For The Lost of February '44 - PART II

For The Lost of February '44 - Part II: Seeking the Truth

One of my earliest memories is of a large framed photograph of Damiano leaning against boxes as we moved into a new home when I was around two years old.  When my father and grandmother lived in Molfetta, this photo had a prominent place beside a lit candle with other photographs of the dearly departed.  The tradition ceased in our household upon my grandmother's arrival in America, and the photo was respectfully stored away.  Nonetheless, Damiano's memory remained a strong presence.  My father and grandmother would occasionally speak of my grandfather's loss.  The most common theories shared was that he was placed on a boat by the Nazis who then sank it with explosives in retribution for his perceived treachery.  I now know that murderous revenge was the only logic they could project onto the vague information received from the Italian Ministry of Defense.  It was the closest thing to closure that they would be allowed for decades.

Since I was the first born male in a traditional Italian family, there was little debate over what I would be named.  As I grew up as Damiano's namesake, I would occasionally wonder about his fate and its impact on my family.  Had he lived, would I have paternal aunts, uncles, and first-cousins?  Would my family have come to America at all or just stayed in Italy?  Would I even exist?  However, one question was most prevalent: What really happened to him?  As I entered my early 30s, I was struck with the realization that I had reached the same age as Damiano at the time of his disappearance.  I just decided that learning the truth was worth a shot, and I had nothing to lose by simply trying.

First Steps

I started where most searches for information commence in the modern age: Google.  I just entered basic search terms based on the little information I had, such as shipwreck, February 11 1944, Rhodes and refined my searches from there.  Suddenly, I was surfing through forums and websites dedicated to diving, shipwrecks, and maritime disasters.  Using my functional grasp of Italian, I sifted through whatever information I could find online about Italian soldiers during World War II, Italian prisoners of war, and World War II campaigns in the Aegean.  I even found myself using tools like Google Translate to piece together information from Greek websites.  In time, I made several crucial discoveries:

• The Oria - The steamship Oria left Rhodes on February 11, 1944 carrying over 4,000 Italian prisoners of war captured by the Nazis.  It's destination was Piraeus on the Greek mainland where the prisoners would be transported to prison camps.  However, in the early hours of February 12, during an intense storm, the ship hit a reef while navigating shallow waters along the island of Patroklou.  When I first learned about the Oria, most of the information was anecdotal and lacked documented evidence.  
• Aristotelis "Telis" Zervoudis - In the early 2000s, Telis, a Greek diver, began to make inquiries into the debris of a shipwreck in Cape Sounion.  In addition, to collecting local information in Greece, he reached out across the globe for any relevant data available.  If it weren't for Telis, we may never have learned the truth, and we all owe him a great debt.
• Serendipity Happens - Call it a lucky coincidence, but before long, I began to encounter others on a similar quest.  Each of us bore similar scraps of information concerning a lost relative who had been stationed in Rhodes, and in all our stories, the date February 11th or 12th, 1944, somehow played a significant role.  One of us started a Facebook group, which for a long period had less than half a dozen members.  As of this writing, it will soon surpass 150.

Seeking Documentation

Upper-left section of Damiano's registro di leva

In the meantime, I began to collect any documentation available.  I started by asking my parents to provide me with whatever documents my grandmother may have left for us.  My greatest challenge was wrestling with my angst towards the infamy of Italian bureaucracy.  I knew that I had to reach out to the Italian State Archives for official military documents, but tales of delays, runarounds, and indifference dissuaded me for longer than I would like to admit.  I finally overcame my aversion by using advice I found online, such as within this thread on the ItalianGenealogy.com forum.  Once again, I learned that you only gain when you try, and what I gained was an unexpectedly intimate glimpse into the past, particularly within Damiano's "registro di leva". (conscription records).  Besides standard information like date of birth, parentage, and hometown, a registro di leva may also include very unique, personal details about a draftee.  Traits that further humanized my grandfather and weren't evident in black and white photos.  For example, I learned that Damiano was almost 5.5 feet (1.67 meters) tall.  Therefore, he was no giant by modern standards though his contemporaries may have disagreed.  His hair and eyes were brown, and he had a "rosy" complexion with a "Greek" nose.  The record itemized his military activities from shipping out from Barletta to Rhodes as part of the 35th Artillery Regiment to its haunting conclusion.  To paraphrase, it abruptly ends stating that he was imprisoned by the Germans on September 11, 1943, and by all accounts, he comported himself honorable.  No additional details were provided.

