Ersatz. An ugly word for an ugly concept: fake, substitute, a pale imitation of the real thing. And a word that might be increasingly applied to Little Italy in lower Manhattan, the fabled heart of the Big Apple’s Italian community.
Over the years, Little Italy has seen the emphasis shift from the Italy to the Little as the area has been squeezed by other neighbourhoods and many residents have moved out, many local stores and restaurants closed. What they have left behind is a theme park version of Little Italy, as redolent of home to a visiting Italian as Las Vegas’s Eiffel Tower is to a Parisian.
Visiting Italian travel photographer Corrado Piccoli turned away from the fake and went in search of the authentic, a journey that took him to Arthur Avenue and the welcoming embrace of Joseph Artuso.
“Back from a weekend photographing in Connecticut I headed into the Bronx on the Metro North Train. Checking my map and holding the camera tight, I proceeded warily. I grew up with an image of the Bronx as a violent, dangerous neighbourhood, the setting of iconic films like ‘The Warriors’ and I nervously scanned the faces of the people I passed. But there was none of that implied threat I now see in many Italian cities and I started to relax as I approached Arthur Avenue.
First impressions were encouraging: ‘Benvenuti! Little Italy in the Bronx. The good taste of tradition’ shouted a banner on the corner of Arthur Avenue and East 188 Street. St Anthony of Padua peeped from a small kiosk in a garden; there was no coffee, only ‘Caffè’; a store proclaimed itself the ‘House of Mozzarella’ and the bread looked like well…Italian bread.
When I entered Borgatti’s they were pulling the dough to make 70’s style noodles. The walls of the store were covered with photographs: black and white shots of the owners’ parents on their wedding day, family from the old country, postcards from around the world and, in pride of place, the sepia tones of Lindo and Mary, founders of the family business. I left the store thinking on the importance of photographs and their role in preserving memories. Without memories we are nothing and pictures can open the floodgates of memory.
Outside Artuso’s Pastry Shop, I was immediately transported back home to Conegliano and the bakery near my house, next to the church, where I spent many hours as a child. My reverie was interrupted by a shout of ‘Come inside!’ Joseph Artuso is an American with Calabrian origins who manages the family business started by his grandparents in the late 1940’s, and which now has branches throughout New York and Connecticut. Joseph doesn’t speak Italian, but still he talks like a river in flood, asking questions about my life and work. Barely pausing for breath I was taken on a tour of the shop and kitchen before being asked to wait a few minutes while Joseph gathered his friends from the community. A morning which had started out with me feeling uncertain and nervous had, quite suddenly, turned into a celebration as I found myself shaking hands with and taking pictures of an incredible number of Italian-Americans, all clamouring to try out their language skills on me.
We moved on to the market that La Guardia built in the 1930’s and I felt like I was in one of those local markets that still exist in some Italian towns: with that unique smell, that intriguing mix of aromas that you never get in supermarkets. Inside, everyone said hello, old friends exchanged hugs. There seemed to be a real awareness that they had inherited a tradition that needed to be respected and looked after.
Not far away there was a cultural center, named after Enrico Fermi, containing a library focused on Italian culture and tradition. The librarian invited me to come in and take pictures because the area is so little known and appreciated, even in New York.
I found myself wondering why this should be, why the unattractive tourist-hell of Little Italy should still hold sway over this genuine community of Italian-Americans which has existed in the Bronx since the 1930s.
Perhaps the borough’s old reputation has kept the tourists away in the same way it nearly deterred me and perhaps it’s better that way. Maybe it’s better that Arthur Avenue hasn’t found itself in a global spotlight that might frown on its formica tables, neon lights and aluminium window frames.
Joseph Artuso moves through his neighbourhood wearing a cap that reads “Jesus loves you” on the front “… and I love you too” on the back. This is a man who saw me in the street, a perfect stranger, and dedicated a morning of his time to me, proud of his traditions and his people.
And that’s about as far away from ersatz as you can get.”
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