My Sicilian Orleanian Family
Issue 02
Rose Takes a Ride
My grandmother, Rose, sat in her living room chair as she tried to recall her memories from that treacherous day nearly 70 years ago when she drove her car into the canal.
“Do you think you would have survived if you had landed in the canal when the water was high?” I asked her.
“No,” she replied.
“And I wouldn’t have had Gary. And you wouldn’t be here. And I wouldn’t be here… but I still wonder what happened to my groceries! I bet there were steaks in there,” she laughed.
“Well, they got marinated,” I replied.
It was all because of the groceries.
Like many Sicilian immigrants living in New Orleans during the 1900’s, Rose’s family owned a grocery store.
Her father, Sal Vinterella, took over the family grocery on Olive Street from Rose’s grandfather, Giuseppi Varuso, during the Great Depression. Proud of his new business endeavor, Sal renamed the store Vinterella’s One Stop.
The Vinterella family of five lived huddled in the small residential quarters attached to the back of the grocery store, and everyone worked to help the family: Sal sourced the groceries from local vendors; his wife, Josephine, managed the books; and Rose and her two siblings, Mary and Sal Jr., helped to stock the shelves, work the cash register, and take phone delivery orders.
When Rose was 18, she married Benedetto “Benny” Giordano. The two moved into a double shotgun house on Eagle Street that Sal and Josephine purchased as an investment property, just five blocks away from the grocery store. Rose and Benny lived in one side of the double, while Mary and her husband, Ray, lived in the other side.
The family grocery when it was owned by Giuseppi Varuso (second from left), circa 1925
The summer of 1956 was an exciting time in Rose’s life. She was newly married, pregnant with her first child (my father, Gary), and buying a new car with Benny.
On a hot and humid summer day, the couple wandered about the local Dumas Chevrolet Co. dealership lot looking at cars. They homed in on the 1956 Bel Air and got into a lively debate about which color to purchase.
Benny insisted on the matador red with dune beige accents while Rose preferred the tropical turquoise with India ivory. In the end, Rose conceded to Benny’s enthusiastic argument and agreed to go with the red and beige car.
Fortunately for the young couple, the local dealership did not have one in that color on their lot and loaned them the turquoise and ivory car until theirs arrived. Benny and Rose traded in their 1932 Ford Roadster and drove away in the Chevy Bel Air.
It was in this loaner car that Rose drove to work on a muggy and overcast July morning for an early shift at Vinterella’s One Stop. At the end of her shift, Rose loaded two large grocery bags into the front passenger seat of the Bel Air as dark rain clouds filled the sky.
Rose and Benny Giordano, 1955
A novice driver without a license, Rose began to make her way home. Since there were no seatbelts in the car to help stabilize the groceries, she leaned her petite frame towards the passenger seat, held her right arm out in an attempt to hold the bags upright and in place, and maneuvered the steering wheel with her left hand.
Her route was a simple cut-through of the neighborhood. She would drive a few blocks, take the bridge over the Palmetto Street canal, make a left turn, then a right, and then be home — hopefully in time to bring the groceries inside before the rain started.
Rose could see rain falling in the distance as she took the Cambronne Street bridge over the canal. She gripped the wheel with her left hand and turned it counterclockwise.
The grocery bags in the passenger seat began to topple as the car turned left. Rose lunged her right arm out to try to catch the falling food. Her grasp on the wheel held strong as her body jerked to the side, drastically veering the car farther into the turn than she had intended.
The front of the shiny, new Bel Air bounced over the concrete curb, rebounded off the grass, tipped forward over the edge of the embankment, and plummeted down the 20-foot cement ramp as groceries took flight and ricocheted throughout the car.
Rose Giordano, age 18, leaning against the 1932 Ford Roadster
Rose was astonished to find herself at the base of the canal she just drove over. The car straddled a narrow sliver of water that ran along the bottom of the otherwise dry concrete structure.
Residents at a nearby home saw the car fly into the abyss and ran into the canal. To their surprise, Rose appeared to be unscathed. They helped her out of the car and up the steep concrete sides before welcoming her in for a glass of water and calling her parents at the store.
Josephine rushed over and arrived within minutes of hearing the news. The scene in the canal was drastically different by the time she arrived.
With rain coming down throughout the area, the Sewerage and Water Board of New Orleans turned on the drainage pumps in the canal system to clear the water out of the city and into Lake Pontchartrain.
Josephine pulled up to the intersection to find Rose’s car almost completely submerged in the canal. She rushed into the house crying and embraced Rose.
“She’s okay! She’s okay!” the residents tried to assure her.
“I thought you were under there!” Josephine cried as she held Rose tight.
The police soon arrived and asked Rose for her driver’s license, which she had not yet received.
“I think it’s in the car,” she slyly responded.
The top of the loaner car was barely visible as the flowing rainwater carried the vehicle for miles down the waterway.
Luckily for Benny and Rose, the dealership seemed unbothered by the situation. They were driving their brand new red and beige 1956 Chevrolet Bel Air just two weeks later.
“The worst part of the whole experience was seeing how upset my mother was,” Rose told me.
(Knowing Benny’s gruff nature, we also suspected he was upset he would not be having steaks that night.)
“Did you have a different outlook on life after it happened?” I asked my grandmother.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“I felt like God had to be there in that car. Either He was there, or His angels were there,” she added.
“Well, I’m glad it worked out that way,” I said.
“Me too – for all of us. You wouldn’t be here, and maybe I wouldn’t be here either,” she pondered.
“A whole lineage… It’s funny how life works that way,” I said.
We both smiled.
New Orleans newspaper clippings from the event
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While some details of our lineage are able to be verified, others have been passed down through family stories.