Alicia Finds Sicily

By Francine Brevetti

Alicia Barra treasured her Sicilian family and heritage. Trouble was, she had never been to the old country.

So when a door opened and a wizened woman, not 5 feet high, sturdily built with piercing black eyes greeted us on the main street of Partinico, Sicily, Alicia was astounded and speechless. This 75-year-old packet of dynamite was beckoning us in.

When she and her husband Bob Hokanson had signed up with Sicily Tour (www.Sicily-tour.com) for a historical and archaeological exploration of the island, she had it in her mind to trace her parentage. Some years earlier she had accompanied Bob to track down his relatives in Norway. Now he was supporting his wife in her search.

But how could she do this? Her family had long lost contact with her father’s relatives, the Barras, in the town of Partinico 20 miles from Palermo.

“I kept wishing I could share this trip with my Dad,” said Alicia, thinking of her father in hospital in Long Island, NY.

Fortunately, the three leaders of Sicily Tour, Douglas Kenning, Lucia, and Steve Davies, long-time residents of Siracusa, knew their way around public records and Sicilian phonebooks.

It was Lucia who identified Alicia’s relatives in Partinico and their contact information.

While we were exploring the island and headed towards Palermo, Lucia called Giuseppa Barra to ask if Alicia could visit. There was an enthusiastic yes on the other side of the line. “It is one of my happiest jobs — bringing family together!” Lucia said later.

A group of tour members included Doug as the leader, Alicia, and Bob, and another couple, and myself.

We were to spend two days in Palermo, the first for sightseeing and the second for free time. But that second day Doug agreed to drive Alicia and Bob to find la signora Barra. I came along to support Doug in translation since Alicia did not speak Italian. As we came over the mountain from Palermo, Alicia remarked feelingly, “These are the same mountains my grandfather saw and the same roads he traveled on.”

We twisted our way to the streets of the village — were all the streets one-way? And finally, Doug was able to point the car in the proper direction toward the Barras’ front door. Looming over the main street we could spy a small figure on the balcony of the second store of a three-story building, a building that dominated the block. A woman was leaning out scrutinizing the street.

As we approached, we could see the brass plaque next to the door which read: Vincenzo Barra, Architetto. Alicia was thrilled to see her family name displayed with such dignity.

The door opened and Giuseppa Barra, a 75-year-old bundle of energy, was beckoning us in.

There were no embraces or kisses. Alicia and her relative were still unclear about how they related to each other.

We followed Giuseppa up the stairs to her quarters, entering a room from the 19th century, crowded with heavy black furniture, festooned in doilies and lace curtains. Imposing photographs and yellowing portraits of ancestors covered each inch of wall space.

She motioned to the four of us — Alicia and Bob, Doug and me, to be seated. Words were exchanged to clarify who was related to whom and how. Alicia’s grandfather, Ignazio, was the brother of Salvatore, Giuseppa’s deceased husband. Ignazio left the US when he was 17 and spent his majority on Long Island, New York. He returned for a single visit in his 60s. His son and Alicia’s father Vincenzo had never ventured to the old country.

Giuseppa was prepared. On the table in front of Alicia was a stack of photographs decades old that she had been collecting, photos that Ignazio had sent home to his brother over the years. Most of the people in the photographs could have meant little or nothing to our hostess. And yet she had preserved them.

Alicia was astounded to discover these photographs of all the relatives she knew throughout her childhood and adolescence. The image of her father with her little black dog was especially endearing to her.

Alicia was particularly taken with two photographs, side-by-side high up on the wall. They represented a young woman in shorts and a light top smiling with all the sensuality she could radiate in that area of time. It turned out to be a young picture of Giuseppa.”

She was so beautiful,” Alicia said to the uncomprehending Giuseppa.

“Molto sexy,” I quipped. Everyone laughed except Giuseppa who looked away with a smile.

Alicia and Bob photographed the photos, “so I can bring them back to my dad,” she said.

Her son Vincenzo, the architect whose plaque was on the building façade, had come from Palermo to meet his newly found cousin. He gave us a tour of his quarters in the building which he had modernized with skill.

Their home was an imposing three-story building which occupied the whole block on the main road and overlooked the town square and the church. Giuseppa and the Barras were well known. For when we ventured out to the gelateria across the street, the couple dozen older men sitting outside the building kept trying to engage her. They must have wondered who these foreigners were but Giuseppa had little time for them. She wanted to keep us all for herself.

After we had indulged in gelato, Vincenzo drove us a to a newly opened but private library dedicated to anti-fascism. He proudly pointed to the name above the door:

Biblioteca Salvatore Barra. His father’s partisan activities were thus honored.

We were all deeply grateful for the successful reunion of two generations.

“I’m going to make sure my children come here,” Alicia vowed.