Last entry in Damiano's conscription records.

With no details of his fate, shipwreck or not, I felt as though I was back at square one.  My mind played with all kinds of fanciful scenarios. Perhaps my grandfather didn't die.  Maybe he escaped the prison camps and decided to start a new life on a Greek island like characters in the 1991 Academy Award winning Italian film Mediterraneo.  Both instinct and reason told me otherwise, but only documented proof could provide validation.

In the meantime, our small band of researchers began to grow as other descendants of Italian soldiers with similar ambiguous fates began to surface in response to posts on message boards, Facebook, and other social media.   Individuals from websites, such as Dodecaneso, and formal organizations, such as Associazione Nazionale Divisione Aqui, began to generously offer counsel and resources to facilitate our quest.  However, the Italian government kept us at a distance with diplomatic and often condescending responses.  Undeterred, we kept searching and asking questions.  We held onto the shaky belief that some form of official record must exist if a shipwreck of this magnitude occurred, even amidst the chaos of war.  However, the probability of an actual list of prisoners transported on the ship coming to light seemed the slimmest likelihood of all.

Our turning point arrived in the fall of 2010,  The International Committee of the Red Cross responded with what we saw as our Holy Grail.  The Germans had in fact created an extensive report about the shipwreck, and it included a list of passengers.  The list consisted of 4,116 lost on 64 pages in PDF form.  Almost overcome with emotion, we each combed through the list name by name.  Finally, this was the opportunity my family had been anticipating for over six decades!  When I reached the final page without recognizing my grandfather's name, I just sat staring at my computer screen.  Once again feeling that I was back at the beginning, my only consolation was that perhaps other members of my group would find the closure that they deserved.  I wrote to our email distribution list to share my mixed emotions and offer my continued support.  My plan was to put everything aside for a while and start fresh when inspiration struck me.  However, the next morning everything changed once again

Damiano's misspelled name on the Oria passenger list.

Why I expected Damiano's name to simply jump out at me is a question which embarrasses me to this day.  Had I read the list just one more time, I would probably have caught the obvious. Nonetheless, one of my research colleagues, Barbara, responded almost immediately to point out that De Virgilio Daniano was misspelled on the list as Di Virginio Damiano. To say I was ecstatic and relieved would be an understatement.  However, I also could not help but wonder how much this meager two letter typo had contributed to the mystery through the years.

Today is the 69th anniversary of the Oria shipwreck.  While no memorial has been erected and artifacts and human remains still lay along the bottom of the Aegean, various members of our group are taking steps to ensure that the date does not pass forgotten.   This includes a brief piece on the Italian television show La Vita in Diretta on Rai Uno.  In my next and final post in this series, I will share the successes and challenges faced as we try to make up for almost seven lost decades and counting.

Continue onto For The Lost of February '44 - Part III

or

Return to For The Lost of February '44 - Part I

For The Lost of February '44 - Part I

As I explained in my initial blog post, my interest in genealogy was sparked by a desire to learn the fate of my paternal grandfather, Damiano De Virgilio, the man for whom I am named.  In fact, this blog is named for my goal of "knowing Nonno."  With the recent passing of Veteran's Day in the US, this seems like an appropriate time to provide some richer context on my experience in exploring his story.  However, for the sake of keeping posts relatively succinct, I will divide this tale into three parts to be posted over the coming weeks.

• Part I: Background
• Part II: Seeking the Truth
• Part III: We Will Not Forget

Even after 68 years, the ripples from Damiano's loss resonate through my family.  Anyone who has dealt with the unexpected loss of a loved one, whether military or civilian, without proper closure will understand how these wounds echo through time.  I am sure that many of you will recall your own personal connections with tragic loss throughout history as you read this story.  All such events deserve to be honored in their own way.  This particular story is fundamentally about a group of people scattered across the world who came together against the odds to discover the truth.  We are linked by the gruesome deaths of our fathers, grandfathers, brothers, uncles, etc. who were among the 4,046 Italian prisoners of war who perished in a tragic shipwreck in the very early hours of February 12, 1944 while being transported by the Nazis from Rhodes to the Greek mainland.  Our goals are to:

• Inform the thousands of families who are still unaware of the fate of their loved ones.  
• Properly memorialize these men
• Protect artifacts and human remains associated with the shipwreck

After so many years of painful ambiguity, this is the least that can be done.

