A family tree grows in Auburn

AMERICA'S PASTIME: My father, Al Blasi, at around nine years old. He was already smitten with baseball, and it explains why he became a baseball coach for over 40 years at Revere High School.

ALL IN THE FAMILY: My father Al, lower right, with his family: His dad, Anthony Sr., his mom, Anne, his sister, Rita, and big brother, Rocco.

THOSE WERE THE DAYS: My mother, Louise with her family: Mom Josephine, brother Wesley, sisters Carol and Nellie.

"We all grow up with the weight of history on us.  Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies."  

~Shirley Abbott

AUBURN, Maine — Anthony would have been held incommunicado in my mother's kitchen if Louise witnessed how swift my son traced our family's ancestry using a reliable laptop, two impressive libraries and a great deal of patience and tenacity.

Anthony raced through centuries of history with the push of a button. He was like curious time traveler Rod Taylor in the 1960 movie version of H.G. Wells' "Time Machine" While Taylor watched eons pass before him outside his laboratory windows with a nudge of a lever, Anthony observed dozens of our decedents' names appear on a computer screen.

His arduous journey began when he started reading about the Davis family and our connection to the American Revolution on my mother's side. My mom's clan was a seafaring bunch who came over from Scotland and then eventually took on King George in America. The other side is Italian, and my heritage on my dad's side explains why I am excellent cook. I will take anyone on the kitchen and win each battle with my culinary delights.

For most of his school vacation, my son plowed through Ancestry.com to research our lineage. Centuries flew by on the computer as our family tree grew like the 40-foot pine in our front yard.

He spent days meticulously connecting the forgotten dots of time. He began with my wife's family and then moved on to his dad's ancestors without showing any signs of exasperation. Obstacles or detours didn't stop him from conducting his research. When the road narrowed and leads dried up, Anthony switched direction and found a new path into our ancient past.

If my late mother saw how easy it is to trace your roots using the Net, Anthony would have become his grandmother's hero. She was a proud member of the Daughters of the American Revolution. Her ancestry and love of this nation's history made her a living reference for all of us. 

My son is now obsessed to see how far his quest will take him inside recorded history. He persuaded me to pay for another month of Ancestry.com's time-traveling, technological wizardry. The site is like a wormhole, a shortcut if you will, through the ages.

After facing several road blocks tracing the origins of the Blasi family, he moved on to the Davis family tree with significant results.

First and foremost, I am from nobility. You could say I am related to England's modern-day royalty, so bow the next time you see me. Of course, a handshake will do, too. I've inherited my love of gardening from the Royals, and I bet Prince Charles and I could go round and round about raising a bumper crop.

Anthony's startling discoveries include: 

* I am a first cousin, 13 times removed to Sir Francis Drake — An English vice admiral, privateer and navigator during the Elizabethan era.

* I am a second cousin, 12 times removed to Richard Grenville of the of the H.M.S. Revenge, 

* My 13th great grandfather was Roger Granville, who was captain of the H.M.S. Mary Rose

* I am first cousin, 18 times removed to Richard the Third — a king of England. His remains were recently discovered underneath a parking lot in Leicester, England.

* My 22nd great grandfather was Edward the First, also known as Edward Longshanks, a medieval monarch and slayer of William Wallace. 

Obviously King Richard and Edward were despots, but they are still part of my heritage, and it is cool to have a few skeletons in the closet.

Anthony also focused on Terri's mother's maiden name — Richardson. He brought to light several startling revelations about my wife's ancestry.

* Terri is the seventh cousin, four times removed to Franklin Delano Roosevelt — the 32nd president of the United States.

* She is the fifth cousin, six times removed to Ulysses S. Grant — the 18th president of the United States.

* She is the sixth cousin, five times removed to Laura Ingalls Wilder — author of the Little House series.

* Her 19th great-grandfather was Louis the Fourth — holy Roman emperor.

In the course of his research, he discovered an obituary of my late uncle — World War II hero Biagio Murano.

Every Christmas, I would visit and share a drink with him. He rarely spoke about his exploits during the war. I guess he had seen enough killing and destruction for both of us. 

