton, which later was staffed by a Polish family, the Zmudzinskis. Next to that was the Carvellos, Laternos, us, Calivas, Caruso, Onheibers, Skedara, Mrs. Molesly, the weather lady, the Jewish synagogue across the street, Baptist church, black Baptist church, the Johnsons, Mr. Applebaum the hermit, Steves’ Butcher Shop, Trenal’s fine tomato garden, and the Vitalis, that owned the liquor—
FA: What extraordinary qualities did all of that area show you?
JC: That we were diversified.
FA: OK. Thanks, John.
JC: We didn’t know—we didn’t have any boundaries; racial boundaries, color boundaries. Ilana would make pasta on Saturday, feed half the Bush. Mrs. Smith, the black lady, made the best frying pan corn bread in the world with sorghum. We’d all go over there. Mrs. Onheiber would make some Jewish (unintelligible) something. That’s (unintelligible) diversification. That was good quality.
FA: Don’t you wish the full circle that—could come back today? Nick?
NB: I think the, the best part of the Bush was that everybody knew everybody, so you couldn’t go anyplace without knowing anybody. You knew everybody in the Bush. You got a lot of respect, they’d teach you respect. I never heard my father ever call his friends by just their last name. He called them Mr. Joe, Mr. Smith, Mr—I think, what I take from [that] is that they had a lot of respect for everybody. And that’s what I take away from it.
FA: Thank you. Next, oh, this one should be good.
TB: Frank. Frank. Frank. Simon, [Sam] Moss’ uncle, who we talked about, was asked one time about how it was to live in the Greenbush, and he said, “Well, we were all in the same boat. We got along because we were all in the same boat, and the name of the boat was poverty.” Best description I’ve ever heard.
FA: Let’s see. Share a story about the Greenbush community traditions and if they are still observed by the community today or your family.
NB: What was it again?
FA: Traditions from when you were growing up to today. Are they still being used, like, in your family, or here at the club, or in general? An example would be like at Christmas, we always had big pasta dinners.
NB: Yeah. Yeah. I think every Sunday was our thing. We had spaghetti and meatballs every Sunday, and my father was a great cook. He would cook all of our Saturday and Sunday meals and all of our holiday meals and my mom would cook in between. She was good at making pasta sauces and stuff, but my father would make this—get up early in the morning on Sunday and he’d make the sauce with the meatballs and sausage and some pambergeloni?? or whatever.
My mother would put—when we sat down we—and we ate at 12 o’clock right on the dot. Now, if you wanted to have somebody over for dinner, you could invite anybody you want for dinner, they had to be there at 12 o’clock sharp. We’d go and we’d invite somebody, and 12 o’clock comes and I said “Pa, you know, maybe they’re just getting out of church, maybe they’ll be here in about 10 minutes.” He said, “What time you tell them to be here?” “12 o’clock.” He says, “What time is it?” “12 o’clock.” He said, "12 o’clock? Mangia.”
So my ma—my dad wore a white shirt only once, and that was on Sundays. So my mother would put—what, not a dishrag, what do you call [them]?
FA: Apron.
JC: Yeah, a dishrag. The white one.
NB: Yeah! A dishrag. Put two of them around his shirt so he wouldn’t get any sauce on his shirt, right? My dad would—he put a nickel by his plate, and whoever ate their pasta first would get the nickel. He never lost, never. So anyway, my—
FA: He never lost.
NB: —after we get through eating, he’d take that thing off like this [action]—had spots on it. My mother yelled at him for 52 Sundays every year. My father would go [action]. And that was that. (laughter)
FA: Done? (laughter) I can relate one, and I’m from out east, okay. But back in the fifties, forties, Catholics—we couldn’t eat meat on Friday. And how many times did we have pasta with olive oil and garlic?
JC: Oh yeah. Yeah. Like I said. Sunday, Sunday was pasta day.
NB: Everybody ate pasta.
TB: It was pasta day.
JC: To go further, Christmastime. Nana Caruso would make cuciadatis, the hardest Italian cookie to make. I mean, it was complicated. From soaking the figs, the raisins, the fruit—the candied fruit—with a hand grinder. You clamped it on the table.