The Lost of February 12, 1944 - Part I: Background

Mariantonia De Ruvo & Damiano De Virgilio
(circa early 1938)

Like all my ancestors of which I am aware, Nonno Damiano was born and raised in Molfetta, Italy.  He was the youngest male child of seven born to Maria Saveria Modugno and Francesco De Virgilio.  I have met very few people during my lifetime who knew Damiano personally.  However, certain traits and stories have lingered through the years.  He was tall and imposing, yet handsome, with massive hands that seemed molded for the strenuous farm life his family had labored at for generations.  His initial courting of my grandmother involved a ruse about needing to pick up a sack of seeds from her parents' home.  He was also known for quite the temper, which, truth be told, is not very surprising when I consider the genes he passed on to us.  On January 8, 1938, as he approached 26 years of age, he married Mariantonia De Ruvo, and by November of that same year, they would have their only child, my father Francesco.  Though Damiano hoped to simply settle down into the humble farming tradition of his ancestors, little did he know that he soon would be off to war, never to see his young wife and infant son again.

Damiano presumably in Rhodes
(circa 1942)

Benito Mussolini's fascist regime had delusional, imperial aspirations, and its alignment with the sinister agenda of the Nazis during World War II will eternally taint the history of Italy during the 20th century.  Damiano was just one of millions of men forced to serve a cause that he likely neither understood nor advocated.  He shipped out in January 1940 as part of the 35th Artillery Regiment of the Italian occupying force in Rhodes in the Aegean Sea.  All letters exchanged with his family are lost, but fortunately, copies of photographs shared by mail survive as testaments to a longing for the life that he left at home.

With the Italian Armistice of September 8, 1943, Italian soldiers like my grandfather were faced with the choice of either continuing to fight alongside the Nazis or risk the unknown outcome of the alternative.  I am proud to say that many Italian soldiers chose the latter, often with dire consequences, such as the Massacre of the Acqui Division.  My grandfather made his choice and was taken prisoner by the Germans on September 11, 1943.  Reports on his whereabouts ceased as of late January 1944.  For decades, nothing more was known of his fate.

Mariantonia & her son Francesco (circa 1942)

With the lack of news, Nonna Mariantonia scrambled to learn whatever she could through formal and informal channels.  She even wrote to the Vatican for assistance in learning the fate of her husband.  (Thank you Carolyn Ugolini for finding this priceless family record!)  No information was available, and he was simply declared missing in action.  Mariantonia dealt with this personal agony as best she could.  She never remarried and raised her only son on her own while running a rented farm.  It wasn't until the early 1970s, just after moving to the US, that she received word from the Italian Ministry of Defense vaguely declaring that her husband had died in the sinking of an unknown steamship off the coast of the mysteriously named "Island of Goidano" in February 1944.

For about 40 years, my family was forced to content itself with this nebulous information.  In my next post, I'll recount how the power of Google, social media, and mere serendipity ultimately brought the truth to light.

Continue onto For The Lost of February '44 - Part II

A Tale of a Forgotten Zio

When I began to explore my family history, I naturally expected to discover my share of ancestors who were completely new to me but were known to other living members of my family.  I anticipated moments where I would mention a newly found name to a relative, and the response would be "Nah, niorsi, m'ricord ca...."  Putting aside my pathetic attempt to write "Nah, yes, I remember that..." in the Molfettese dialect, I've been blessed with several of these moments of revelation.  Memories have been jogged to reveal additional nuggets of vital information that often lead to further discoveries.  However, for the past several years, one figure has consistently stood out as a major mystery: a paternal great-granduncle named Mauro De Virgilio.

I was lucky enough to grow up in an environment full of granduncles and grandaunts.  My parents also seemed to have no problem naming the siblings of their grandparents even if they only held wisps of memories.  My father can still proudly recall some of his paternal grandfather's brothers whom he remembers as elderly men when he was a small child in Molfetta.  However, neither my father nor any other member of his family had any inkling of Mauro's existence.  Even in terms of documented evidence, he was like a mirage, disappearing and then suddenly reappearing in unexpected places.   Regardless, in the end, his story reminds us of the darker and lonelier aspects of the immigrant experience.  It also forces us to acknowledge that documented evidence can't always tell us the full story of a person's experience, especially the more intimate challenges or demons endured throughout the course of life.

