Nonno and the Istituto Salesiano di San Gregorio

Vincenzo Dibennardo, ca. 1918. 

In past blog posts, I have shared translations of my grandfather’s diary, written during the school year of 1915-1916 – his fourth year of high school.  He was a boarding student at the Istituto Salesiano di San Gregorio, hoping to become a novice and enter the priesthood.  My nonno was born in 1900 and lost his mother two days before his ninth birthday.  In those days, it was unusual for a man to raise children on his own, and my grandfather did not have any living grandparents.  My great-grandfather must have felt that the best solution was to send my grandfather to the Salesian boarding school, where he could still visit occasionally, and where his son with receive a first-class education.  Furthermore, my grandfather had an aunt who was the Mother Superior of the Salesian order of nuns and could look out for him.  I am not sure if she was related to my grandfather on his mother’s side or his father’s side.  Her name was Sister Filomena (Suor Filomena), but nuns often take on new names, so it is likely her birth name was another. 

I have determined from my grandfather’s diary that he spent four years at San Francesco di Sales in Catania but then moved to the Salesian Institute of San Gregorio in 1915 due to San Francesco di Sales becoming a hospital for those wounded in WWI.  In fact, my grandfather often visits his former institute in the diary and describes some of the wounded. 

Some genealogical research goals that I have had are to visit both Salesian institutes to see if they have any records left from when he was a student at either school, and also to research his aunt, Sister Filomena.  Unfortunately, I could not go to Sicily this summer, but my parents are visiting relatives there, right now, and they have promised to do some of the legwork for me.  I have worked hard with my mother to transcribe Nonno’s diary and publish it in book form with scans of the original pages of his diary so I could donate the books to each institute (and share with my relatives).  My parents will have to donate the book for me, and maybe they will receive information in exchange.  My grandfather was only 15 when he wrote the diary, and he is so descriptive of life as a student in the Salesian schools, and of the teachers and priests, that I feel it would be of historical interest to the schools.  I am also working on a translation of the diary, and I hope to create a new edition of the book that will include the Italian transcription as well as the English version.

Entrance to the Salesian school in San Gregorio

The other day, my parents visited the Istituto Salesiano di San Gregorio.  I received some pictures from them, which were wonderful.  They spoke to the director of the institute who also showed them the school – where my grandfather would have eaten his meals; where he would have visited with his father the few times he appeared at the school in the diary; the church (attached to the school) where he would have attended Mass, as he often describes; etc.  The director was given one of the published books I created, and when he saw the picture inside-- of my grandfather dressed as a novice-- he recognized exactly where the picture was taken.  In fact, it was taken at the school, in the garden.  My parents and relatives were taken to the spot and took pictures there as well.  That was the highlight of their visit for me!  The bad news was that there are no more old records.  Apparently, they disposed of them one or two years ago.  This is extremely upsetting, and I don’t know why they couldn’t have been preserved somehow, but the director said they are in bad financial shape and hoping to be able to stay open, so perhaps it was a financial decision. I just hope the other school hasn’t destroyed its records.  I guess we’ll find out when my parents visit in the next few days.

My relatives in the same spot that my grandfather took his picture in 1918 (see above).

The area where my grandfather's picture was taken is in the school's garden (above).

This attached chapel is where my grandfather attended the Masses he describes in his diary.

Where my grandfather would have eaten his meals.

The school hallway

Another view of the garden and the old well below

Family Tree Thursday

My family tree has several ancestors with estimated dates for events, depending on the determining document at hand.  The goal, however, is always to continue searching for records that provide exact dates of birth, death, etc. and revise any missing or estimated data.  In this post, I will discuss two recent date revisions.

One of the mysteries I wanted to solve for a long time was the exact date my Sicilian great-grandmother, Agrippina Marianna Strano, died.  I guessed she had died somewhere between 1902 and 1912 because my grandfather, Vincenzo Dibennardo, had a sister that was born about two years after him, and he had lived at a religious boarding school during his youth/adolescence.  By reading my grandfather's diary, written during the scholastic year of 1915-1916, I learned he had already spent at least 4 years of his life away from home, among a Salesian order of priests.  This put his mother's death date around 1911.

