DeepRoots Family Stories

Who doesn't like a good story?? I was visiting at my parent's house and my Dad and I were having one of our chats around the kitchen table. He was telling stories of his pastime most of which I had heard a dozen times before. As I sat and listened to his words, I realized that there will come a day when stories cannot be told or heard of again. This gave me the idea of a family stories page. A page that can preserve the classic tales of our living relatives and ancestors. If you have a story that you would like to share, click here to send me an email with your story.

The Mafia is Coming!!

by Lena Moscardelli
My Grandma Lena Moscardelli used to tell a story that I have heard from more than one family elder. She said as a little girl she can remember on a few occassions where Grandma Ruggerio (Lena's mom) would quickly gather all of the children up at night and run out to the cornfield that was behind their house. When the children asked why they were hiding in the field, the response was the mafia is coming!! They would see a couple of black cars pull up in front of the house and after 10 or 15 minutes they would drive away.

Back to Illinois

By Giuseppe Moscardelli
My family, Victor Moscardelli and Dorothy Hambleton, somehow ended up in Missouri back in the late 1950's and that's where Larry died. He had gotten married to a girl named Louise Morgan and had a baby named Lisa. She was only 4 months old when he died and I was about a month old. Here's the short version of what happened... It was a cold snowy winter and Larry had trouble with his car starting. He was leaving mom's house and his car wouldn't start. Some uncle of Louise's offered to push his car to "jump start it"... well I don't know if you've ever driven out in those areas but I can tell you I have and it's treacherous! You have these un-plowed country roads that wind and curve and go up hill and back down right to a turn in the road! Add a little ice and there's your catastrophe! Larry''s car slid off the embankment and he tried to jump out. He ended up with a broken leg and traumatic brain injury which he died of a few days later. It was a tragedy especially for my mom... she was always a quiet timid shy woman even with her own family. Even as a child myself, I could feel her pain just seeing her expression when Larry's name was mentioned. A few years later we were able to move back to Springfield! Mom was ecstatic to say the least! I can still see her face when we walked up the steps of that old house to the front door and just before we went in she looked down at me and smiled, the smile that says we're home. It was an old rundown house on 1st street owned by a man my dad knew in his youth. The neighbors across the street all came out and were huddled together talking and staring at us as the old work truck pulled into the drive of the house and off the back jumped one child after another with their little nap sack of belongings and headed for the house. Vic happened to have a job doing some work for the man who owned the house. The man, (Marion Rule I think was his name) mentioned if my dad wanted to earn a few extra dollars he could use some help cleaning the weeds and mowing the grass of an old house he had on 1st street... My brother would go to work with our father from the time they were about 11. Dale was only about 14 and after listening to the owner complain about the added pressure of keeping up something he bought as a business venture, he asked Mr. Rule, "Hey our mom wants to get out of the Missouri country so why don't you rent us this house and we'll keep it up for you". Mr. Rule considered the offer and agreed to rent it to us for like $25 per month to pay the taxes and insurance. It was a happy time for the family to finally be out of "the sticks" and back home in Springfield.

The Mural

by Matt Langiano
My Grandma Lena and Grandpa Tony lived in a house at 1325 West Enos street in Springfield, IL. Grandpa Tony was always inviting boarders to stay with them. One day a painter was brought home by Grandpa who needed a place to stay and practice his painting. I am unsure on what kind of deal was made, but the murial was painted by that boarder during his visit. Unfortunately, I have not been able to obtain a picturre of the mural. Although incomplete, I was able to splice a few different pictures together with shots of the Mural in the background.

The Third Floor

by Giuseppe Moscardelli
We also lived on the north side, 1004 north sixth street. It's in an area called Enos Park, one of the oldest areas of Springfield. My family moved in that house about in the mid 1970's. The family that owned it was named Hatch and their father was an acquaintance of Abraham Lincoln. My dad said he use to walk by when he was a kid and occasionally stop to chat with Mrs. Hatch. How ironic we would end up in her house some 40 years later. We rented this huge house for $275 per month, a good deal even back then. The only part of the house we were not privy to was the third floor ballroom. That's where all the old family antiques were stored that they just didn't want or have room for but couldn't bare to part with. So there I am, an inquisitive 12 year old boy who has been told "you can't go up to the third floor ballroom" What could be there?? The back stairway went from the basement winding around to the first floor, second floor, then finally ending at a landing on the third floor. A door to the right and a door to the left. The one on the left side led to a storage area in the eaves but the door to the right led to the ballroom. Weeks turned into months until I was overcome with curiosity about the ballroom and I found myself cautiously ascending that back staircase just a few steps the first day becoming braver over time as I learned each and every creak of the stair treads beneath my feet. I would turn and peer up over the railing trying to get a view of that landing. My mom would have killed me if she caught me on that stairway going beyond the second floor, as I have briefly explained before, mom was timid and if there were rules set out, she did her best to abide by them, but I had to see what was up there!