(speaking at the same time)
She knew to the cookie how many she made. She would lay them out in the spare bedroom on the bed with the white sheet. You trying to be sneaky, you’d fudge one in the middle, right? (laughter) Move the column over? Did not work. Did not work. (laughter) Grandma had a broom with about a 20 foot handle on it (laughter) because she never missed! Never missed! But boy, they were the best—it was worth it! (laughter)
FA: It was worth the punishment?
JC: It was worth the punishment, man! It was worth the punishment!
FA: You were a lot of trouble when you were growing up.
JC: Yes I was!
FA: Katie?
KSW: They had a lot of—their traditions were connected with holidays. There was one Mardi Gras one they did—I think—I have—I don’t even know, did we have Mardi Gras? But they had—where they would come in—they had—they would go over to each other’s homes or here at the club house, and they would sit around—they would have the chairs in the big circle, and somebody would go around trying to make that person laugh. And he would go through everything, and once they laughed, he would—the game was called moshkada??, and they—he would mark their face with coal. And by the time they finished, they were just all a riot in black. (laughs)
Their Christmas parties were another tradition here for the children. And I re—Sam—John Raymond was Santa Claus. We sat there and waited for this Santa to come for [an] hour, singing songs, and he would come in—was a couple of years before I found out who he was—but they gave you a bag of candy, and some—maybe an apple or something, and we sang songs for quite a while until this Santa came.
They were always with hol—the holiday ones were the best that I can remember. But they danced a lot. They would come in here, and they would dance up there. We didn’t have babysitters then, so I got—they dragged us along. And right back here, there was a pool table, and we played around there. When it got late, we were tired, they’d put us on the pool table to sleep. (laughter) And they would have their party. Mr. Salerno would play the accordion, and Mr. Joe Stassi, who was the—did all the taps for all the military things. There were about seven of them. Only two could read music, Mr. Salerno and Mr. Joe Stassi, who was a, had a shoe stop on Main Street about five blocks this side of the Capitol Square.
He [Stassi] played, of course he did that for years and years, but they were the only two that could, but the others tried, I mean they—I thought they were good, you know, I say. I got to sing “O Sole Mio”, you got to learn all the Italian songs, and they danced a lot, and just had such a good time.
FA: Sam?
SM: A story about a holiday festival? Is that it? No.
FA: Well, a community tradition.
SM: Okay. For Halloween, one of my mother’s very good friends was Georgia Cerniglia. We’d always go over to—she would take me over to the Cerniglia’s house before Halloween. Skinny Pete and Buffo (laughs)—they all had nicknames because it was two different families with the same first names, you know, would—first of all, we would get our pumpkins from—my favorite grocery store was the White Front Grocery. We always get, we would get our pumpkin there. That was my very most favorite grocery store.
Anyway, we would go over to the—Georgia’s house, and many times when we went over there, Buffo and Skinny Pete were— (laughs) they didn’t have a bathroom upstairs, so they had a kind of a tub, you know, in (laughs) the area there that they would be bathing in while we were there. (laughs) Nobody really looked at them and that; they were young, they were kids, you know, and so forth.
FA: Remember. This is being recorded!
(laughter)
SM: Anyway, there was a bathroom downstairs on the next floor, or something, I never was down there, so I didn’t know, but Buffo always used to tell me that (laughs) they were in there taking a bath while we were talking, in the—right in the same room, but not where they were, you know?
Anyway, we would go around to the neighborhood there, and in those days, we didn’t say “trick or treat.” It was “soap or grub.”
TB: Soap or grub.
SM: Soap or grub. We had a bar of soap, you know, and we would mark the windows, or whatever if we didn’t get—I don’t remember ever doing that myself.
JC: (throat clearing) Oh, excuse me.
SM: Since I’m on camera, I won’t say I did.
(laughter)
TB: Statute of limitations.
FA: Statute of limitations might be over. We’ll check. Tony?
(laughter)
SM: I’ve consulted a lawyer on all this, you know? Anyway, we used to have a great time going around to the neighbors and get treats and so forth.