On the very first day that I began to  explore the wealth of records from Molfetta on microfilms at the Family History Center in Emerson, NJ, I came across Mauro's birth record from March 19, 1883.  I thought I had simply found another sibling of my paternal great-grandfather, Francesco De Virgilio.  At first, I just assumed that Mauro had lived out life in Molfetta much like his brother.  However, then I entered Mauro's data into my Ancestry.com family tree.  Within seconds, those famed little green leaves started to sprout indicating record matches.  Despite my skepticism, I found the following records which are clearly related to Mauro:

• An Ellis Island passenger list indicated that he arrived in the US in March of 1907
• A World War I draft registration card indicating that he was living in Scranton, PA, and working at the Scranton Coal Company as of September 1918
• A petition for naturalization documenting residence in Scranton as of August 1920

The only inconsistency is that all these records reflect a March 19, 1884 birth date.  However, since I wasn't able to locate any birth records showing that a Mauro De Virgilio was born in Molfetta exactly one year after my Mauro, I can only speculate as to why this error exists.

My first reaction to these finds was "Scranton?!"  I've known my ancestors to be mariners, farmers, and various types of dock workers, but coal miners?  Also immigrants to the US from Molfetta during this period were congregating in Hoboken, NJ.  I never considered Northeastern Pennsylvania as a destination for my ancestors, but I soon learned that Italian immigrants were among the many ethnic groups who labored in the coal mines of the region.

After his petition for naturalization, Mauro disappears from records.  To add to my frustration, he appears in not a single census record up to this point.  However, there is a positive note to this part of the story. As I dug through Scranton records and information online, I discovered a nephew of Mauro, Michele De Virgilio, who settled in Scranton too.  Via this discovery, I was able to connect with Michele's daughter, my 2nd cousin once removed, who was extremely gracious with sharing all the information available to her.  Unfortunately, she knew nothing of Mauro.  Thus began a long drought of new data, even after seeking assistance from various PA-based genealogical experts.  Finally, I decided to put the project aside for a while as one often does when faced with brick walls in family history research.

Then April 2012 rolled around, and little did I know what awaited me in the highly anticipated release of the 1940 US Census.  Well, another little green leaf sprouted, and a "Mauro Devirgilia" appears as a resident of the Hudson County Alms House in Secaucus, NJ.  This was the closest match I had found for Mauro in any census.  His age matched within a few years, and it claims that he was a resident of Jersey City in 1935.  Thus, I faced an unfortunate possibility: Though Mauro's life had brought him closer to the Molfettese immigrant community in Hoboken, it had also sadly resulted in residence in the poorhouse.

Delving through newspapers, city directories, and other records, I once again hit a desert of data.  Then I recalled a controversy that I read about roughly a decade ago.  The Hudson County Burial Grounds was a cemetery used to bury unclaimed bodies from the alms house and the neighboring asylum and penitentiary.  All of these facilities were located in an area of Secaucus known as Snake Hill.  The cemetery had been all but forgotten until excavations associated with a $235-million highway-interchange project exposed that the remains of almost 10,000 individuals were still entombed on the property.  A group, including a fellow descendent of Molfetese immigrants whose grandfather was buried in the cemetery, fought to ensure that the remains were relocated and properly memorialized.  The controversy was covered by publications throughout the nation, including Archeology.  In fact, the story became the subject of an award-winning 2007 documentary, called Snake Hill. 

Though I followed the story with interest as it unfolded, I never thought that I had a personal connection to it, but now I decided to follow a hunch that Zio Mauro may have been among those buried at Snake Hill.  Upon examining the burial list, I came across a record for a "DeVirgilio Dauro" buried on November 5, 1941.  Since the name was only off by a single letter, I decided to make my inaugural visit to the New Jersey State Archives where I located this death certificate.  It states that a Mauro DeVirgilio died on October 31st, 1941 and was buried in the "almshouse cemetery".  Although some of his personal information is slightly off, such as his father's name (Nick rather than Michele), these inaccuracies can feasibly be attributed to facility administrators who filled out the form based on the "records of the institution" as stated on the certificate.  Furthermore, whomever filled out the form didn't care much for math either since it was believed that someone can live from 1873 to 1941 and be 57 years old.

