A life spanning a century and two countries

Antonia Rotondi almost died seven decades ago because of a farm animal.

Her neighbor in her then-home of Sora, Italy, had given her up to German soldiers who went farm to farm in the 1940s during World War II to confiscate dairy cows for army sustenance.

Olga Pallotolo, one of Mrs. Rotondi's six children, well remembers the incident.

"The sergeant came up to my mother and he pulled a gun on her and he said, 'I know you have the mucca, and if you don't give it to me, I'm going to kill you and your whole family,'" Mrs. Pallotolo recounted.

The family had gotten used to such wartime scenes. On each of their miles-long treks to a well for water, they would pass 50 German tanks. A bomb once fell in front of their one-bedroom house, thankfully failing to explode.

When the German soldiers demanded she surrender the family's cow, Mrs. Rotondi couldn't part with the bovine: The Rotondis lived off their four-acre farm and two acres of olive trees - especially since Mrs. Rotondi's husband, Francesco, had found his ticket to America via the U.S. Army years earlier.

Because the mail system was unreliable, the family received no money from him and spent years unsure if he was alive.

Tense moment
Realizing she'd rather die than give up one of their only sources of food, Mrs. Rotondi told the soldiers, in her native Italian tongue, that she had no cow.

One of her sons braced himself for her demise, plugging his ears. But the blue-eyed, blond boy's fear softened the soldiers, and they eventually pardoned Mrs. Rotondi. In future encounters, she would ask her daughters to give each soldier a glass of water.

Today, after surviving the eventual transition to a new country and the death of an adult daughter, Antonia has racked up 102 years. She has dozens of grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren.

Schenectady, her first American home, recently saluted Mrs. Rotondi for her 102nd birthday with a Mass at St. Anthony's Church, her first American parish.

It was her first trip to the church in about 10 years. Her Scotia nursing home offers Mass on Tuesdays - but it's not as familiar as her parish, one of her sons said.

"I think it sparked a sparkplug for her," remarked her son, Benito, adding that she clapped along with 30 congregants and received communion. "She was more joyful than she has been."

These days, Mrs. Rotondi often favors sleep over conversation - though she'll answer questions in Italian and break into stirring renditions of the "Ave Maria" when cued.

Over the ocean
St. Anthony's was pivotal to the centenarian. She and her children left Italy for America in 1949 on an army ship, arriving first in New York City and settling in Schenectady.

Other Italians did the same, forming an immigrant community at St. Anthony's parish. Fellow parishioners attended Italian Masses with Mrs. Rotondi, taught her English and helped her become a U.S. citizen.

She became a eucharistic minister, joined the Society of the Sacred Heart and prayed the Rosary daily. When her oldest daughter, Loretta, died of breast cancer a quarter of a century ago, she started walking to daily Mass to stave off depression.

Mrs. Rotondi worked a part-time stint cleaning a doctor's office, but her main occupation was hand-turning the soil in the family garden. The family's first Schenectady home mimicked a two-car garage. At one time, nine people shared one bathroom.

When Francesco Rotondi left the army, he cut metal for GE. He died of a heart attack in his late 50s. Mrs. Rotondi received no public assistance; the children took on jobs like shoe shining and bussing tables.

Fortitude
Mrs. Rotondi's independence and strength showed when she slept with a loaf of bread under her pillow to ensure every child received a fair portion.

Her children told The Evangelist that, even in Italy, she had once walked 20 miles to buy 40 pounds of grain in a pinch - and 100 miles through mountains and a creek to find a doctor for her four children, who had become comatose from a bout with typhoid fever.

The doctor said two of the children would die - but then Mary appeared to Mrs. Rotondi in a dream, asking her whether she wanted them to live.

The next day, with renewed spirit, Mrs. Rotondi cleaned the house and changed the bed sheets. And, one by one, the kids woke up.

She still cares for her children with the same vigor.

"Even to this day, she still wants to try to feed us, even though she won't eat it herself," Benito Rotondi said.

In her 80s, she had a few strokes and consequently lived with one of her sons before being admitted to the nursing home. Initially, she was tube-fed and her prognosis seemed grim.

But nine years later, she's feeding herself again. "One day, she just started perking up," Mr. Rotondi said. "They called her the miracle woman."

Family days
Aides say it's her sons' dedication. They feed her lunch daily, even concocting cappuccino using coffee and ice cream. On Sundays, they bring homemade dishes like soup, meatballs and frittata, and she imbibes an ounce or so of homemade wine.

They also take her outside in her wheelchair. She still walks using a walker. Her children are all amazed at her longevity.

"I think she's going to be an angel. She has had hell on earth for a person that does not deserve it," Mr. Rotondi said. "I think it would have broken a lot more people. There's got to be a reason God has done this. It's not by chance."


The "Ave Maria" ("Hail Mary") in Italian

Ave Maria, piena di grazia,
il Signore è con te.
Tu sei benedetta fra le donne
e benedetto è il frutto del tuo seno, Gesú.
Santa Maria, Madre di Dio,
prega per noi peccatori,
adesso e nell'ora della nostra morte.

(07/22/10)