FA: Tony?
TB: One of the lasting traditions, you’re sitting in right now. This building. This was the cultural center of the neighborhood. Everything happened here—dances. Up until a few years ago, where the bar is now was a stage. And so, there were stage presentations. Funerals were held here, weddings, wedding receptions. The men used to be able to come in here—everybody that was a member had a key, and the only way you could get in the door was with a key. If you didn’t have a key, you didn’t get in. They would come in and play cards, and they would lock the door. And so, the mothers, their wives, would send the kids over to get the father, and have to bang on the door outside until somebody came. (laughs) There wasn’t a phone in here until the 1950’s. They didn’t even have a phone. That’s how—they had—this was their inner sanctum. This was a place where they were able to play cards and be themselves.
This place has now spawned a lot of other activities that you’re probably familiar with. Festa Italia, we have a golf outing, we have a presentation at the international day, we’re involved in the community, in events like this—talking about the old neighborhood, and a lot of fundraising things.
One of the traditions of the neighborhood—this is one of the last buildings in the neighborhood. This building, Di Salvo’s old grocery, which is now Buckingham’s. Two houses, one next to Fraboni’s and one on the other side of that parking lot are the last buildings left from the old Greenbush. So, this is a tradition that’s still here.
SM: The story I want to tell about somebody who’s been a good friend of mine. We were both at Longfellow Grade School—fella’s name is Tony Fiori. Who—he and I got in a rumble on the hospital—Madison General Hospital hill there. It didn’t last long, and there was no winner or loser, (laughs) but we remained good friends. He became a football and basketball coach. He doesn’t live in the city anymore, but I see him on occasion. And so we made good friends.
FA: Did you roll down the hill together?
(laughter)
SM: Yes. Pretty much!
JC: That was a long hill, man! Remember?
FA: Katie?
KSW: I’m not sure I— (unintelligible) the subject—when this building was planned, they—it was done by—all labor was done by the members of the club. But John Icke, who was a city engineer at that time, took an interest in these men. He hired them every year because they were so loyal and so good, and when they went to build the building, he provided all the equipment they needed—trucks—they—whatever they needed. The only thing that they didn’t do was they had to put the frame or something in. That had to be done professionally. But otherwise, the men did that all by themselves. I remember the outside was—they had—cement sidewalk, stairs going up. The street was very narrow at that time, so it went out for—you came in right about here, at the top of the stairs—yeah, came in here.
It's amazing how these men, who had never done it before, but they were so—I know my father worked for him for a long time—and they were so loyal that he would hire only these Italian men. And that he—and I know who—I know the John Icke family, but they were very loyal to this club. That’s it.
FA: I can tell you from working to maintain this, they built it pretty solid, too. This building was built in 1921, and the major addition in the mid-thirties, and that would be the front as you’re coming in the steps—or coming off the sidewalk, not the steps—indoor plumbing. Other than that, it was out to the back!
TB: The bacouz!
(laughter)
FA: The bacouz. Sam, like you—if you would, if you wanted to—about changing the name.
SM: Yeah.
FA: Why you, you know, changing the name, what the benefits of—
SM: Well, I think a lot of Italian families as well changed their name to shorten it. But the male members of our family all changed it to Moss. I didn’t have any choice in the matter, and I would not have done it because, as I said, my—I was named after my grandfather—it was Samuel Moskowski, not Moss. His name was never Moss. That’s as best I can explain that.
FA: What’s also, Sam, you know, relate to it a little bit. Back when they had the bakery, people wouldn’t buy from a bakery with a Jewish name. So they basically shortened it to Moss.
SM: No, the bakery was the Milwaukee Bakery.
FA: Milwaukee Bakery they made it, yeah. So, back in those days, it was interesting.
audio jumps
FA: As Halloween approaches, are there any Greenbush ghost stories (laughter) or odd or spooky urban legends? Nick?
NB: I don’t know of any.
TB: We were spooky enough.
