Dear Readers,
Valentine’s Day will soon be here and although this excerpt from Argentina Ferrau Brunetti’s book “In Sicilian Company” (published by Bear Manor Media, available in English at Amazon.com or selected bookstores) is not a love story, it did happen on Valentine’s Day.
Argentina Brunetti, actress, L’Italo-Americano correspondent and author, passed away at age 98 on December 20, 2005. In her autobiography she recalled that when “The Jazz Singer” starring Al Jolson premiered at Radio City Music Hall in New York City (1927) the “Talkie Movie” era began. As the economy took a down turn, people flocked to the cinema to escape their personal miseries and no longer were interested in more expensive Opera and stage performances.
Argentina’s mother, Mimi Aguglia, was world famous as a stage actress and singer. Argentina’s father, Baron Vincenzo Ferrau, was Mimi’s manager. Following a world tour, they were all living in New York City. “Mimi, my mother, still performed on the dramatic stage in Italian with my father’s Company. But it was now a very stall operation which conducted only to limited engagements in and around New York City.
They just seemed to break even at the end of every month, mainly because their audiences had all but abandoned them in favor of movies. One cold day in January of 1929, my father received a telegram from the Italian American Society of Chicago, Illinois with an offer that we could not really refuse!
The telegram was addressed to Madam Mimi Aguglia. It was from the Italian American Association of Chicago requesting the kind assistance of Mimi Aguglia and her fellow actors and actresses in the New Italian Theater Company. The Association was sponsoring a series of cultural events with proceeds going to the orphans and widows of Chicago’s Italian American community.
The Association intended to provide the entire Company lodging, meals and train transportation from New York to Chicago and return. The only limitation was the fact that the performance dates available were either 14 February or 28 February. It was signed by Mr. Giovanni Maurizi, President, Chicago Italian American Association.
“I think that this would be a good idea to generate publicity for our Company in view of the lack of audiences lately,” said my father, reading the telegram to my mother. “I agree, it’s a wonderful idea. Let’s take the closest date, that way, if something comes up in New York later in the month, we will be available,” replied my mother. My father had no trouble obtaining volunteers among the actors and actresses for this benefit, especially when they found out that all expenses were paid for.
All the necessary stage-hands, scenery and theater rental were also being provided by the generous Italian American Association. My parents decided to perform a popular Italian comedy called “La Piccola Cioccolattaia” (The Little Girl from the Chocolate Shop.) We arrived in cold and windy Chicago on the 12 of February of 1929. After a short taxi ride to our assigned lodging at the Harding Hotel, we were very surprised to find out that it was classified as one of the most luxurious in the city.
“We have a meeting with Mr. Giovanni Maurizi, the Association President and his staff tomorrow at two in the afternoon in their office,” said my father. The next day, my mother and father went to visit the Association people. The office of the Chicago Italian American Society was on the top floor of the Majestic Building, the tallest and most elegant in the city.
After exiting the mirrored elevator on the last floor, my parents were escorted by a beautiful young secretary, with long blonde hair, to a sumptuous wood paneled conference room containing a long polished oak table with plush leather chairs all around it. On the walls hung large gold framed oil paintings of the Bay of Naples, the Isle of Capri and Bay of Sorrento.
Across the room a door opened and in stepped Mr. Maurizi, with his arms opened wide and cigar hanging from his mouth. He was a large man with thinning jet black hair and a pencil thin moustache.
“Welcome to Chicago, Madam Aguglia and Signor Ferrau.” He kissed my mother’s hand then vigorously shook my father’s hand, as he said “Please take a seat. We have some excellent Neapolitan coffee and special pastries to enjoy.” The coffee was excellent and the pastries were even better. There was an assortment of Neapolitan ‘babas’ filled with cream and soaked in rum.
And also, to tempt my parents even further, were Sicilian cannoli, sugar coated pastry shells filled with glace fruit and ricotta cheese. The pastries, we were told, were made fresh that morning by Mr. Maurizi’s uncle in the Fornaio d’Italia, a baker located in the foyer of the building. After talking about the weather and accepting many compliments regarding my mother’s theater performances, my father broke the ice and started to discuss the business at hand.
