Anthony Martini was born in Sicily and came to the United States by himself at the age of 13 years old. My earliest memories of Grandpa Tony occurred during the first few years of grade school when I spent time before and after school at his home. Grandpa Tony walked the four blocks to and from my grade school each day with me. My paternal grandpa lived to be 101 years old and never owned a car.
The small two story home where my grandparents lived was located in the middle of the block. Their small yard was enclosed with flowering shrubs that served as a fence around the property, as a little girl the land seemed huge. The front and side patches of land were dedicated to flowers with a small pond surrounded by lush ferns and filled with water lilies and goldfish. Roses, tulips, irises, lilies of the valley, peonies, daffodils, tiger lilies, and lilacs were only a few of the numerous blooms Grandpa Tony planted and taught me to identify. The back yard consisted of a large vegetable garden with a trellis filled with grape vines. There was always yard work that needed Grandpa’s attention, but afterwards he would sit in the enclosed front porch with me. The sitting area was an extension of Grandpa’s outdoor garden. Potted citrus trees, cactus, and plants lined the windows.
I thought I knew Grandpa Tony as a young girl, but I realize now there was so much=he didn’t share with me. It would take me many adult years to learn more about this man.
As a grown woman I traveled to Sicily and visited the town where my grandfather was born. I couldn’t help but see the connection between the Sicilian vegetation and the lush gardens Grandpa created in Illinois. Without saying, perhaps he missed his childhood homeland.
Grandpa loved his cigars and pipes. Imagining sitting with him on his front porch, I can smell the aroma of his pipe as I listened to his stories. There were many tales of Sicily and his childhood, but my favorite stories were from his time serving in the army. Grandpa Tony was extremely proud to be an American citizen and to have volunteered in World War I, which was “the great war” according to Grandpa.
Grandpa’s infamous war story was of his time in France with his division. The troops were hiding in a cemetery. The enemy began shelling and he threw himself to the ground. Grandpa couldn’t recall exactly what happened, only that he lost consciousness. But later, when he opened his eyes and looked up, he was in front of a tombstone with the name Anton Martin. Grandpa had altered his Sicilian name, Anthony Martini, to Anton Martin. He embraced his life in America.
My grandfather also shared the many hardships of war he and his fellow soldiers endured: living in the trenches, lack of food, and the attacks of poison gas. Again, he never complained, nor did he tell us of his valor.
When I was much older, I discovered Grandpa Tony’s many accomplishments during the great war. He earned the rank of corporal and won many medals, including the Bronze Victory Medal, four Battle Stars, the Medal from Britain, and the Occupation Medal. He received letters of recommendation from General John J. Pershing and the French Republic. Grandpa Tony was devoted to his infantry unit, the 33rd Infantry Division in France. In fact, when he was wounded, he refused to apply for the Purple Heart because he didn’t want to be separated from his division.
In his own quiet manner Grandpa Tony demonstrated what was important to him:
Love of family
Love of his heritage
Love of country
Memorial Day originated as a day to pay homage to the men and women who died in the armed forces. Although Anthony Martini didn’t die while serving in the 33rd Infantry Division, he was a volunteer who was proud to be an American citizen and serve his country.
Grandpa, I’m proud of you!
