By Bruno Manno
This 4th of July brings back memories of my extended immigrant family of over two dozen relatives gathering yearly to celebrate Independence Day at my grandparents’ Italian tavern, the Golden Gate Inn, on the east side of Cleveland, Ohio. We lived in an Italian American neighborhood called Collinwood, surrounded by other ethnic neighborhoods, where similar gatherings occurred. I have five vivid memories of our gatherings, spanning from the early 1950s when I was around five years old to the mid-1960s when I went off to college.
First, it was always hot and humid. There was no air conditioning. Eventually, Dad would plug in one of the big square electric box fans and put it on a small table in the kitchen so it would spew its version of cool air on anyone lucky enough to be close to it. Sooner or later we kids would assemble in the graveled backyard—there was no grass where we lived—and use the green-colored garden hose to spray cold water on each other so we could cool off for a few minutes.