One day mom was out with Dottie shopping and on this rare occasion there was nobody else at home when I decided to make my move. I went up to the second floor and stood there staring at that staircase for what seemed like forever. Finally, I gathered the courage to go up there, and I made it to the landing of the third floor. The door was padlocked with two screws showing on the metal plate attached to the frame of the door. I hurried and got a screwdriver and eased out the screws one by one setting them on the floor. I turned the knob and eased the door open revealing the remnants of another time lost long ago. A bluish light streamed in from the front window illuminating a mist of dust in the air, the same thick dust covered the entirety of the room from the furniture to the floorboards. A Victrola took center stage in the middle of the room as I walked in almost compelled to it. I lifted the lid and wound the crank handle as if I knew what I was doing with this ancient artifact. I placed the needle on the record that was still on the turntable and it played a shrill sort of sounding old tune. We never had anything really nice in our home. Nothing but old charity furniture or salvation army castaways. We were just too poor to really be able to afford anything really nice and here I was in this room that took up nearly the entire area over the house filled with the old family’s antiques. I was totally enthralled with this space I had secretly ventured into.

Dottie Moscardelli

by Giuseppe Moscardelli
From the time I can remember Dottie had a gentle spirit, nurturing and kind. There was a time when we lived in an old country house in Pleasant Plains and one day while hanging out the laundry mom got stung by some sort of insect that looked like a leaf on the clothes line when she went to swat it away. Now mom was never in the greatest of health being very frail and anemic. She would feed the children and go hungry herself when there was little food. Whatever this insect sting was it knocked her down with a vengeance as she just didn't have the strength or stamina to hardly get out of bed for days that turned into weeks. Of course, a doctor was out of the question, there just wasn't any money to pay for that sort of thing when a meal was not even accessible. It was a twelve year old girl who sat at our mother's bedside day and night, washed her face, and fed her corn type of soup made from the stolen ears of corn from the middle of the farmers field where we lived. One day there was a knock at the door, the principal from the country school enquiring why Dottie was absent for so long. When they came to our mom's room and saw her laid up in bed and the care Dottie was giving her they held their head down as they left the house and did not return. In the coming weeks our mother slowly regained her strength and made a full recovery from this mysterious illness. Just as our mother was always there to defend her children, to give when there was nothing more to give, Dottie was there for her.

Dorsey Girl Killed in Crash

by Sheryl Helmkamp
My Mom was cleaning out the attic recently and found a tote with some random pictures and knick knacks. Among these items, was a red box that several newspaper clippings of random relatives in the Madison County, Illinois area. Being the historian junkie that I am, she knew to call me so I could go through it. I came across a newspaper article of a woman named Janelle Heuer who was fatally killed in a car crash in Dorsey, Illinois. I asked Mom who the lady was in the article. She said she was not known to the family, but there is a reason for the clipping. My Mom told me that one night after a visit with our relatives in the area, my Grandpa and Grandma were driving home back to Springfield. Along the way, they came across Miss Heuer's car accident that had just occurred. They stopped at the accident to help in anyway that they could. Grandma Lois found Miss Heuer with a big piece of glass sticking out of the back of her head and realized her time was limited. Grandma Lois sat and held Miss Heuer in her arms until the ambulance arrived. Miss Heuer was reported decesaed as they arrived at the hospital.

The 1967 Merle Hornstein Murder

This is a fascinating story that was sent to me by Janet Clifford-Macon about a distant relative we have in common. One afternoon, Janet sends me an email telling me to do a Google search on Merle Hornstein. Merle was married to a woman named Annette Steskal. Annette's Grandma, Maria Maschio, had a sister named Angelina who married Luigi Moscardelli. Luigi Mosardelli was the first born son of Francesco Paolo Moscardelli B. 1865 D. 1940 with his first wife Anna Filomena Delli Fiori.

