Probably the most fun thing about being at the festival was simply being a part of the crowd and hearing everyone talk. We also learned that "tradition" is the most important part of the festival. One lady we talked to was kind enough to try to convey to us what the festival means to the neighborhood. She was about my age and said she had been coming to the festival ever since she was born, and had brought her daughter there in a stroller as soon as the daughter was born. She said her cousin comes from California each year to be part of the team that lifts the Giglio. She said he does that because his father (who has passed away) had always been one of the lifters. You would hear people clap each other on the back and talk about not seeing each other for many years. They are all hugging and "air kissing" each cheek.
It is a big deal to be part of the lifting team. Apparently there are some type of "ranks" you go thru where at first you are a "lifter" then after many years, you become a "lieutenant" . All this is working up to be an "apprentice capo" then "capo" (which there appear to be several of), but one guy is the "Head Capo" each year-which seems to be a huge, huge honor.
This year the parade was dedicated to "Sargey" Meranda, who had passed away since the last festival. The head Capo nearly brought me to tears talking about what a community leader Sarge had been, and how important he had been to the festival. He said he couldn't believe he was up on the Giglio not standing beside Sarge. But he said he knew Sarge was looking down on us all from heaven and maybe even having a party up there.
Walking the streets of the neighborhood to get to the church, we saw many houses decorated with Italian flags, red, white and green balloons and streamers. Every so often you'd pass a house that had a big sign in front saying "chosen as apprentice capo" with their name on the sign. -I assume that is where the guy lived. No question about the ethnic background of the people who lived in this neighborhood.
I hate to be stereotypical, but most of these guys looked and talked like they just came off the set of The Sopranos. Everybody was "Frankie or Tony or Paulie". One man heard us talking and said "I can tell you're not from around here...and thanks for coming out to our festival". I'm not sure exactly what the Italians call the whole atmosphere, but in the south, we'd call it Old Home Week. It was fun being Italian for the day!