These flubs aside, the most striking bit of new information on the document was his last known address, 200 Grand St. in Hoboken. Besides being the location of Hoboken's iconic Italian restaurant Leo's Grandevous since 1939, when I looked up the property in the 1940 Census, I was intrigued to find that a family headed by an Ignazio De Robertis lived in the building.  While the surname De Robertis is rather common in Molfetta, Mauro's slightly older sister Vincenza married a man named Ignazio De Robertis.   Though I have found no evidence of a link among the De Robertis families, it's possible that Mauro had been a boarder at some point with members of his sister's extended family.

Again, this is guesswork, and much of Mauro's tale is open to theories until further evidence is uncovered.  In addition to the De Robertis connection, some of the biggest teases come from the other names associated with his records, such as an alleged cousin, Mauro Rana (Mauro's mother's maiden name), whom Mauro was meeting in the US according to his passenger list.  Though I have found no leads linked to such names, perhaps the internet gods will deem me worthy of a chance web search by descendants of these individuals who might be able to shed more light on Mauro's tale.

The largest void in Mauro's story is from 1920 to 1940.  One can't help but wonder what brought a man petitioning for naturalization to end up in the poorhouse 20 years later.  Much was occurring in the world during these decades to place a life in turmoil: the Great Depression and Prohibition just to name a few.  Mauro may have also suffered from illnesses, injuries, or addictions that contributed to his lonesome fate.

Some might question why one would bother to explore the life of a long-dead, distant relative who may have been a vagabond.   Well, as we rightfully celebrate our immigrant ancestors who lifted themselves up from nothing to various forms of success, we can appreciate their efforts all the more when we are reminded of an opposite fate that may have awaited them. Besides, if in truth Mauro was just a good man who was dealt a raw deal, then perhaps some justice is found in knowing that he is no longer forgotten.

Launching on a Very Symbolic, Poignant Date

I've played with the idea of creating a blog related to my interest in genealogy since I started exploring the subject more seriously about three years ago.  I've avoided it mainly for fear that it would be a vain, self-indulgent effort that would have very little value.  However, earlier this month, I attended the RootsTech conference, and my perspective changed drastically.  There I learned that though I am not a genealogy expert I need to do my part to nurture this precious, emotional pursuit.  It's done a lot for me, and by sharing my successes, failures, and whatever knowledge I've gained, I hope others as well as I might gain at least a little...If not, perhaps this "vain, self-indulgent effort" might serve as good cousin bait.

I am particularly concerned about the state of Italian genealogy.  Please don't get me wrong...There are many passionate, knowledgeable people out there dedicated to the field.  Some of these individuals can be found via the links along the right.  However, as I've become more involved in the broader genealogy community, I can't help but feel that individuals of Italian descent are underrepresented when it comes to shaping genealogy's future.  Therefore, I also hope to do my part to change that.

I've chosen to launch this blog on a very symbolic day for me, February 12.  In fact, it represents the main reason I began exploring genealogy in the first place.  Like many first born males of Italian descent, I was named after my parternal nonno (grandfather), Damiano De Virgilio.  Even as I was growing up, his disappearance while serving in the Italian army during World War II cast a very long shadow over the lives of my immediate family.  All we knew was that he was taken prisoner by the Germans in Rhodes after the Italian armistice of September 8, 1943.  After that, his fate was a complete mystery.

Carrying his name made me feel that I had an obligation to uncover the truth despite the logistical and bureaucratic hurdles.  In the end, I discovered the truth about the forgotten Oria shipwreck off the coast of Greece where over 4,000 Italian prisoners of war perished on February 12, 1944.

When I started, I never anticipated that the process would also teach me incredible lessons in the power of the internet, social media, and collaboration across boundaries of language and geography.  Abigail Pfeiffer eloquently recounts the struggle and successes in one of her blog posts, and Salvatore Rossetti has created a site to help honor our lost family members.  There are so many to thank and recognize in this still evolving epic where we continue to work to inform all family members of victims, ensure that the lost are properly memorialized, and engage authorities to help protect human remains and artifacts from vandals. However, I would be doing a major disservice if I did not acknowledge Aristotelis Zervoudis.  If it wasn't for him, none of this would have been possible.

Most recently, RAI TV has produced several pieces on the Oria.  This following video has English subtitles.

Earlier this week, a fellow grandson of one of the fallen, Michele Ghirardelli, was interviewed on an Italian talk show.

In future posts, I will discuss various aspects of our efforts from a genealogical perspective, but for today, I do my small part in honoring my Nonno Damiano, his fellow lost, and all those who continue to work to ensure that their memory lives on.