According to his obituary, he was a highly decorated war hero who flew missions in the seat of the sluggish B-24 — a bomber that was so difficult to maneuver that pilots would develop huge biceps in their right arms. He participated in the Berlin Airlift and flew 100 missions in a P-51 fighter during the Korean War where he earned the Distinguished Flying Cross. He is also the 254th person in the United States to break the sound barrier in an F-104.

In between his demanding studies and being a member of the ski patrol team, Anthony has unearthed these forgotten tidbits of our family's history. He refuses to stop there and wants to know more about his family's origins.

So do I, and he has taken me there.

But what human being doesn't want to know how their family grew over centuries.

Thanks to technology and libraries, many people are making this quest.

And Anthony is just another pilgrim on a journey to discover his roots.

The 12 Days of Christmas, Day 10: Mom and pop

“My idea of Christmas, whether old-fashioned or modern, is very simple: loving others. Come to think of it, why do we have to wait for Christmas to do that?” 

- Bob Hope

AUBURN, Maine — My father and mother were generous people. It explains why a dedicated teacher and stay-at-home mom were never wealthy.

They were far from perfect, but they believed in the greater good — especially during the holidays.

There is a lot to be said about both of them, but nobody can ever question their integrity and loyalty, and if they do, expect a fat lip from me. One disparaging comment about mom and pop and you will be looking at me from the ground!

My mother had hard time with the Christmas. She missed her mother, and like everybody else who has lost a loved one, the yuletide was rough on her heart. 

Dad complained about running around to get things done, and then there was the battle of the Christmas tree stand. Dad never came out on top, but I was introduced to a lot of sparkling adjectives as a young boy.

I am the oldest so I was called upon to make the holiday bearable for my parents who are no strangers to holiday stress. Panic ruled during the Blasi household when it was time to deck the halls. But there were two yuletide tasks that I performed, and I came to appreciate both assignments as I grew older.

Delivery boy

My father spent a bundle on buying booze for relatives and friends for Christmas, and like a pair of bootleggers, we delivered the wine around the Greater Boston area. I came to understand how rum runners felt in the South, when they raced around in their supped-up cars delivering moonshine to thirsty folks across the countryside.

Our short drives gave me an opportunity to spend quality time with a man who hated driving during the holidays. But Big Al and I braved the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Broadway and made our appointed rounds. 

Some of the arguments erupted over who would undertake the arduous chore of gift wrapping. 

I was the bag man who knocked at the door and handed the bottles over to good neighbors like musician and teacher Robert Marra and revered Revere High football coach Silvio Cella. Both men served their country during World War II. Marra was a medic, diving in foxholes to attend to the wounded. Cella was a Marine and acted like one on the gridiron. I played for him as a center. I admired both men for their courage and dedication to their country and community.

Other bottles of wine went to B.J. and Eddy Murano. B.J. flew fighter planes, including the P-51, in World War II and the Korean conflict and lived to tell about his experiences, which always fascinated me at the dinner table.

It seemed everybody got a bottle in Revere. Of course, we were also on the receiving of many bottles of booze. I thought about opening a tavern around the holidays. Some of those bottles went back with me to Maine.

I tried to make them last.

When I learned to drive, I delivered the bottles for my father when I reached 21. That was problem because I was offered a drink at each home. I turned down each offer, fearing I might not be able operate a motor vehicle.

My elderly father can no longer drive and the recipients of my father's generosity can no longer raise a toast to my dad.

It is just another holiday tradition that has become lost in the endless hallways of time.

Dinner for two

I became a good chef over the years, and when I raced down I-95 for Christmas, I started doing some of the cooking. My mother liked that and she enjoyed having me in her kitchen.

The kitchen was her fortress and her radio was the earpiece to the world. She would sit and talk for hours at the kitchen table while a 24-hour news stations provided background noise. When I began cooking during the holidays, she would put coffee on and regale me with stories about her childhood in Waterford, Pennsylvania.

Those recollections never got old, and I never humored her even though I knew her tales by heart. Cooking was just another way to reach her, and I think she began to enjoy the holidays at her age — with me doing the cooking, of course.

We talked about everything as I peeled shrimp and prepared a ham that would later be shipped to my sister's house up the street on Christmas Eve.

But her seat at the kitchen table remains empty. It has been three years since I cooked for my mother or delivered a bottle of wine for my father who is ill.

And yet, Christmas remains the most wonderful time of year for my family, but every holiday serves as another reminder of just how much those people meant to me.