So I did my search on Merle and found out that he was not the most stand-up citizen that lived in Springfield, Illinois. Both him and his brother Marvin were indicted a few times on several counts for running gambling dens and other petty crimes. Merle was a boarderline gangster or at least a wannabe that is until 1967 when his life was cut short. Here is the story of the murder of Merle Hornstein from a 1973 Illinois Supreme Court Law case document entitled "People v. Stuart Cole" .

"On the morning of April 28, 1967, a freshly dug grave containing the mutilated remains of two men, subsequently identified as Merle Hornstein and Bill Worthington, was discovered southwest of Springfield. Interviews with persons acquainted with the deceased men, as well as a gravesite investigation, led police to believe that probable cause existed to arrest the defendant for the murders, Stuart Cole. On the afternoon of the 28th, at approximately 1:30, police proceeded to the defendant's residence, a former railroad blockhouse, where defendant was arrested.

One of the victims, Merle Hornstein, and another party owned the railroad blockhouse where the defendant lived. On April 27, 1967, at about 1 P.M., Hornstein and Bill Worthington left Hornstein's home in Springfield. They were driving Hornstein's red El Camino Chevrolet pickup truck. Hornstein was known to have had several hundred dollars in currency with him. At about 1:10 P.M., he stopped at a business establishment and asked a friend to accompany them to the blockhouse. The friend declined and Hornstein and Worthington drove off in the direction of the defendant's home. The red El Camino truck was seen parked at the blockhouse by several neighbors between 2 P.M. and 6 P.M. At that time the truck was empty. Two neighbors testified that during the afternoon two shots were heard. The sounds came from the direction of the blockhouse. About 6 P.M. the truck was seen leaving. At that time it contained boxes and bags.

At about 7 P.M., the defendant purchased a flashlight, batteries, some rope and a long-handled tool at a local hardware store. The check-out lady was acquainted with the defendant and noticed that he was carrying a large sum of money in his money pouch. That evening he was seen driving the truck turning off the road which led to the vicinity of the gravesite, a wooded-area south of Spaulding Orchard Road, onto a State highway. At 3:40 A.M. on April 28th, the truck was found burning along the highway and a rifle which belonged to the defendant was found in the cab of the truck. Later that morning the defendant was seen walking along the railroad tracks toward Springfield. A card addressed to the defendant was found near the gravesite and ballistic evidence indicated that metal fragments found in the dismembered bodies had been fired from the defendant's gun. Tire prints found near the gravesite were identified as having been made by the truck. When the police and the sheriff went to the blockhouse to arrest the defendant, they saw blood on the floor at the entrance to the building. The officers broke open the door and arrested the defendant on the roof of the building. At that time he was armed with a loaded .45-caliber automatic and a 12-gauge shotgun."

The 1957 James Di Rosa Murder

While researching the Merle Hornstein story above, I was casually reading the other notable murder stories in the Springfied, IL area and came across a familiar name in the family tree, James Di Rosa. The same Annette Steskal mentioned above had an uncle named Frank Steskal who married Louise Di Rosa. Louise is James Di Rosa's sister. The 2012 State Journal Register article entitled: "Gruesome Crimes Among City's Notorious" describes the details of the murder.

"James DeRosa, a local jukebox and pinball operator, had been missing for weeks in 1957. DeRosa had called his wife on August 19th saying he would be home for dinner soon, however, he never showed up. Police at first were reluctant to classify the case as a homicide, but that quickly changed a few weeeks later on September 5th. John Dunlap, a local farmer, was at home when his collie pup dragged a human head, with some hair and skin still clinging to it, into Dunlap’s farm lot. A search quickly followed, and about three hours later, DeRosa’s headless torso was found in a cornfield near the tiny community of Andrew, just west of Sherman. Authorities believed the dog had pulled the head from the badly decomposed body. DeRosa had been shot in the face. The discovery launched one of the largest coordinated manhunts in the history of Sangamon County, according to newspaper archives. From September to December, police traveled thousands of miles and questioned hundreds of witnesses across the country. In the end, Sangamon County State’s Attorney J. Waldo Ackerman Jr. said all leads had been checked out and there were no more clues. One of the main suspects in the De Rosa murder was Frank Zito, the local "Godfather of Springfield" and "business" competitor of James De Rosa, but was quickly dismissed. The DeRosa killing still remains unsolved today.

