By 11 am the priest bade us go, so it was back to the municipal building where the archivist Pepe took me into the archives and graciously found my great-grandmother's (Anna Mineo) birth record. The next morning I returned and asked him to find my grandmother's birth record, which he did, thereby yielding the approximate birth year of the elusive Michele.

Later in the day I walked to St. Pietro's only to find it locked and was told to come back at 6 pm. I returned at 5 and found the pastor who agreed to search the records with us at 8:30 the next morning. When we did return it was only to find that there were no records there prior to 1916, long after my family had left for America.

From there we went by train to Termini Imerese, having made enough progress to continue my search through the Mormon film strips, something I hadn't been able to do previously, since the vital records on film at LDS only cover the years 1820-1865 for Caltagirone. We arrived in Termini Imerese after a very pleasant train ride through the mountains of Sicily and took a cab to the Grand Hotel.

The Grand Hotel is a dowager queen. It must have been resplendent in its youth. Now it is quiet and sophisticated, clean and neat. It is in Termini Basso, Lower Termini. After checking in we went walking through the downtown and had dinner at a small seafood restaurant.

On Saturday we met with Salvatore Mantia, who teaches classics at a local high school. He had been referred to me by my cousin Steve and has done extensive work researching the cathedral's records. He agreed to take us to the cemetery where we looked through the records in search of my Battaglia ancestors.

I was mystified that all of the entries concerning my Battaglia family brought us to naught. I had death dates and there were entries but when we went to the plot it was empty or held some other interment. The caretaker called them all "abandoned." I knew that there was a Battaglia mausoleum somewhere, as I have cousins who have visited it and had been told about it many times, but he could find no record of it. Remember that the listings are only in chronological order and there are no family records, or very few. Even looking at more recent burials (1941) led to nothing, even though I knew relatives had visited the cemetery recently (2001). This was a mystery to solve.

We returned to Termini Alto and decided to look for Nene. The day before I left for Sicily, my friend and distant cousin Madeleine suggested that I look for an elderly woman named Nene (a nickname for Antonina) Piazza Palotto who is my mother's first cousin on the maternal side of her family.

I had written to Nene in early December but the letter had come back undeliverable. So began a wild but successful chase through the hilly streets of Termini Imerese. Our first step, as suggested by Madeleine was to find the ice cream stand in the park, which we did with no problem. There we met Toto, the 80 some year-old proprietor. He spoke no English and neither did his grandson, but we were able to make our search known and the young man called his mother, who did speak English, on his cell phone.

She surprisingly arrived in five minutes and we had a short conversation about who we were and what we wanted. She suggested that our best bet would be to ask Dr. Pietro DiLisi who walked by every day at 1 pm and would be there soon. Five minutes later there was Dr. DiLisi who didn't know Nene but who thought that Rosario Badali's sister might. He then gave us directions to her house (down that street, turn left, a few doorways).

Off we went. The sister knew Nene and knew where she lived and gave us impossible to follow directions. We finally had to ask the name of the street and she went looking in an old address book and gave it to us.
Now it was a walk back to the ice cream stand, up the street to the Piazza and onto Via Falcone e Borsolino, where we would "have to walk many blocks to the gas station and look for the new condo near it."

Well, Falcone is a long street so after four blocks and no sign of a gas station, I stopped at a small grocery store. The lady there hadn't heard of Nene so she took us next door to the tobacco shop, where the owner looked in the phone book to no avail, but took us next door to the butcher.

This was what we needed, as he had a daughter in Philadelphia and spoke English. He didn't know Nene either but knew a woman named Piazza-Palotto. Grabbing his keys and his coat he closed the shop and told us to follow him. He took us to his car and drove us back down the hill where he found this lady, who didn't know where Nene lived but who thought her mother did.

