Readers who endure harsh winters will understand why I recently (late January) used my frequent flier miles to take a quick, four-day trip to California.  Specifically, I fled to southern California, where I enjoyed blue skies and sunshine and also managed to discover bits of italianità along the way. 

First up: San Pedro, a fishing port city located about 30 minutes south of Los Angeles. Stepping out of my downtown hotel, the Crowne Plaza, I immediately saw a banner on a nearby streetlight: “Little Italy.” Long an enclave of Italian fishermen who originally came from both Sicily and Ischia, the town of San Pedro is actively, and successfully, working with local politicians to revive the “old neighborhood.” Italian restaurants, old and new, are part of the plan, including an expansion of the local fish market, created by Italians. There is also a new street festival meant to honor the spirit of our ancestors.

Second stop: a tour of the USS Iowa, a magnificent battleship now retired in the port as a museum. Most Italian Americans are aware of the heroism shown by our paesani during both World Wars. A film like 2014’s Unbroken, about an Italian American airman from California, Louis Zamperini, is a reminder of this legacy. Yet even with heroes like Zamperini, we sometimes forget that not all Italian American soldiers made it safely back home.

On the second deck of the ship, there is a golden plaque honoring Filippo “Phil” Riggio, a young soldier who died while serving during the war. It was commissioned in 2014 by members of his family. It reads: “In Honor & Beloved Memory of Filippo “Phil” Riggio (1910-1942), Who Bravely Lost His Life In The Performance of His Duties.” Still need a reason to despise endless mob movies? It’s because they tarnish the memory of heroes like Riggio. 

From the sobering to the stratosphere: In San Pedro, I also attended a “soundcheck” (practice session) by Matteo Mancuso, a 27-year-old guitar phenom from Palermo, Sicily. An internet sensation, Mancuso was there with his equally talented bandmates, bass player Riccardo Oliva and drummer Gianluca Pellerito. Watching Matteo’s fingers glide effortlessly up-and-down his guitar’s fretboard, without using a pick (just his fingers), I felt the way audiences must have felt centuries ago hearing the young Mozart at the piano. The adjective “astonishing” seems totally inadequate, to say the least. 

But don’t take my word for it: Look up Mancuso’s numerous YouTube clips. Ditto the responses from guitar players and teachers around the world. 

And if you wonder from whence Matteo’s talent and humility sprang, you can thank Matteo’s mentor, his father Vincenzo, whom I spoke with afterward in my limited Italian (though Signor Mancuso also spoke English). 

When I referred to Vincenzo as “the maestro to the maestro,” Papà Mancuso smiled and shrugged: “No, no, I just teach him a few things. The rest is from Matteo and God.” I then said that he must be very proud of his son. His response: “The music is very nice, but I am also proud of Matteo as a human being, as the fine young man that he is.” Signor Mancuso also said that much of southern California reminded him of Italy: “the sun and the mountains.” 

Next up was Palm Springs, aka Beverly Hills in the desert. My rented Toyota Corolla, nice as it was, seemed out of place amongst all of the BMWs and Porsches lining the streets. Yet there is also a bit of italianità here, too: a statue of Sonny Bono, the former mayor of the city. Though Palm Springs is also where singer Frank Sinatra once sauntered, people forget that Bono (another Sicilian, like Sinatra [half] and Mancuso) left his Sonny & Cher career behind after being elected mayor of the city. Bono did such a fine job that it catapulted him to the U.S. Congress years later. His accidental death in a skiing accident in 1998 is the only thing which prevented this talented songwriter/restauranteur/mayor from becoming even more of an American leader. 

There was no shortage of restaurants in Palm Springs—mostly Italian, of course. I chose Al Dente, a small, intimate place with outdoor seating. The vegetable risotto was quite good, though not as good as anything in Italy. If I had more time, I would have made a trek to Nicolino’s, one of the first Italian delis and bakeries in the city (1969). Sonny Bono was a regular customer, as were celebrities like Natalie Wood. It has since expanded. 

My last morning in the Golden State was not an auspicious one: As I pulled out of the parking lot of my Palm Springs hotel, the blue skies turned murky grey and unleashed a furious rainstorm which followed me during my entire two-and-a-half-hour ride back to LAX. The travel gods must have been looking over me. Those same rains continued over the next few days, turning southern California into a flooded nightmare. As a Midwesterner, all I could think was, “Imagine if that rain had been snow.” But I managed to arrive back in Chi-Town safe and sound. 

To quote Sonny Bono: “The beat goes on.” -BDC