FA: OK, Yeah. (laughs)
JC: Yeah! The yard next to Reverend Peroni’s church was the graveyard for the—oh god darn it—he had the Italian Methodist Church. Reverend Peroni!
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: Are you looking at me?
JC: No, no, no!
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: I went to St. Joseph’s!
JC: I know you were! Yeah. I think there was ghosts in his side yard. Because we were not allowed to go trick or treating to their house. Because Reverend Peroni would not come to the door.
NB: Really?
JC: Yeah. I think that was ours. Other than that—oh, and were weren’t allowed to go past the boundaries of the Bush, you know. But, other than that. Maybe there were some in Gehrke’s Junkyard, I don’t know.
(laughter)
FA: Katie?
KSW: I never went trick or treating.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: Someone had to stay and hand out the candy, huh?
KSW: I know! I never went. I don’t—the boys went, I think, but I was not allowed to go out to go trick or treating, so I never knew what it was about. I never got all that candy. I never got any of that. Very deprived.
FA: Sam?
TB: My grandfather threatened to make me a ghost a couple times, but I never saw any.
SM: I don’t—
FA: Okay.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: Wait!
FA: Yeah.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: For those of you who are first generation, your parents (unintelligible) were always born in Sicily, correct?
JC: No. My parents [were] born here. My grandparents [were] born in Sicily.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: Your grandparents—
JC: My parents, here.
FA: Okay.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: Do you remember (unintelligible) how they connected the celebration November 2nd—the feast of— (unintelligible)
FA: Do you have any special, you know, festivities around Halloween?
(cross-conversation)
NB: I don’t remember any—
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: Did they tell anything about how—
NB: Yes, I under—yeah, I know what it is—
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: November 2nd was celebrated in Sicily, where the children receive presents from their dead relatives that were surprise—
(speaking at the same time)
NB: I don’t recall; maybe I’m too old to remember.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: Pardon?
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: All Saint’s Day and Halloween.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: November 2nd in Sicily. They probably, you know—the first generation, but also were born here, and their parents were (unintelligible) Sicilian. And that’s when, in Sicily, you received—when children expect presents—their home—their dead relatives, especially grandparents, uncles, et cetera. Better if you have a grandparent, the more present given (unintelligible) of course, so—
FA: Interesting.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1: They really—it was almost like Halloween. It is like Halloween because the night of all saints, they were all expecting—
FA: Now, see, American kids, we get all candy. Much easier.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: Oh! I just looked it up on Google. November 2nd is the day of the dead. Also celebrated on November 2nd. All Soul’s Day—considered the day of the dead.
FA: Well, you go down to New Orleans, it’s still celebrated that way. Okay. Moving right along—
(laughter)
If we don’t move along, we might be here at Christmas. Who knows? Okay. This is the question that I know is in everybody’s mind. Describe some of the businesses, cultural landmarks, and/or physical attributes that were lost to the development in the 60s.
JC: Jewish clothing store, Italian meat market, Jewish meat market—
FA: Church.
JC: Jewish grocery store, black church, Italian Methodist church, Catholic Church, the Key Club, Schwartz’s Pharmacy, Gehrke’s Junkyard, Paley’s Junkyard, Heifetz—anything else?
TB: Sinaiko’s.
SM: The Neighborhood House.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: Buccio’s Tavern. Buccio’s Tavern on West Wash—
(speaking at the same time)
JC: The Neighborhood House, Buccio’s Tavern, Di Salvo’s, Three Sisters.
FA: Okay. Those are all businesses. What about homes? Neighborhoods.
(cross-conversation)
JC: They’re all gone. Mound Street is gone. Milton’s gone.
FA: For those of you who don’t know, this is the map that Tony Guastella did of the Bush from the early 60s, late 50s. All the places these guys are talking about you’ll find in this area here. For example, we are up here now, at the Workman’s Club, okay? This is the area—what is it, South Park? Right in through here– the Triangle, it was called, that was taken down in urban renewal, late 50s, early 60s.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: My dad’s paint store, that he built. Clinton Paint Store got moved down Regent Street when they redeveloped it. Yup.
FA: So, anything— any other comments about that development from anybody? Or redevelopment?
