Among the many places we visited in Italy was the cemetery in Crespano Del Grappa. We were looking for the grave of Alma Angela Rosato Tabacchi, my father's father's mother, who died when my grandfather was 14 years old. We split up at the entrance and headed in different directions. The names read like a Santa Barbara telephone directory: Torresan, Zilliotto, Melchiori, Panizzon, Bortolazzo...the list went on and on.
Walking through that cemetery and looking for a specific headstone took me back to an early spring day in the late 1990's in Dunsmuir, CA. Along with a good friend who was from the area, I was hunting down the grave of Antonio Capovilla, my mother's mother's brother. There were a significant number of Capovillas in the area, but none that I reached out to could connect the dots. We walked the Dunsmuir Cemetery, the Evergreen Cemetery in Yreka and struck paydirt in the Winema Cemetary in Weed. A small weathered upright headstone gave me his dates of birth and death, which eventually lead me to find the manifest from the ship he traveled on to the United States.
Antonio arrived in the United States through Ellis Island on March 20, 1912. Much like my paternal grandfather, he too left Italy at the age of 18. Antonio traveled with his cousin Mose', who had previously been in America and worked the coal mines in Thurber, Texas. Both were bound for Dunsmuir with hopes of a better life.
Antonio's life in the United States was short-lived. He died during the 1918 flu pandemic (better known as the Spanish influenza). Between the months of August and November of 1918, this influenza spread quickly around the world, with more people dying of influenza in a single year than in four years of the Black Death Bubonic Plague from 1347 to 1351.
My daydream of the Winema Cemetery was broken by calls and waves, indicating the headstone had been found. We gazed upon our history, took some photos and returned to the van that would transport us to other places my relatives spoke of, allowing us the opportunity to gaze upon the same sights they did.
Turns out we have had this picture for over thirty years, as I have a scan of a photograph that someone took prior to 1979. The names weren't very clear, but when compared to the recent photographs we took it is apparent they are the same headstone (with more names added to the family crypt).
Cemeteries are full of stories about the lives of those who rest there; it is up to us to find them and keep those memories alive.
Walking through that cemetery and looking for a specific headstone took me back to an early spring day in the late 1990's in Dunsmuir, CA. Along with a good friend who was from the area, I was hunting down the grave of Antonio Capovilla, my mother's mother's brother. There were a significant number of Capovillas in the area, but none that I reached out to could connect the dots. We walked the Dunsmuir Cemetery, the Evergreen Cemetery in Yreka and struck paydirt in the Winema Cemetary in Weed. A small weathered upright headstone gave me his dates of birth and death, which eventually lead me to find the manifest from the ship he traveled on to the United States.
Antonio arrived in the United States through Ellis Island on March 20, 1912. Much like my paternal grandfather, he too left Italy at the age of 18. Antonio traveled with his cousin Mose', who had previously been in America and worked the coal mines in Thurber, Texas. Both were bound for Dunsmuir with hopes of a better life.
Antonio's life in the United States was short-lived. He died during the 1918 flu pandemic (better known as the Spanish influenza). Between the months of August and November of 1918, this influenza spread quickly around the world, with more people dying of influenza in a single year than in four years of the Black Death Bubonic Plague from 1347 to 1351.
My daydream of the Winema Cemetery was broken by calls and waves, indicating the headstone had been found. We gazed upon our history, took some photos and returned to the van that would transport us to other places my relatives spoke of, allowing us the opportunity to gaze upon the same sights they did.
Turns out we have had this picture for over thirty years, as I have a scan of a photograph that someone took prior to 1979. The names weren't very clear, but when compared to the recent photographs we took it is apparent they are the same headstone (with more names added to the family crypt).Cemeteries are full of stories about the lives of those who rest there; it is up to us to find them and keep those memories alive.
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