A few weeks ago, I was finally able to update the death date for Agrippina Strano. Previously, her date looked like her parents' in the picture below -- "Abt. 1911." When I located her death record, I learned that she died in her hometown of Mineo, at Via Sotto Tamburino, number 16, on 13 November 1909. She died two days before my grandfather's ninth birthday.

Agrippina Strano died two days before my grandfather's ninth birthday

Agrippina died in one of these homes seen in the Google "street view" picture below

I also recently made an update on my Swedish line.  My fifth great-grandfather, Petter Olsson, had a year of birth without an exact date and month. 

Thomas Alexius Haugen is my great-grandfather on my paternal line.  Thomas and his father, Emil, were born in Norway.  Emil's father was born in Sweden.  I have traced this line farther than what is shown here, but more precise records need to be found.  As part of the process of finding more precise data and sourcing the tree, I found the birth record for my fifth great-grandfather (below), Petter Olsson.  He was born in Nästegård Farm in Tanum Parish on 13 November 1758.  His parents (not shown in picture above) were Olof Nilsson and Anne Pehrsdotter.  Death date search is next!

Thanks for reading!  I plan on blogging more again, so please look out for future posts.

Amanuensis Monday -- Nonno Enzo's Diary -- December 8 and 10, 1915

 

Vincenzo Dibennardo (1900 - 1982)
He joined the Salesian order but
never completed the journey to
ordination.


Here is the next translated entry from my grandfather's diary, written in Sicily when he was 15 - 16 years old. 

                                                     8 December -- Wednesday

Morning. Today is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. The novices are very happy; for the first time, they have worn the clerical garments, and it is one of the most beautiful days of their lives. The function was held in our chapel at 9:30 in the morning.

Also present were young men from the oratory, some of whom have entered the Order of San Luigi Gonzaga.

The cooperatives - Coworkers of the Truth - were also there and received a medal by the inspector for steadfastness in their will. But what remains imprinted in my mind is the substitution of the novices: Riceri, Bonfante, Furmari, Bologna, Rodino, Vagliarini.

The inspector, one by one, removed the garb they wore and substituted them with clerical clothing while saying: Induato, Domine, novum hominem here secundum Democreatus east justizia et Santitate veritatis. Amen.

I could not restrain the tears from falling for that function to which I so wanted to go and take part with those lucky young men but, oh Lord, the day will also come for me: Fiat voluntas Sua. Later, we all walked in a procession to the Church of the Immaculate, and along the way I cried; I cried with heart... Here we attended to Mass and the sermon of the Catechist, Don Mattia, who greatly moved me with his touching words.

After, we returned and went to lunch.

Night. Assembly.

At 5 o'clock in the evening, we entered the theater hall and sat in our seats.

The band director, Don Morri, gathered together his musicians and had them play a beautiful march that seized our applause. Afterward, my professor, Don Bologna, began the introduction to the assembly, as it was called in the program; but it was really a speech that lasted a bit too long. It was succeeded by various young men, whom together did nothing but exalt the beauty of the Madonna and discuss her excellent qualities.

Once the various sermons of my companions came to an end, a Jesuit priest said a few closing words.

Don Morri closed the wonderful day with a march, and all ended to our regret.

                                                                                      10-12-915 (10 December, 1915). Friday.

This morning we had just completed three quarters of an hour of school when the Director came to announce: Those of you who want to put on clerical garments for the funeral of Mr. Salvatore Di Bella, go with the novices who will be so good as to lend them to you.

I rejoiced greatly, launching myself to full speed, and in a few jumps arrived in the room of the novices where I lingered with Riccioli who let me try one of his robes; but alas, it was too short. I, however, did not dismay and tried one belonging to Vagliarini, but it was a bit long. I overlooked this and descended quickly to the sacresty where I slipped on the surplice.

Shortly after, the others were ready, and we all went into the parish to hear the Mass of the dead. After, we ambled outside in a single line, each holding two candles as we headed to the cemetery. The hearse held us back, while ahead was a carriage with four horses.

During the procession, we recited the Rosary, De Profundis, Miserere...

Having arrived at the cemetery, the deputy mayor of San Gregorio recited some facts about Mr. Salvatore Di Bella.