Cleaning Grandpa Domenico!

by Matt Langiano
Giovandomenico Lanciano is my great-great grandfather who brought the family from Pescolamazza (today Peso Sannita), Italy to America in 1905. It took me quite awhile to crack his side of the Langiano code which made it that much more meaningful when I did. One of the hardest treasures to find of Domenico was where he died and where he was buried. I had found him listed in Springfield city directories under the butchered last name of "Lynch" up until 1916. After 1916, his wife Filomena was listed as a widow so I figured he had died and was buried in Springfield. The two obvious choices were Calvary and Oak Ridge Cemeteries, however, both did not have anyone close to that name or "Lynch" in their registry's. I had a strong vibe that he was buried in Calvary Cemetery since two of his kids and his in-laws were all buried in there and they were Catholic.

Before she died, I met with my cousin Vicki Langiano to talk the old days and try to obtain more famiy history information. One of the questions I asked her was do you know the location of Domenico's grave. She swore she had been there before and even gave me a brief description of what the grave looked like as far as she could remember. She described it as a tall pedestal grave with a cross on top and rosary beads. She also thought it was in Calvary. Now with a hint more of proof, I decided to take on the tedious task of walking row-by-row looking at every grave in Calvary until I found the one that fit Vicki's description. I recruited my little brother Dylan and we spent about 6 hours on two different Saturday's in the middle of August looking at graves with no luck.

Realizing there had to be an easier way, I hit the newspapers. I was hoping maybe I would get lucky and find an obituary. Using Newspapers.com I searched every which way I could and found absolutely nothing. I then remembered the city directories and how bad the name was mispelled as "Lynch" so I started searching using far-off variations of Langiano/Lanciano. Eureka!! Finally, I had found the obituary hiding under the surname "Leng" and my suspicion was correct He was buried in Calvary Cemetery, but still could not figure out why their registry did not have him listed.

I called over to the cemetery office again and had them expand their search for any person whose last name starts with L and also died in 1916 and sure enough Domenico was found!!! They had him listed under the name Lougiano, which there is now an addendum noted. They gave me a map and sent me on my way. A few minutes later I was standing in front of the grave grinning from ear-to-ear with tear drops running from my eyes. It was exactly as Vicki described it. The location of the grave was very deep to me. A few hundred feet to the north of the Calvary Cemetery office there is a sidewalk that runs to the south. This sidewalk stops right as the grade of the hill starts to get steep. Domenico was located right where the sidwalk ends just to the right. "Where the sidewalk ends" was symbolic to me as if that's it, you finally did it!! It was euphoric.

The grave was filthy, covered in dirt and algae and the cross had been broken off from a falling tree branch. It was very close to what Vicky had described, but I am not sure I would have found it during my manual search. I was looking for a rosary above the cross, however, there are actually four rosarys, one on each side of the grave below the cross. The engraving was all in Italian, which I thought was fantastic. It reads: Here cushions the bones of Domenico Langiano Born in the year 1867 on the 28 March Died on the 11 February 1916. I decided right there that I was making it my duty to restore this grave back to the way it looked in 1916. A few Saturday's later, I went to Lowe's and bought all of the cleaning materials needed for the restoration. I wanted to make the grave cleaning a family affair so we would have another great memory together so we loaded up and headed for the cemetery.

There wasn't any running water in the cemetery, so we had to haul buckets of water along with our cleaning supplies up the hill to the grave to begin our project. I felt great pleasure and pride as I did the long over due maintenance on Grandpa's grave. As I cleaned I used this opportunity to talk with the kids on the importance of knowing where you come from and and visiting and taking care of your elders even after they have passed on. After the first cleaning of scrubbing the grave with muriatic acid and thoroughly rinsing, the grave was starting to come around.
One of the things I personally cherish about The Hill are the fire hydrants. All of the fire hydrants within the neighborhood are painted with the Italian Flag. I think it is awesome to the extent that they will go to exhibit the pride of their heritage. This last 2019 Christmas I was asked what I wanted for Christmas and my answer was a fire hydrant. I thought it would be a great project to do and add some Italian decor to my neighborhood when it was finished. My wonderful in-laws granted me my Christmas wish. My parents also sweetened the deal by getting me a gift card large enough to cover my paint supplies.

After about a week and several coats of paint of green, white, and red, my "Hill" replica hydrant was complete. It was proudly placed in our front flower bed for all visitors and passersby to see. Since I had the extra paint, I also made a replica of the giant Italian flag that they sometimes paint on the street on the ceiling of my garage. This one was a little bit harder to sell to the wife, but I was able to pull it off. Truth be told, I am lucky to have her to share these crazy obsessions of mine. Grazie Cara Mia!