JC: It’s gone.
KSW: The Clubhouse wasn’t included in that because they were on the other side of the street there.
FA: Who wasn’t?
KSW: This Clubhouse.
FA: Right. We were on the wrong side of the street. Yeah, fortunately.
KSW: But this club was going to be, at one time was gonna be rebuilt. And it would’ve been on the lot where St. Joseph’s Church is on the Beltline. That’s where their plans were headed.
JC: Caliva’s Tire and Battery Shop.
NB: Initially this Clubhouse.
TB: If the question is, what [of] those do we miss, we miss [them] all.
FA: Why?
SM: Brittingham Park.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: It’s still there!
SM: It’s still there, but it’s not like it was.
KSW: It’s not a city park like we had.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 3: Losing your identity. The whole Italian identity.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 4: No sense of family. The whole area was family.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: Even Southshore Beach, where a lot of Italians were on the south side. West Lakeside.
FA: I think one of the things you been hearing about, you know, here in this whole presentation, has been family, neighborhood, you know, everybody’s close, knowing each other. And obviously, when you come in and tear it down, you know, you lose that. I came here in ‘61, and talking to these guys and stuff, you know, you’re never going to regain it, unfortunately. You know, they did things back there during that redevelopment—there is no way you could even think of doing that today. You imagine trying to tear down churches and synagogues and schools for housing? Not in Madison!
TB: Try tearing down Williamson Street. See how far you get. (laughs)
FA: Yeah! So, okay. Now we’re going to—yeah, Mark?
MARK: Could I just probe this slightly there—do you remember the strong expression of emotion from back at that time—with renewal—of somebody who was really angry, or somebody who was really sad? Is there a day that you’re just remembering moving out of your house, and finding—yeah? Tell us about it. What was the anger?
JC: Angry? Angry? Huh? First off, the city raped them with no concern of where they were gonna go. I would say that 75% of the elders died of a broken heart. They lost all of their compades, they lost all their friends. They didn’t know where to go shopping because everything was in walking distance. Get a plate of pasta, clothes, communion, all in the [neighborhood]. Wedding receptions here, get married across the street, have a reception here. They put [them] out—psssh. That’s it. We’re renewing you guys, that’s it!
My grandmother was one of the last houses to get tore down on Mound Street. She was sitting on the porch, front porch—her black dress on that they wore because she lost her husband. She had a rosary. We had to convince the guy with the bulldozer to work from the backyard up. When her front door of her house hit the porch, she knew it was over.
Tell me they weren’t mad? Psssh. How—no, really! How would you guys feel? Today. They say, okay, we’re taking your house. Here’s a check for nothing. Goodbye.
NB: The biggest thing is, most of these people—because—
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: My grandmother had—she lived on Milton Street, and had to move into the low income housing, remember—what was that called?
JC: Bayview.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: Bayview. They did move a number of the elderlies, mostly widowed ladies, into that project over there, my grandmother—
JC: Ours went on—my grandmother went on—the one on Lakeside Street.
FA: Okay, just a minute—ready?
AUDIENCE MEMBER 5: Did they get to keep all their stuff?
TB: Yes.
JC: Yes.
FA: Did they get to keep all their stuff?
NB: The biggest problem was that, in our neighborhood, everybody spoke Italian. I mean, our parents and everybody spoke Italian. So when they move these people out, they’re in their 70s and 80s, all they spoke is Italian. They went into a neighborhood where they didn’t know their neighbors—who never spoke the word. The only way they could [communicate] was by telephone. That was a really big problem for them. And they—a couple of them—of the ladies almost had a nervous breakdown because they were all by themselves.
FA: Sam. Question. We’ve heard about the Italian community. How about the Jewish community? How did they—
SM: Well, what happened was, there were two orthodox synagogues: one across the street from our bakery on Murray Street, Adas Jeshurun, and the original one. That was built in 1938, and then the original shul was on the corner of—the southeast corner of Park and Mound Street. And that was Adas Jeshurun, and that’s where I went to Hebrew school, and so forth. That moved out to Randall Street, where it is now—to Randall and Mound. That’s Beth Israel Center now. It’s no longer Orthodox, it’s conservative now.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: Oh, it’s conservative now? My mother catered there. I mean was—Jewish. (laughs) My mother came from the Italian (unintelligible) to become a Jewish caterer in Madison.