Afterward, we returned to the school, and when I took off the clerical garb, my heart crashed.

One of several books published by my grandfather, Vincenzo Di Bennardo (later changed to Dibennardo).  He was born November 15, 1900 in Palagonia,  Sicily.  This book, Jole, was published circa 1928.  Jole is a woman's name, and as you can see, he enjoyed writing romances.

Amanuensis Monday -- Nonno Enzo's Diary -- December 2, 1915

Continuation of the translation of my grandfather's diary, which was written at age 15 while he lived in a boarding school in San Gregorio, Catania, Sicily. He was born in Palagonia, Sicily, on November 15, 1900.  For previous posts, follow the trail here and keep going back.

                                               Thursday, December 2 (1915)

Here we are in December, the most beautiful month there is, which reminisces over the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem. The Novena of the Immaculate Conception has already begun -- also a beautiful feast.

Today we went for a walk.

We were led by Don Rasa, our new professor in place of Don Traina. He is a very intelligent young man -- a baby face with a fine and smooth nose, as well as a short person with a happy look about him.  In other words, you could mistake him for a boy.

He came out of the parlor and said: Come on, guys; if you want to go far, you will have to pick up your feet and walk ahead of me.

Arriving at the road, we took a few paces and then deviated onto a rocky road that began to roll beneath our feet.  We headed to Aci Castello, a village on the shores of the sea where the railway passes and the tram that goes from Catania to Acireale. The village is noted for the castle -- well known in history as impregnable; but now its beauty cannot be seen unless it is from one side of the castle.


www.italiaguides.it 
Picture of the castle in beautiful
Aci Castello


For a few minutes, we were allowed to contemplate the sea and breathe in a bit of fresh air. The waves formed into breakers, crashing against the rocks of the shore and producing a delightful roar.  In the distance below us, in the middle of the sea, several boats rocked cheerfully.

My classmates and I grabbed some stones and hurled them against a boulder where two letters were cut into it - CG - and I was among the lucky ones to hit the target several times. But the fun was short-lived. We had to return.  We were forced to walk in a single line during the crossing of the small town, so we decided to spread out, some of us going one way and others another way.

The return was very cheerful with singing and talking. In Ficarazzi, we saw a turkey with little ones around her. They were the size of chicks, and I was easily deceived into believing this is what they were (he may mean they did not look to him like turkey chicks but more like chickens). But, finally, we arrived at the boarding school -- weary, yet always rejoicing.

Original diary pages below:

Amanuensis Monday -- Nonno Enzo's Diary -- November 20-25, 1915

Vincenzo Dibennardo
1900-1982

Here is the next translated entry from my grandfather's diary, written in Sicily when he was 15 years old.  For previous entries click here.

                                                        20-21-22 November, 1915

These days it rained continuously with a mighty wind and a bit of cold.

***

                                                        25 November, 1915

Today was a day for walking.

My fellow fourth gymnasium schoolmates and I took a stroll. Don Mattias, the school catechist, led the way.

The walk turned out truly splendid. We went to San Francesco di Sales (boarding school) in Catania where we found the director, Don Massimino; the prefect, Don Scelsi; Don Vanoli; and others. The latter person showed us some dormitories occupied by the wounded (WWI); there were those injured in the arm, fingers (unsure if writes "finger"), others in the head, and some with wounded feet. It was a desolation. There was also one man from Genoa with frostbite to the feet who gave a letter to Don Vanoli to mail for him.

Later, we visited the various laboratories, and therefore some, or rather most of us, went with Don Sinatra to the "soid" (unsure of this word), while I, Putrino, and Di Bella remained in the school.

Along with Don Patané, director of the Amico (Friend) (Salesian newspaper), we went to the first floor where there was a pantry with Salesian books. There, my classmates chose some annual issues of the Amico and handed them over to Don Patané to bind them.

When we arrived in his room, we all changed our address, and I had him give me the last issue of the Amico. (Note: In an earlier entry, my grandfather explains he attended San Francesco di Sales before the boarding school in San Gregorio. According to my research, San Francesco di Sales was closed in 1915 because it was used as a hospital for WWI wounded. This may be why he "changes" his address so he can receive the Salesian newspaper.)

