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From Maggie Battista, Senior Producer:

I don't know how I got hooked. Can't quite remember the moment the sausage and peppers and onions made me a fan. Maybe it was the twinkling holiday lights in the middle of September that always welcomed me to the narrow street on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. I can recall the familiar street merchants trying to peddle their cheap goods to the out-of-town visitors reaching for a memory. Too many reasons for why I return to Little Italy's San Genaro Festival year after year after year.

It must have been years ago. The first time my parents brought me into the city to meet my kin, I was charged with wonder. I mean, I knew I was of Neapolitan descent. (My father's grandparents came over from Naples, Italy in the early part of this century.) But no member of my close family could ever be as "Italian" as those who frequented the Festival. I can remember small-time bands doing their best to cover Frank Sinatra tunes. Large, exotic women walking every street corner, telling you anything you wanted to hear for a couple of bucks. Quick, full-bodied shouts fogged with cloudy accents. Big hair.

Last week, thankfully, little had changed. The hairstyles may have been a bit different, but lots of small-time bands were still trying to cover Frank. Tired-looking women were still trying to tell your fortune. Lights, food, wine, and beer adorned the stands and paved the streets. All of it makes me wonder why I haven't missed a year since I was a kid. Five blocks of stuffed animals, calzones, and bad music keep me and thousands of folks returning to this festival; a festival originated to celebrate the life of a Neapolitan saint, but maintained by most who could care less about some random deity.

Well, I can't speak for others. I don't know why most of you flock to Little Italy sometime during those ten days every September. I only know that for me, it just feels right. I ignore the giggles and the jokes so that I can remember a little bit of what it feels like to walk up and down the Festival, holding my Dad's hand, thinking that at this very moment, Mulberry Street is one of the most exciting streets in the world.

Now if you haven't been, just sit tight for 12 months or so. Believe me, if you can put up with the crowds, the trash, and the stomachaches after all the filling food and tourists and the street merchants, it's well worth the wait.

—Maggie, Senior Producer (10/2/98)

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Read more "Letters from Tripod" in the archive.

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