As a steady income started to come in, they decided to find a bigger apartment in the same neighborhood. My grandmother was excited about the change because an extra room could be rented out to a boarder.  A year later my father was born so they moved into an even larger duplex. Shortly after, my grandfather came home with great news. He told my grandmother he had found a bungalow to rent on Cyril Street next to Silberman’s Junk Yard. He told her he wanted to move away from Water Street because he had found a better job at the Fore River Shipyard in Quincy Point.  With the war on, he reasoned, he could count on steady work.

My grandmother was skeptical about moving, especially away from her sister-in-law.  She had found her friendship with Fanny very worthwhile.  After all, having another woman to talk to was the Sicilian way. Since leaving home she had not been around any relatives and she was not about to give up her friendship with her. 

Carmelo persisted but my grandmother spoke back saying,  "Are you crazy? Why move the children next to a rat infested junkyard? Don’t you love them?" 

He replied calmly, "Of course I do. More than you will ever know." 

He was a good listener so he perceived where the conversation was headed. "Rose", he said, "You will be able spend more on food because we’ll save a lot on the rent."  He was right. Since the start of the war, milk had jumped from nine cents to 15 cents a quart and fresh eggs from 34 to 61cents a dozen. Prices for other commodities had risen an average of 55 %. He reminded her how difficult it was making ends meet on his weekly earnings of $5.00. 

He also reminded her how miserable it had been getting to work at the machine shop during the past three years. Even though he was used to walking great distances to and from work when he lived in Catania, the long treks he had to put up with on cold, bitter days were killing him. He detested the icy winds that blew off the bay and the desolate skies overhead and he was not about to hike through snowdrifts three feet high to work for the rest of the day inside a frigid ship. She listened because she loved him and so she agreed to his plan.

My dad does not remember much about his father, except that he liked to sing all the time. Those years were untroubled and filled with tender moments. Many times my grandfather called  out, "Enrico. vendeci comare".  Come for a song".  With his hand resting on his father’s shoulder, little Henry would listen to melodies distinctively Sicilian.:

 My aunt Connie recalls her father as a very gentle, loving father who took care of his children and who set a good table for his friends. Acquaintances called him ‘Don Carmelo’ in deference to his charm, friendliness, and generosity. 

The pictures of my dad during this period reveal a healthy, plump boy of two, dressed in shorts and framed in long, black, shoulder-length curls. His sister Connie was just as angelic, dressed in white with a huge ribbon in her hair. They were healthy and happy children unfettered by the suffering common to other immigrant children. They were blessed with two loving parents who made them the center of their lives. America was giving them a chance to grow up healthy.   As a measure of her intelligence, Connie quickly became the brightest child in her class at parochial school. She also came home one day to find a new baby sister in her mother’s arms. 
 
 
 

Standing by the office door was Rose Kennedy and her two sons, Joe and Jack. She had brought them along to buy new suits at Kennedy's.  Joe was reading a book. Jack stared at Henry. Without saying a word both boys snuck away.

"Mrs. Kennedy, this is your seamstress, Mrs. Amoroso."

“ I want to complement you on your beautiful work."  Rose nodded in appreciation.  Mrs. Kennedy was vibrant, radiant and confident.  Rose Amoroso showed the loss of her husband. 

Mrs. Kennedy asked my grandmother the same question she had been asked countless times. Who taught you to do such marvelous work? Americans assumed that impoverished immigrants were only good at back breaking work.

"My mother," Rose said proudly. 

"My mother taught me things too. But  I guess I learned more from my father."

Rose noticed Joe reading a book in the corner. He had studious look about him. Rose said, “My daughter is very smart  like your son. She reads all the time. I can't get her out of her room to help me.”

"Let her read Mrs. Amoroso. That is what  we do. We spend a lot of time with books in the living room in the evening. Mr. Kennedy is president of a bank and this is his one opportunity to read the newspaper or his favorite detective stories. He sits in his red chair  reading the Boston Transcript. I sit opposite him. When the children are ready for bed and have said their prayers they come to the living room and play for a little while before we put them to bed. I spend a good deal of time reading to my children. I  make no engagements outside in the evening so that I can help them with their school work, to doctor their colds, or to find out what  activities they had been interested in during the day. Books are a favorite pastime.  Jack's favorite book is King Arthur and His Knights. I am  very careful to select books which are recommended at  school or by a children's book shop. Joe and Jack however, are indifferent  to these edifying selections. The book Jack treasures is Billy  Whiskers. it is  a story about a goat, which my mother bought in a department  store. The illustrations seemed to me to be crude and the colors harsh but the boys adore the stories and delight in the whole series, pictures and  all.