When we left him, we walked with another superior near the flower beds, spending another good half hour waiting for Don Mattias; but when we saw that he did not come as promised, we came up with the resolution -- also coerced by the inspector -- to begin a swift walk toward San Gregorio at 5 minutes after 5.

We continued to talk softly while walking. Arriving near Cannalicchio (a district of Catania), with the one called Di Bella who had ten cents, we went to a belsola (a grocery -- unsure) to buy bread, but unfortunately none was to be found. So we continued our journey.

To tell the truth, I turned back a few times to look behind me, feeling a bit scared; but then reassured, I continued on my way. Arriving a little higher, above Cannalicchio, we met a young man who was going to Ficarrazzi -- a small village not too far from San Gregorio. He was heading home after being in Catania to do masonry work, and he now returned to get bread.  My mind was filled with scary thoughts, but I did not express my weakness to my friends; my consistent turning around to see behind me was quite useless.  The darkness was perfect and one could hardly distinguish one thing even ten meters away. The moon was not in the sky, and the stars were hidden behind the clouds.

The young man started to recount some things while we had our ears open for any sounds, consoling ourselves that our other classmates were probably nearby.  But, no, we were deceived, and we could accept this when we entered the dormitory and at first did not see anyone but, going down to the study hall, we found them at their respective places, staring at us with questioning eyes.  I have to warn my dear readers that they must forgive even when a learned man makes a mistake because in this world we are all made of flesh and, therefore, easily make mistakes.  So, I must tell you that we went to the Director and told him the story; but, as always, he put on a smile and said, "Go on sons, and next time be more careful" which left us confused and heavy-hearted.

So this is how our nice walk turned into our adventure.

Original diary pages:

Stay tuned for the next entry...

Amanuensis Monday -- Nonno Enzo's Diary -- November 18 - 20, 1915

The continuation of my grandfather's diary.  He had just turned 15 on November 15, 1915 when he wrote these pages a few days later.  He was born in Palagonia, Sicily, and was living in a Salesian boarding school in San Gregorio.  His mother had died when he was very young, and it was custom, in such cases, for fathers to send their children to boarding school.  To find the trail of previous posts, go to my last post.

Translation below

   

                                                                                    November 18.  Thursday.

Today we headed to Pedara. In Trecastagni, we met with those of Pedara [Salesian school students], and there was a stampede. I was surrounded with old classmates from boarding school and other villagers [he probably means they were from his same town], such as: Nicolino, Salvatore; Calcaterra; Pappalardo; Claudio Condemi; Pastura, Giovanni; Squillace, Gaetano, etc...  Later, we walked as far as their boarding school.  We visited the Director, Don Massimino Morganti, the Prefect [resident advisor], the Catechist, and other superiors. Afterward, we descended into the courtyard and found that the boarding school teams had been formed once more.

We drank a little wine offered to us by the Prefect and then returned to our boarding school.  As always, we arrived in San Gregorio singing.

                                                                                    November 20 [he probably meant to write 19]

This evening, during the blessing, a flower caught fire, and if the Catechist, Don Mattias, was not quick to act, the fire would have spread throughout the altar. I kept my eyes closed to the flames and reopened them in a burst of fright.

                                                                                    November 20. Saturday.

This morning, at a quarter past ten, my father came.

My hometown friend, Brancato, came to ask permission from my professor, who willingly consented. I was really happy, and as I left the school, I ran into him right away, so I hurled myself into his arms with much affection.  Afterward, I kissed my sister, and then we walked to the parlor.  We sat down on a soft sofa, immediately starting an animated conversation.  They brought me a large basket [type used for bread] filled with ten eggs and some biscuits. There were also eight notebooks of twenty cents each.

Our talk lasted a good hour and a half, and when the bell rang, we entered the office of the Director, who cordially received us.  Having asked permission, I went to the bedroom, to my place [probably means "bunk" since this is a dormitory with several beds], and I put away my goods before returning to my father.  We stayed with the Director for about a quarter of an hour, and then he wanted to accompany us to the parlor.