FA: How about the Jewish families?
SM: Well, they dispersed. They dispersed. The kids that I knew went to Central High School, and Central was downgrade. My family moved out in 1957. My mother and I went out to California, where I got my bachelor’s degree. The rest of them moved west, on the west side of Madison. The ones that were left—of my family that was left in Madison.
KSW: Saul (unintelligible) is still there, though.
SM: Oh yeah, I see him regularly.
FA: Okay, now we’re going to open it up to questions and answers. Dave has the microphone; please use that. Phyllis?
PHYLLIS: Approximately how many residents were there in the Bush? How many people lived there?
FA: Anybody know a number? Roughly?
NB: I have no idea.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: If Buffo was here, he’d know it.
TB: Several hundred.
FA: I’d say several hundred to a thousand.
SM: All families.
FA: It also depends on what you’d call the Bush. If everybody lived in the Bush that said they lived in the Bush, you know, it’d be 10,000 people.
TB: We’d be in Milwaukee.
FA: But 700 to a thousand is what I’ve heard from these guys. Mark?
MARK: So, when you said the city raped the Greenbush, are you referring to what they—
JC: Money!
MARK: That they didn’t—give enough money for the property?
NB: Eminent domain.
(unintelligible)
JC: Money! Yeah, if that.
MARK: So, do you remember, any of the houses were, your own experience, or your family, of knowing what the property was worth and then knowing how they—
JC: Well, the city said my grandmother’s house was worth $3875. Was a two-flat, with a four-stall garage, a garden, porch, upper and lower. Three bedrooms. You know. She got a check for about four grand or something like that. This is in 1964.
FA: Supposedly, in the State Historical Society records and stuff like that, the person who was in charge of the Redevelopment Authority, he bought a lot of the houses like this and sold them back to the city, so there was that type of stuff. Also, these guys have told stories about—if you could speak English, you got a certain amount. If you couldn’t speak English, you got a lower amount. So—
JC: And they had no guidance, they had no legal—
TB: Nowhere.
JC: They were elderly. And by that time my mother and father, they had already moved out, and they ended up by Vilas Park by Cerniglias and Parisi, (unintelligible) so the little Italian community like that—they didn’t know. All of sudden, here’s your check, Mrs. Caruso. Per se. She didn’t know. Her husband had passed. It’s condemned. If you didn’t [take the money] they were going to condemn it, let’s put it this way, they’d find something wrong with it.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: I remember standing on Park Street with my father, who never cried. And he cried over what was happening. And he talked a lot to me about what this meant, to lose the Bush, that he grew up in. And the stories he’d tell me, I would be jealous that I hadn’t been old enough to experience making the paste on the boards out there, all the responsibilities everybody had—
TB: Crushing the grapes.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: Making the sauce, and all of these things, and no locking of the doors. And my father, he explained how, no matter what, you were safe. And no matter what you could turn to anybody, anybody in the Bush, and they would help you. Anybody. And so I never understood. I kept asking my dad, because I was young, I was less than ten when this happened. And the City would say, oh, it’s just a slum, and the houses and this and that. I would have loved them to have gone in my grandmother’s house.
JC: Yes.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: You could eat off the floor. It was beautiful.
JC: Yes.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: We had many relatives, the sons who had families that transitioned through the apartment. It was a fabulous house. It was all about what [the City] wanted to do, and they did it. That’s exactly what my father called it—they raped them. Pennies on the dollar. They considered us nothing but garbage.
JC: That’s right.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: And it’s a disgrace.
JC: They didn’t realize that we built the Bush on garbage.
(laughs)
FA: Bobby?
BOBBY: You know when you talk about what they would pay, my uncle Vito Scurio, they offered him (unintelligible) for his house. He turned it down, so they condemned his house, and gave him the lowest price they could give him. Then they turned around, they sold it to Vince Corona, and moved it over on Mills Street. So the house was condemned, but they sold it.
