Italian American Digest Spring2020DigestFINAL | Page 9

SPRING 2020 I talian A merican
D igest
PAGE 9
In Memory of
Antohony Joseph Montalbano
August 6, 1945 - January 11, 2020
T
here are times in your life when your
path crosses with someone who
will take you by the hand and show you
wonders that you never dreamed could
happen to you.
Andrew Montalbano was one of these
people in my life. Through a chance
conversation with a co-worker 10 years
ago, I learned that Andrew and I would
both be in Sicily that summer. My co-
worker, Paul, a distant cousin of Andrew’s
agreed to set up a meeting prior to
Andrew’s departure.
Meeting Andrew and learning of his
long and continuing relationship with
his father’s village of Bisacquino told
me this was someone who understood
the same craving I had for exploring my
own Sicilian and Calabrian roots. While
Andrew and several friends would be in
Bisacquino, my husband and I along with
two girlfriends would be staying nearby in
my great-grandmother’s Arbëreshë village
of Contessa Entellina. Andrew shared one
of his favorite things to do on Sundays in
Sicily was to drive out to the scenic area
surrounding the town of Palazzo Adriano,
another Arbëreshë village, featured in the
1988 Academy Award winning movie,
Cinema Paradiso. Andrew said he would
often stop for lunch at the nearby Casale
Borgia resort.
The way Andrew described the lush
rolling terrain of this drive through the
mountain region of the Palermo province
made me determined to spend our Sunday
doing this very outing. After attending
the Byzantine Mass in Contessa Entellina,
we headed out for the one-hour drive
towards Palazzo Adriano. We drove past
olive groves and wheat fields, rounding
switchbacks as we climbed up to the
Casale Borgia restaurant. Once seated in
the dining room, looking around, I didn’t
see Andrew, but I did see a long table of
locals celebrating a First Communion
clearly evidenced by the large bible-shaped
cake displayed near their table. As we
settled in for lunch, suddenly I clearly
heard American voices singing “Happy
Birthday”. As the singing ended, I walked
over towards where the singing emanated
and there indeed was Andrew with his
By Angela Rousseau Diez
friends, Joe, Sue and Carolina. It was a
magical moment to be in Sicily dining
together just as he had described it several
weeks prior.
Andrew took us under his wing on that
first Sicilian journey. He invited us to join
him at the home of his special friends in
Contessa Entellina. And so, that evening
our group of eight Americans descended
on the home of Nicetta Cusumano, her
husband, Pino Lo Voi, their sons, Daniele
and Christian Gió and Nicetta’s father,
Giuseppe Cusumano, who had been born
in New Orleans. It was an evening filled
with the sounds of Italian and English
chatter as well as music with Joe, Pino,
Anthony Joseph Montalbano
August 6th, 1945 - January 11th, 2020
Daniele and Christian Gió jamming
together.
Andrew also took many others, both
family and friends under his Sicilian
wings. Readers of his articles published in
this very digest, were afforded wonderful
snippets of Sicilian life as Andrew
recounted his experiences exploring the
nooks and crannies of this magical isle.
Andrew poured out his love of Sicily in
two self-published books, “Sicilian Sun”
in 1997 and “We’re All Made Out Of The
Same Pasta!” in 2003.
Andrew felt he was a real Bisacquinese
during his summer hiatuses and in truth
he was taken in and embraced by the
Bisacquinese themselves. He seemed to
slow down and sink into the rhythms
of village life: having morning coffee at
the Walk Bar, puttering around town
checking in on various friends, perhaps
driving out to the “countryside” exploring
and stopping for a nice pasta lunch along
the way, then driving back to his summer
rental for an afternoon nap. As the
afternoon turned to evening you might
find Andrew back at the Walk Bar yakking
it up with whoever happened to be around
and as the sun began to set, he might cross
the road gazing out over the valley laid out
below. Bisacquinese life soaked into every
pore of his very being.
Clearly Andrew had fallen in love
with Sicily, but during our four trips, we
pried him out of Sicily a couple of times
to share other parts of the Italian “boot”
with him. I think he was secretly thrilled
to have someone else share their “little
piece of Italy” with him where he could
just relax and lean into being a tourist
not a tour guide. On one trip we took
the car ferry across the Strait of Messina
to Catanzaro, my grandfather’s province.
We were the last guests who stayed at
the B&B run by our friends, Cherrye,
her husband Peppe and their young son,
Max. In the countryside of Catanzaro,
Andrew was introduced: to the silk
industry renaissance in the village of San
Floro where we picnicked al fresco under
the mulberry trees; to my grandfather’s
hilltop village of Cortale; to the dark, wild
Calabrian Greenhouse mountains with
their coniferous forests flanked by beech
and oak trees where my grandfather would
have foraged for mushrooms; and to the
Ionian shoreline settlement of Scolacium
with its incredible complex of Greek,
Roman, Byzantine and Norman ruins all
in one archaeological site.
Whether in person, on the phone or
by email, Andrew always signed off with
me in same way, “Ciao, Ciao!” And so
now I say “Ciao, Ciao!” to my good
friend, Andrew for the last time. In my
mind’s eye, I see him waving his arm out
the window of his rented Fiat 500 as he set
his sights on his next adventure under the
warm Sicilian sun.