“Mr. Maurizi, we thank you and your Association for inviting us. If you treat all of the rest of the acts that will be playing this month, like you are treating us, you will probably spend more than you will bring in for the benefit,” said my father.
“Mr. Ferrau, what we do with our money is really a personal matter for the Association, but since you ask, it is no secret that we are funded not only by dues from our members, but also by many large corporations and other private individuals, who want to remain anonymous. It is these donors who insist we give all our guests the first class treatment they would expect to get when they perform elsewhere. I hope that clarifies the situation,” concluded Mr. Maurizi. My mother quickly replied, “Then you must inform your benefactors that we are most grateful for all this attention.”
“Your play will take place in the Palace Theater at the corner of Randolph and La Salle Streets, and following the performance one of our benefactors has graciously invited you and the entire company to a dinner in your honor at the Majestic Hotel’s restaurant,” said Mr. Maurizi in between gulps of pastries.
“We accept your kind invitation on behalf of the entire Company,” said my father, at which point the secretary, whom my father referred to as Miss 1929, came in and whispered in her boss’s ear. Mr. Maurizi then waived his hands in the air and said, “I am sorry to call an early end to our very amiable discussion, but I have to attend an unscheduled meeting in haste, so you must excuse me.” He then quickly rose, came over, kissed my mother’s hand, waved at my father and briskly walked out the door.
That evening we held our first rehearsal at the theater and then enjoyed a very special dinner with all our Company actors and actresses at the Berghoff Restaurant, before returning to the Hotel. On February 14, 1929 as predicted, our comedy was a great hit with the audience who filled the Palace Theater that night.
The enthusiastic applause, many curtain calls and flowers for my mother, were a welcome sight and sound to us all. This was especially true after so many nights of half filled auditoriums and halls during our previous performances in New York, since we had come back from Cuba.
We had little time to change into formal attire for the dinner sponsored by our anonymous benefactor. But we managed to arrive on time at the rooftop restaurant of the Hotel Majestic. As each guest entered the large cocktail area, they were introduced on a speaker system so everyone could see as well as hear who was arriving. “Ladies and gentlemen, Madam Mimi Aguglia, her husband, Baron Vincenzo Ferrau, and their daughter, Miss Argentina Ferrau.” We then were met by Mr. Maurizi, who again bowed, kissed my mother’s hand, shook hands with my father and bowed to me. “Welcome to our Festa Italiana Dinner for you and your Company.
Your performances tonight were all superb and we thank you for your efforts in helping us raise so much money for our widows and orphans fund. Please let me introduce you around,” said Mr. Maurizi. A portly man with thinning hair, dressed in a hill fitting tuxedo, stretched out his hand as we approached. Mr. Maurizi smiled and said, “Mr. Capone, I have the pleasure to introduce to you Mimi Aguglia, her husband and daughter.”
Looking only at Mimi, Al Capone took her hand and kissed it, saying “Signora Aguglia, what an onah and a pleasha to meet you at last. I been a fan of yours for many years now and want to tell you…” Suddenly there was a loud commotion at the entrance to the cocktail area. A group of about eleven, seeming uninvited guests had burst into the cocktail area and were quickly making their way to where we were standing.
The first man heading the group stepped up to Mr. Capone, with a paper clutched in his right hand. “Alphonse Gabriel Capone, I have a warrant for your arrest for the attempted murder of George ‘Bugs’ Moran and six other as yet unidentified persons this afternoon at the S.M.C. Cartage Company Garage in Chicago. Come with us peacefully or we will take you by force.” Capone replied, with a large smirk on his face, “I was at da Theater all night watching dis lovely lady perform, den I came there to dis party.”
Another man suddenly appeared and moved between the arresting officer and Al Capone, “Mr. Capone, as your lawyer, I strongly suggest you say no more and we all go downtown together and straighten out this matter…” Mr. Capone looked at mother as he started to walk off with his captors, lawyer and bodyguards, and said, “What I was telling you before we were rudely interrupted, was that I look forward to seeing you on stage again soon and that is still my intention, Good night dear lady!”…
Dubbed the ‘St. Valentine’s Day Massacre’, since it occurred on the fourteenth of February, all charges were dropped against Al Capone, as they could not prove any direct connection. My mother Mimi had given him an iron clad alibi , when she personally chose the Valentine’s Day date!”
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