Unique Family Stories: How My Parents Met in East Boston
Every family has its own tale of how parents met, and mine is filled with a combination of serendipity, perseverance, and the enduring love for classic Boston spots. Let's delve into the unique story of how my parents found each other, set against the backdrop of 1950s East Boston.
Santarpio's Pizza: A Culinary Mecca
The narrative of my parents' romance begins at a place where many Boston tales originated - Santarpio's Pizza. Despite a family member setting my father up for a blind date with a woman in 1956, the meeting turned into a no-show. Despite the downturn, my father didn’t let this setback deter him. In a move that only embodies the Boston spirit, he chose a slice of authentic East Boston pizza at Santarpio’s as his escape. The place is now an institution, recognized for the best pizza in all of Boston, known for its rough-ground cornmeal on the oven and stewed tomatoes as their sauce. Santarpio's Pizza, the ultimate expression of the city's culinary heritage, charms visitors with its timeless taste and community presence. However, as the saying goes, with great taste often comes a less-than-convenient location, so a quick visit is advised if you plan to fit it in your itinerary.
The Fateful Encounter at Santarpio's
Meanwhile, my mother and her sisters, on a night out in the town, happened to end up at the same spot – Santarpio’s Pizza. While in line, my mom struck up a conversation with a young man named Edward “Eddie” De Stefano, which ultimately led to a blossoming romance. The serendipity of their conversation led to a date, and the rest, as they say, is history. What made their story particularly unique was the intricate web of connections above them. My mother’s sister was acquainted with my father’s sister who had orchestrated the initial setup, adding a layer of coincidence to their meeting. When my mother’s sister mentioned that she could have set them up earlier, it added a twist to the narrative – what if?
A Connection at the Boston Globe
The professional tie between my parents also played a significant role in their meeting. My mom and dad’s wives shared a bond that extended beyond personal connections – they worked side by side at the Boston Globe. Surprisingly, my mom worked as the utive secretary to the President of the Globe, and my dad’s cousin, Frank Russo, was a Pressman there. Their frequent conversations at work introduced them to the bustling and impactful world of journalism. Another strong tie was the brotherly bond between my dad and Frank; John Russo, his brother, often visited our home with bags of Dunkin' Donuts and a box of Papa Gino's pizza. In those days, my dad was an in-house carpenter for Papa Gino’s, performing the essential work to keep the pizza joints running. This shared cultural tie, firmly rooted in the heart of Boston, further cemented their bond.
Childhood Cherished Memories
As a child, visiting the Boston Globe with my mother was a regular occurrence. Growing up, I had an advantage of always finding a free parking spot in the city. Frank Russo, my dad’s cousin, would make me newspaper hats and take me to see the gigantic presses, where the magic of ink and oil transform into news. The Globe was an operational marvel that was not only a source of information but also a symbol of the city’s resilience. Driving by the building, one could witness it running day and night, its presses etching out stories on the newsprint. With a rich history of conflict and controversy, the building had seen its fair share of bullet holes that symbolized the city’s hard-won legacy. Today, the Globe's building is a shadow of its former self, having been largely demolished and transformed into an internet incubator company. Despite this change, the Boston Globe still holds a special place in the city's history and continues to impact its residents.
Ultimately, the story of how my parents met is a testament to the enduring spirit of a city, its culinary delights, and the melting pot of relationships that define family histories. The tale of Santarpio’s Pizza and the Boston Globe’s presses are etched as permanent memories, reminding us of the simple yet profound moments that shape our lives.