It was back in the car, now there being four of us, and up the hill to the woman's mother's home where we found an elderly man who appeared to be dying and a woman who was obviously his daughter. She was a Gatto and had relatives in America and we actually seemed to be related, but we couldn't really figure out how. I showed her my family tree and she recognized the name Tom Arnone and where his elderly sister lived. After a little explanation she told us to go around the corner. There was the gas station.
We rang the bell and a woman appeared on the balcony, inviting us up. When we got there I found a 93 year-old woman in a wheel chair. In a few minutes we knew each other as long lost relatives, kissing and crying and hugging, it was a real homecoming for me. In fact, Nene is my mother's first cousin.
Once again, as in Caltagirone, we shared photos. It was so joyful to show her my great-grandfather's picture and to hear her explain "Mio nono!" ("My grandfather!)

Not only did we meet Nene, but we met her sister Rosetta, their nephew Salvatore and his wife, their daughter Mariella and her husband Giampiero and their sons Falvio and Matteo. Giam works for a motel outside of Termini so we asked about finding a less expensive place to stay. Five minutes later we were invited to move in with he and his family as he said, "There's always room for family." We eagerly accepted the invitation.

The next day they picked us up at the hotel, brought us to their home (in the same building as Nene), and then we went to the cemetery where Rosetta and her son Giuseppe brought us right to the Battaglia mausoleum, where I was able to see (and copy) photos of my great-great-grandparents and all their children and spouses, plus a few of their grandchildren. We also we were shown graves of collateral relatives and other ancestors. Back at Nene's we were feasted to a lovely dinner and met more relatives.

The next day was Monday, where we went to the archives looking for the location of the notary records. Now Giam was part of our search party driving us from lead to lead and acting as an interpreter. The archivist was dubious of our finding anything but showed us the index book they had. Here I found a listing of all the notaries of Termini from 1548 to 1865 and the dates and volumes of their files. We remained long enough to make a list of what folios we wanted to look at.

We then went back to the municipal building to request copies of more recent notaries' records, specifically looking for any possible wills left by my great-grandfathers. Later that afternoon we took the bus to the train station in order to book our passage to Naples on the next day.

On Tuesday we returned to the archives where we filled out official forms about who we were and what we wanted and proved it all with our passports. It was then that I found a dictionary of Latin and Italian classical abbreviations and asked where I could get one. It sure would be a help transcribing many of those old records. The archivist only said to go to a bookstore.

We searched four folios, finding some possible collateral data, but nothing that was specifically related to known ancestors. Nevertheless I asked for copies of two documents so I had to fill out a form to obtain them, then take the form to post office to pay for the copying and then return with the receipt, where the copies were waiting for us. Giam then took us back to the cemetery where I was able to locate tombstones of my Gatto relatives.

It was then time to take the night train to Naples, which we did, arriving on Wednesday morning at 6 am. From there we spent a great day in Pompei and later in the National Archeological Museum. We also stopped in at a used bookstore and were delighted to find a copy of the abbreviation dictionary. Though the bookseller warned me there were only ten people in the world who wanted this book he sold it to me rather cheaply, or maybe not, since it was covered in what seemed to be fifty years of dust.
From Naples it was back to Rome for the night and to the airport the next morning, with full realization that I would soon be back and be back often.

If it seems I had a great trip you are right. I made extensive gains in gathering new information about both living and deceased relatives, learned a great deal about Italian genealogical records, ate wonderful food, saw beautiful land, and felt completely at home. After two weeks I was even able to venture forth and be understood, the Italian of my childhood somehow coming back.

I was amazed by much of what I saw. Sicilians make me feel tall, as they are much shorter than I ever expected. I was surprised by the siesta (everything closes at 1 and reopens at 4), by the number of small bars filled almost exclusively with men, by the hand-holding of women on the street, by the kisses that men gave one another when they met, by the excellence of the food and how inexpensive it is.

I was surprised by the lack of parking, by the narrowness of the streets, by the enormous number of stairs to climb everywhere, but the relatively newness of the cemeteries, and by the proliferation of really old manuscripts and how haphazardly they are maintained.

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A typical tombstone in Sicily

Fishermen repair their nets in Termini Imerese

Giampiero, Flavio, Maria Rosaria, & Manuel, my cousins in Termini Imerese