Nearby, there was a priest who played the piano.  The Director made us go in and insisted my sister play something. The Director affectionately said goodbye to my father and left us.  Then, I hugged my father and my sister and gave them a last farewell as they left.  I retired feeling afflicted but without shedding a single tear.

Amanuensis Monday -- Nonno Enzo's Diary -- November 14, 1915

Continuation of the translation of my grandfather, Vincenzo Dibennardo's diary.  He was 15 at the time and attended a Salesian boarding school in San Gregorio, Sicily.  Previous posts may be found through the last post, found here.

                                                                                                                              November 14, 1915

Yesterday, we were walking when on the street I met a woman carrying a parcel to San Gregorio to give to me. I took it and saw it contained dried figs that I began to do away with -- partly in my stomach and partly in that of my schoolmate.  Then we sat on boulders at a crossroads and started an animated conversation.

We talked about boarding school, punishments, and teachers.

Later, we continued our stroll, and when we arrived at the road we prayed and then took the road of return.

Having arrived at a three-way crossroads, we stopped because there was a small chapel. It is said that here, below the church, a beautiful image of Saint Lucia is found.

We continued our return trip, and two cars flew by, raising a great dust.  Farther up, we saw a beautiful villa, and at first glance -- outside it -- was a beautiful dog made of terracotta with this written on it:

(In Sicilian dialect)

HERE IS A DOG
HE NO LONGER BITES
HE ONLY SURVEYS AND KEEPS VIGIL
AND WARNS HIS MASTER

Amanuensis Monday -- Nonno Enzo's Diary -- November 9 and 11, 1915

Fourth installment of the translation of my grandfather's diary written in Sicily during the school year of 1915-1916.  He was nearly 15 when he wrote these entries.  Previous entries found here: one, two, and three.

To the left is a picture of my grandfather when he was somewhere between 18 and 20 years old.  He was a "novice" in the Salesian Order of the Priesthood.  He never took his final vows.  I guess that is obvious, since I exist:).

Translation below

                                                                                                                    November 9


This morning, Mass was officiated by Don Bartolo -- parish of San Gregorio -- a man about eighty or more. Altar-serving was performed by Riccieri, one of the novices who assisted the old man since he could not climb the steps of the altar by himself.

Mass was without communion because we'd had it earlier, and it lasted about 50 minutes.

                                                                                                                    November 11, Thursday

Today, we went for a walk.

The sky seemed clear enough, although a wind blew impetuously, raising dust into the air and banging it furiously against our faces. Our hats flew right and left along with our great laughter.

I talked with Putrino, a strong boy of excellent quality, and Torrisi -- also gifted with some virtues of his own. He isn't a bad person, but not that likeable either; in the eyes of society, he manages to fit in, however. He can do a sudden about-face and be generous when it is in his self-interest.

We talked about our families and the great sorrow this war has caused to every single one, as well as other discussions about family.  Finally, after three quarters of an hour walking, we came to a fountain where we drank its water.

Then began a great conversation about a famous bandit known by the name of Dionisio. There exists even now a cave where he used to hide to attack the poor travelers heading to Catania or Acireale.  He was never caught in the act of his major thefts, and he continued his disgraceful craft.

But then one evening, a poor traveler commended to Our Lady, went through the terrible path. Dionisio assaulted the poor man, who did not have even a penny to give, and the bandit brandished a knife, about to kill him, when as the blade glistened in the pale moonlight there appeared Our Lady of Valverde saying: Dionisio, what are you doing?

This apparition caused him to step back and leave the poor and unfortunate wayfarer in order to return to the cave. The words, "Dionisio, what are you doing?" replayed in his mind.

Little by little, the bandit reviewed his great faults until he gave up his life as a robber. Our Lady appeared to him a second time asking him to build a church, and the next day there was the form of a circle around the location.

A third time, she appeared to give him a rod from which to raise a fountain where water could be drawn. The fountain in front of the cave still exists, and it is where we had stopped to quench our thirst.

Dionisio fulfilled his mission and became a monk who died in God's grace.

We continued our walk for several more kilometers and then headed back to the boarding school.

Amanuensis Monday -- Nonno Enzo's Diary -- November 5,6, and 7, 1915

Continuation of the translation of my grandfather's diary written in 1915-1916 at age 14-15.  See the previous two Monday posts for previous pages.  Location: San Gregorio, Sicily.

