Italians in Albuquerque

This is an ethnic story. I was prompted to write this when an Italian-American friend forwarded an e.mail with “42 things in the life of an Italian child.”

Before talking about the Italians, I will tell you about my Anglo-Mexican friend, Louis Rice, whom I knew in multi-ethnic Albuquerque. Lou’s father was an Anglo from Arkansas who worked for the Santa Fe Railroad. His mother was a Mexican; he told me she came to New Mexico with Pancho Villa. His parents met when his mother was working as a Harvey Girl in Los Lunas, New Mexico.

Lou was born in 1919. He was baptized in old San Felipe de Neri Church on the plaza in Albuquerque, one of the oldest churches in the U.S. On his baptismal certificate his name is “Luis.”

His parents divorced, and his mother worked as a waitress to support her two boys. She rented a small house near where the Federal Court House now stands. As a child Lou and his brother played with Lawrence and George Domenici, who lived in a big house across the street. Lou was occasionally invited to share supper with this large Italian-American family. He was surprised to see even the smallest child drinking wine, although the ratio of wine-to-water was adjusted according to age, the father drinking straight red wine, the baby mostly water.

Italians dominated Albuquerque business, owning shops, the bank, and radio station. The Domenicis were in the wholesale grocery business. New Mexico’s Senator Domenici is a cousin of the boys Lou knew.

(Later I met a woman who married a Domenici and went to Italy with her mother-in-law. She said everyone she met in Lucca, Italy, had the same last names as people she knew in Albuquerque.)

The Rice and Domenici boys remained friends as they grew up and went off to World War II. Lou came home a lieutenant. No longer the poor little Mexican boy from across the street, in his freshly pressed uniform with bars on the shoulder, he dated George and Lawrence’s sister, Theresa, who had grown up to be a beauty.

One night he and Theresa planned to go to the movies. He went to the big house to pick her up, but her father asked him to come into his library before they went out. Solemnly Mr. Domenici closed the library’s double oak doors. He turned and said, “Lou, we like you a lot. You are a fine young man, but in our family we only marry Italians.”

That was the end of the romance.

Sixth years later Lou was invited to a party to celebrate George’s 80th birthday. A big crowd gathered at George’s house. I sat with the men on the patio when Lou asked George, “Is Theresa here today?”

“Yes, she’s in the kitchen with the other women.”

“I’ll go see,” I said. (Maybe I belonged inside anyway, but the only person I knew there was Lou.) I took a woman aside and asked, “Which one is Theresa?” She pointed a gray-haired woman out to me. I went outside and told Lou, “She’s the one in a white blouse with little flowers on it.”

Lou stood on the patio looking through the sliding glass doors into the kitchen. A look of puzzlement came over his face. He came back to me and said, “She’s changed. I wouldn’t have known her.”

After 60 years, she changed. He was surprised.