By William C. Shelton

(The opinions and views expressed in the commentaries and letters to the Editor of The Somerville Times belong solely to the authors and do not reflect the views or opinions of The Somerville Times, its staff or publishers)

In February we celebrated my next-door neighbor’s one-hundredth birthday. I want to tell you about him because I think that Peter Fantasia exemplifies so much about what made the ‘Villens of the “greatest generation” great.

They endured the Great Depression, emerged from World War II, and shaped what was the most densely populated city in the nation into the one that we love. They were ordinary people who accomplished extraordinary things without thinking that they were doing anything special.

Peter Fantasia’s father immigrated to the U.S. in 1908 at the age of 18. As were so many Somerville Italians, he was from Gaeta, on the Tyrrhenian coast between Naples and Rome.

His small and dexterous hands enabled him to find work assembling mechanisms that his coworkers were unable to manipulate. He also found – and married – Antoinetta Albano, whose family were recent immigrants as well. Peter was born in 1916 in their Brickbottom home at 113R Medford Street, followed by his sister Rose, and then Mary.

In 1926 the Commonwealth took neighborhood homes to make way for the “Northern Artery,” which became McGrath Highway. Dispossessed, the family moved up the hill to 12 Highland Avenue, where they began a rooming house.

During the Depression they suffered less than many working-class Americans. Francesco’s work and the rooming house provided steady income.

But the Depression left its mark in a variety of ways. It taught permanent lessons of prudence and frugality. Decades later, Peter would reverse and hand sew worn collars on his Post Office uniforms.

The Depression also seems to have strengthened his sense of obligation toward others who were struggling, through no fault of their own. The family sought good tenants, but kept rents modest. When rent control was about to be adopted, city officials admonished them to increase their rents. Peter has practiced the benevolent landlord philosophy to this day.

In 1931, Francesco went looking for a home that would accommodate his growing family. A three-family property on Boston Street was up for sale. But when he met with its Irish-American owner, she declared that she would never sell to a “Guinea.”

Francesco dejectedly described the incident to his hunting buddy Peter Moore, a Somerville policeman. Moore, in turn, told the story to Somerville District Court Judge Malcom Sturtevant, and the Judge had a conversation with Mrs. Osgood. He told her that she was at risk of being sued by Mr. Fantasia and losing her home.

I doubt that the law in place at that time would have allowed a plaintiff to successfully prosecute such an action. But Judge Sturtevant’s moral authority was sufficient to persuade Mrs. Osgood to do the right thing.

It seems that enmity has always existed between incumbent ethnic groups and new arrivals – Yankees vs. Irish, then Irish vs. Italians, then Italians vs. Portuguese. But members of the opposite sex and the opposite ethnic group were often exotically attractive among the youth of the next generation.

So it was with Peter. While hanging out on the grass in front of the library with his Hamlet-Street pal, he laid eyes on Mildred Mooney, a ‘Villen of Irish and English ethnicity. He got up, chased after her, and found her cool toward his enthusiasm.

But she began patronizing the drugstore on the corner of School and Highland where Peter worked as a soda jerk. For younger readers, I should explain that drugstores once had soda fountains and lunch counters. Pepsi-Cola and Coca-Cola were both formulated by druggists. The drugstore employees who served customers and pulled soda-fountain levers were affectionately called “soda jerks.”

Millie would conspicuously drop food on the floor, obligating Peter to clean it up. He eventually persuaded her to go out with him. But his mother stalked them and ordered Millie to stay away from her son. She did.

Back home, Peter’s mother told him that if he brought Millie home, she would throw her down the stairs. Peter’s sisters vowed to wear down their mother’s resistance, and Peter vowed to pursue and woo Millie.

Military service interrupted the marathon courtship. But I’m getting ahead of the narrative.

Peter graduated from Somerville High School in 1934. He left Northeastern University after a semester, for the opportunity to operate his own business. It was the Highland Food Shop, on Highland Avenue.

In 1941 he reported to the Army for the year of military service that was mandatory for young men in the run up to World War II. After Congress declared war that December, he was transferred to the 26^th Yankee Division, 104^th Regiment, Third Battalion, where he served as a medic and ambulance driver.

In the spring of 1944, he spent a cold, wet, and miserable bivouac thinking about home and Mildred. When he returned to barracks, he called her and proposed that they marry during his upcoming leave. They did so on May 7^th.

The Allies invaded Normandy the next month, and in September, Peter’s unit deployed to Cherbourg. By 12 November, they had fought their way to Rodalbe, about 40 miles from the German border. Peter’s Silver Star citation describes what happened next.

“…At all times under heavy enemy fire, he moved about coolly administering aid and comfort to his wounded comrades without letup. When our forces were subjected to a strong enemy counter attack lead by tanks, causing additional casualties, he courageously continued administering vital aid to his wounded comrades, without regard for his personal safety.

“When the enemy attack inside the town increased to such an extent that movement to a better position outside the town was ordered, Technician Third Grade Fantasia refused to leave, preferring to remain in the town to aid his comrades who were wounded too seriously to permit immediate evacuation under the heavy fire. He was last seen administering aid to his wounded comrades as our troops left the town and is now missing in action….”

The shelling stopped at about 23:00, and Peter returned to his foxhole. When he heard movement, he looked up and saw a German officer aiming a weapon at him. Peter said to his comrade, “I’ll dive right and you shoot him.”

The German said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He was a German American from Arkansas who had returned to Germany when the war came.

Peter spent five months as a prisoner of war, until Soviet forces liberated him on 28 April 1945. He returned to Somerville five months later and worked at the Union Square Post Office until retirement.

He and Millie set up house on School Street, where Francis, Paul, and Martha were born. In 1951 they moved into the first floor of the Boston Street home, where Annette was born. Francesco and Antoinetta lived on the second floor.

It is said that character is what you do when no one is looking. The most essential thing that I know about Peter’s character is how much he cares about other people and will sacrifice himself for their wellbeing. The incident in Rodalbe was a particularly dramatic expression of a routine character trait formed in his childhood.

When Peter was still a young boy, his mother’s surgery required a long recuperation period during which, for practical purposes, she was an invalid. He became the caretaker – shopping, cooking, sewing, and caring for his sisters.

During his 80 years on Boston Street, he has continually sought out ways to make a difference for others – neighbors, family, and whomever he encountered. He looked after the rooming house tenants—running errands; taking them to medical appointments – until the family sold the property in the late 80s. When his daughter Annette’s husband died, Peter helped care for her two young children. And he babysat for whoever needed it into his late 80s.

In good weather, Peter and Millie could be seen sitting on their front porch and chatting with neighbors and passersby. I would see them and think, “This is what television killed.”

After Millie’s death in 1999, Peter continued sitting on the stoop until he became too incapacitated to easily make it downstairs. Now he maintains his position as mayor of our street from his second-story window, calling neighbors to alert them about street sweeping and snow-emergency risks; inquiring after the health of neighbors whom he hasn’t seen out and about; directing parents to the whereabouts of tardy children; and doing whatever he can to make things better.

When I ask him why he makes such an effort, he tells me, “God put us here to help each other.”

Words to live by.