Translation below.

                            

                                                                                                                                
                                                                                                                                      November 5


Yesterday evening, around 7, I saw my old advisor, Don Traina, coming from the house. He had left on October 20 to suffer a second visit to the military (recruiters).

But fortunately, he was among the few considered unfit for service and was sent home where he stayed for about a week, and now here he is, ready to resume his duties.

Just last night after dinner, during the short recreation time, I went to him, wanting to kiss his hand, but he shied away. Then, I congratulated him for being rejected (by the military), and I said, “We can stay one more year together.” Having revered him, I then began to walk with the Director.

                                                                                                                                       November 6

Today, two new pupils of the 4th gymnasium -- my class -- arrived; they are brothers.

The larger one -- stout, medium height, black hair, wide forehead, narrow mouth, with a forelock of hair -- was my classmate some time ago in Catania at the boarding school, San Francesco di Sales.

The smaller one -- of the right size, aquiline nose, black hair, closed mouth in the expression of a smile, lively eyes like those of a rooster -- also attends the 4th gymnasium, and today came to school.

I shook their hands and reminded them of all the tests we'd had together at the Hospital.

In the study, their place is in the front pew. Don Ercolini departed from us and will return in a few days.

Today, our new professor, Don Bologna, arrived -- medium height, features a bit rustic, flashing eyes, voice like thunder, calloused hands ...

He was my old advisor in the San Francesco (di Sales) dormitory.

Don Ercolini will now move on to being the professor of the 5th gymnasium.

                                                                                                                                        November 7

The boulders Polyphemus threw at Ulysses

Today, at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, we went for a stroll. I enjoyed the walk, and we ended up on a hill opposite Aci Castello. From there, you could see a beautiful view -- the boulders the Cyclops, Polyphemus, threw against Ulysses, which now rises above the sea as peaks. On top of the larger rock there is a house. Later, we returned happily. I joined Messina and Ruggeri, and we began to speak of many things. Ruggeri, with the excuse of needing to take care of his needs (bathroom) remained behind us, and when he caught up to us, his pockets were full of lemons. He offered me a lemon, but I did not accept it, saying it was stolen. Before arriving in San Gregorio, we met a man with a small pig over his shoulders, who every once in a while let us hear his beautiful voice (squealing pig). Our laughter reached up to the stars, but then it all ended, and here I am already, at the table, describing this meeting.

Amanuensis Monday -- Nonno Enzo's Diary -- November 2 and 4, 1915

Continuation from last Monday's "Amanuensis Monday."




Translation below...



Click on the pictures to enlarge.

                                                                                                                   November 2, 1915

Today is the commemoration of the dead. At nine o'clock in the morning we went for a walk.
I had filled my pockets with chestnuts, and when we arrived in the countryside I distributed them to my friends who accepted them.

I will gladly walk with the Director, a good priest who truly cares for us, and from whom I learn so many little facts (and stories) he eagerly recounts to the young novices who are heading for an ecclesiastical career.

                                                                                                                    3 o'clock in the morning

About two and a half hours after midnight, I awoke to the sound of the wind flapping against the windows. Around a quarter after 3, the window before me opened in a furious burst of wind and the cold air entered the dormitory room, and I was forced to hide my head under the covers. Around four o'clock,  the wind having calmed down a little, I put socks on my feet, got out of bed to close the window, and then returned to bed to regain the lost sleep during the night.

                                                                                                                   November 4

After lunch, at 3:30, during the Italian class of Don Ercolini, a little incident occurred that made me die from laughter. We had all entered (the classroom), and I being the last one, closed the door behind me. I was about to take my seat when the bench suddenly fell apart with my two classmates -- Valenti, Agostino and Torrisi, Giuseppe, who both fell to the ground. Valenti hit hard against the back part of the bench, while Torrisi hit his head against the foot of the bench behind him.

The laughs were endless, and even Don Ercolini laughed heartily; but then we had to quiet down to begin Italian class.

I was called into the parlor, and a woman I did not recognize gave me a box with three eggs and some biscuits.  (This probably was sent to my grandfather from his family.)