By Marcus Woodruff
Northside News
Pietro Pipitone and Josephine Adamo were married in Marsala Sicily on April 30, 1983. This simple act of love and devotion set in motion a life well lived from across the ocean. Pietro was the first of his family to dare the sea, due west, in what they hoped would be a country of opportunity, and the beginning of a family. The immigrant’s story is as old as our shores, and though not all find open doors, some find a way to breach the wall, and in the end, touch us all. The culmination of Pietro’s journey, Cafe La Bellitalia, is gone.
“My mother and sister were coming to town and wanted me to take them out for dinner,” said Maddie, a young busser. “I chose this place at random, and five minutes after we walked in, I knew I wanted to work here.”
Her story is not uncommon, and the magic of the place seems to have the capacity to capture quickly. “I’ve only worked at the restaurant for a few months,” said Maddie, “but the love and family I’ve experienced here will stay with me the rest of my life.”
In keeping with his reputation for taking care of his employee’s, Pietro has secured employment for Maddie and her other busser best friend Bronte, at Naples 15, an Italian restaurant owned by Salvatore Di Scala, one of Pietro’s best friends.
The final nights have been a combination of happiness and sorrow, revelry and repose, beginnings and endings, much like a family surrounding a dying loved one, waiting for the mortal moment.
On one memorable evening, an Armenian soccer club crashed the door, led by Shant, a burly citizen with a roaring laugh and a bone-crushing bear hug. Pietro was an old friend and teammate they had not seen in ten years. After much well-intentioned abuse, Pietro disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a huge, steaming steel bowl full of shrimp, clams, mussels, pasta and the secret house red sauce. The dish was a favorite of his friends many years ago, and soon it was ladled on to plates as big as old hub caps. In record time, the bowl was emptied, drinks were served, and they reveled far past closing. The fact that they had not known it was one of the last nights only made their farewells more poignant.
The restaurant has been a fixture on Sherman Avenue for 20 years, where myriad employees could easily have been the cast of a Fellini movie. The kitchen staff was a cross-section of the United Nations, where language barriers did not deter the workers from gleefully berating each other in a singsong jargon of Italian, Spanish and Cantonese. The delivery man, a dapper fellow who Pietro had coined “Action Jackson” was Patrick, a local emcee, comedian and DJ who was always resplendently attired in a vintage three-piece suit, watch fob and Homberg hat.
And then, there was Stephanie, the longest serving employee. For many years she brought nutritious food to Northside families, always with a treat for the kids or a biscuit for the pups. She then joined the waitstaff, where she nightly regaled her guests with jokes, adages, wisdom, and most beloved songs.
The final night did not end until all the food was eaten, and the last bottle of vino was drained. The gathering transcended a simple joining and seemed to turn into a fellowship of the fallen, never to be seen again. And when the echoes of laughter and the warmth of heartfelt embraces had faded into the pre-dawn night, that finality was truly felt.
Pietro and Josephine will soon return to Marsala for a time, leaving behind their three kids and four disgustingly gorgeous grandchildren. They will retrace the daring journey they took so many years ago. And perhaps, alone again, they can relearn the old Italian saying, “Il Dolce Far Niente.” which means essentially, the art of doing nothing. They’ve earned it.
As I was leaving the restaurant for the last time, Pietro, whom I have known and loved for 20 years, called out to me. “Hey Marcus,” he said, “when you write the story, make ‘em cry.”
I mused to myself, as the cold, dark morning enveloped me, that seemed like wishful thinking. Then it struck me. I was sure the story would make someone cry…me.