JC: Yes.
SM: And they moved it. Yeah.
FA: Okay. Anything else? Mark?
MARK: I can remember my father George and I were walking one day, and he and the other Italian kids would play Tarzan. Tarzan was really popular in those Saturday matinees at the time. And right over by the Park Street viaduct was a house that had two of those trees that grow the big long seed pods. He and the other boys used to pull those down and say they were bananas, and this old Italian lady would come out on her porch and go, “You boys leave that tree alone, you’re gonna kill that tree!” And one day my dad and I were walking along, he said, “Look at that. The whole neighborhood’s gone. All the houses are gone." Businesses—the old Italian lady’s and those trees are still there. And they were up—until they did the bike path and they finally took those out.
FA: Interesting. To leave this on a high note, I have a question for the panel members. And I’ll give them a couple of minutes to think about this. I know what [John’s] answer is going to be. Where did you go on a date?
(laughter)
JC: Where did you go on a date?
FA: OK, don’t tell a story about you getting stuck in a car!
NB: With whom?
JC: No, I’m not going to—No, no, no.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: Is this—they’re teenagers?
FA: As a teenager.
JC: Well, the Loft was the meeting—
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: The Loft! On Doty Street?
JC: The Loft, or the Neighborhood House. If you were lucky enough to convince the parents of an Italian girl—
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: Good luck with that.
(laughter)
JC: If you were good enough to take her out. And she will be home by 9 o’clock.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: God, I wish I could do that still today.
FA: Nick?
NB: I’m just trying to think of—
JC: Or a movie.
NB: Yeah.
AUDIENCE MEMBER: My mother used to take us down to the Majestic Theater, and the downtown Orpheum. The movies were like twenty-five cents. Saturday morning, they had Flash Gordon, Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers. A lot of people in those days, because I grew up right next to Jimmy’s Spaghetti House, that my parents started. I grew up there, and I was there. I’d get done with school, and she’d pick me up at school, bring me to the restaurant, and I used to work at the restaurant. (speaking at same time) A lot of people used to come to that restaurant, I mean, for dates. A lot of young people. That was the—excuse me, I’m biased, but that was the restaurant on Regent and Park there. Jimmy’s Spaghetti House. They came from all over, the pictures that my mother had—I can’t find them—Anheuser Busch, you know. Liberace came there, Bob Hope, [Bing] Crosby.
FA: Tony? Where’d you take Mary on a date?
TB: I didn't know Mary then. She was still up in Lodi then.
FA: Okay.
KSW: We mostly went to the dances at Blessed Sacrament, the Loft. There were a couple other places, but we went there, but we were all together—my cousin John, I don’t know if you remember my cousin John Cuccia, he was my (unintelligible), and he was always right there so I couldn’t do anything wrong. And nobody else around me could. But we went to those dances every Saturday night. No, it was Friday night—Friday night.
FA: Friday night dances.
JC: Yep.
KSW: Yep.
TB: Well, we never had any money, so you, we would go down to Vilas Park, go to the zoo. Go to Brittingham. Go swimming. Things that didn’t cost any money, because we didn’t have any money.
FA: Well, you’ve told—I’ve heard you [Tony] talk about it—asking a young lady out and going to her house to pick her up—
TB: (laughs) Oh, I was there with some friends of mine, and we went to this girl’s house, and the father asked me what my name was. And I told him, and he said, “Is that Italian?” I said “Yes.” He said, “Get out.”
(laughter)
TB: That was in Nakoma.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: In Nakoma, oh, of course. WASP-y.
FA: Sam? You have any trouble with women?
SM: (laughs) Ah—
FA: Statute of limitations are up on that, too.
SM: I remember, my first official date was when I was in high school. And my good friend Harvey Baruch, orthopedic surgeon, retired now, he and I and our dates went to Lombardino's.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2: Lombardino's. Yep.
KSW: Oh, yeah.
SM: But we went to the Loft, at other times, and so forth.
sound fades
[END RECORDING]