‘They are the best examples of how to love, how to live’
Tinley Park couple celebrate 70th anniversary
“There isn’t a marriage that doesn’t have problems. These kids today sometimes give up too easily. Talk it out. Whenever we have problems, we talk.”
— Greg Serratore
Itwas a great reason to celebrate. After all, few couples live and love long enough to celebrate their 70thwedding anniversary together.
Big plans with family and friends, however, are hard to make in the autumn of the pandemic.
Still, when Greg and Ann Serratore, of Tinley Park, reached the platinum marital milestone lastweek, theywere cheered on by their closest fans— four children, 12 grandchildren, their spouses and nine great-grandchildren, with two more on theway.
Theirs is a Chicago story, rooted on the South Side: a matrimonial journey that encompassedChinatown, De La Salle Institute, the landmark Santa Fe Building, LoyolaUniversity, Bridgeport, the White Sox, West Lawn, St. Mary Star of the Sea parish and Brother Rice and Lourdes high schools.
The twowere married on Sept. 17, 1950 at their church, SantaMaria Incoronata, 218W. Alexander St., nearWentworth Avenue, on the edge of Chinatown. The bridewas 21, the groom 20.
“The funny thing about us iswe almost think alike after 70 years,” Greg Serratore spoke for himself and Ann. Their advice for a happy marriage? “It’s very easy. All you have to say is, ‘I’m sorry, you’re right,’” he said.
“There isn’t a marriage that doesn’t have problems. These kids today sometimes give up too easily. Talk it out. Wheneverwe have problems, we talk.”
Serratore’s parents had each emigrated with their families fromCalabria, Italy, and Ann’s fatherwas alsoCalabrese, he said.
They had known each other somewhat since grammar school, although shewent to Catholic school and he attended the local public school.“We lived in the same neighborhood. Shewas one ofmy buddy’s girlfriends,” Serratore said.
They became better acquainted after he joined their church choir, inwhich she
also sang. After a year, they started dating, going to neighborhood dances, out with groups of friends for pizza or to see live shows or films at suchmovie palaces the Chicago, Oriental and State-Lake theatres.
“You could take the streetcar downtownfor 10 cents, and itwas 7 cents before that,” Serratore said.
After graduating fromDe La Salle in 1947, Serratoreworked in the Santa Fe building for the FredHarvey Company. It owned the famedHarveyHouse chain of restaurants and hotels that served passengers along railroad lines in the American West.
Howdid he propose to Ann? “I said
‘we should get married.’ On a Saturday, wewent downtownto a wholesale jewelry store and picked out her ring,” he said.
Engaged for a year, the couple greeted about 500 invited guests at theirwedding reception at an American Legion post in McKinley Park.
“We had what they called a ‘peanut wedding,’ not a sit-down dinner, but beef
and sausage sandwiches, beer and soft drinks,” Serratore recalled. “I don’t know whywe called it that, but itwas a hell of a lot cheaper.
“Back then, people fromthe neighborhood whoweren’t invitedwould come to the reception anyway.” In the receiving line upstairs, “we had small glasses of liqueur, probably anisette and amoretto, for people to salute you.”
Ann’s mother, Rose, a dressmaker, had made Ann’swedding dress and bridesmaids’ dresses. She and Ann’s father, a shoemaker, owned their shop 26th and WentworthAvenue. The newlyweds made their home in Ann’s parents’ twoflat.
TheKoreanWar, however, would disrupt the couple’s lives together. Serratorewas drafted into the Army one month before their first anniversary. “I was kind of scared,” he said. “Annwas
upset, too.”
After basic training at Fort Jackson in South Carolina, hewas assigned to clerk-typist school. “Iwas luck,” he said. “I didn’t go to Korea.”
He spent much of the war at the adjutant general’s office at headquarters in Tokyo, typing decoded messages fromthe Signal Corps, many marked “top secret,” for distribution.
Meanwhile, Ann lived with her parents and worked for an insurance company downtown.
“She wrote to me every day, and I tried to write to her every day,” Serratore said. “I always got mail fromhome. Itwaswonderful. I felt likewewere still in touch with each other. Once in awhile, Iwould call her. It cost $15 aminute and I would reverse the charges.”
After 18 months, Pfc. Serratorewas sent home in August 1953. “I came back on an aircraft carrier and heard itwas the first ship bringing us home after the armistice that ended the warwas signed in July.”
Reunited with Ann, he returned towork and took night school courses in accounting and business lawfor three years on the G.I. Bill at a LoyolaUniversity site on Rush Street. Those studieswould be the foundation for his career success in the years to come.
The couple rented an apartment in a two-flat in Bridgeport when their first childwas born in 1954.
They named him Anthony, Tony for short, after his paternal grandfather, aswas customary.
Just before Anthony’s first birthday, the three moved into theChicago bungalowhis parents purchased inWest Lawn, at 68th and KilbournAvenue, thatwould remain the family home for 50 years.
Asecond son, Greg, and daughtersMaria andTeresa would soon fill the threebedroom house.
“Theyworked very hard,” Tony Serratore, who nowlives in Tinley Park, said of his parents. “My dad at one pointworked three jobs. Mymomwas a stay-athomemomwhilewe grew up, whichwas very typical back then.
“To them, familywas always first. My cousins lived on the next block. My grandmother livedwith their family and every Sundaywewent tomy grandmother’s house to have dinner.
“Therewere strict rules we needed to followbut thatwas no problem— we wereall able tohandle it. We had a good childhood, all four of us. Therewas not a lot of pressure put on us.”
The Serratores became active at their new church, SaintMary Star of the Sea. Tony and his three siblings all graduated fromits grammar school.
“My dadwas a member of the parishHolyName Society and served as president for a term, andmy momwas president of the Altar andRosary Society.”
At home, White Sox games on the radio and later, TV, became a favorite family pastime, Tony noted. “We as a family shared in that. It’s the one teamwe all followed. Wewould sometimes go to the games, my dad, me andmy brother. My uncleswere big fans, too. They andmy aunts grew up in Bridgeport.”
As parents, Greg and Ann made a priority of their children’s educations. The boys both attended Brother Rice, where Anthony played the snare drum in the marching band. Their sisters graduated from Lourdes.
To payCatholic high school tuition bills, Serratoreworked three jobs: in payroll and personnel at Santa Fe railroad, as a salesman for a motorcycle dealer and doing clients’ income taxes.
At other points in his varied career, hewas an office manager for ChicagobasedWorld’s FinestChocolate atArcher and Lawndale avenues, and sold cars at a Buick dealership at 71st andWesternAvenue.
In retirement, Serratore became business manager of SaintMary Star of the Sea, while Annworked there as a receptionist. He stayed for 20 years until both left when theywere
85.
They remained parishioners, however, driving back to the old neighborhood forMass, aftermoving to Tinley Park in 2004.
Serratore had been ordained a deacon of the church in 1979. As such, son Tony said, he witnessed the marriages of the six of his 12 grandchildren who celebrated theirweddings there. His grandson Phil Serratore’swedding held the Saturday before lastwas the most recent.
GinaHalvorson, the Serratores’ eldest grandchild, was among Phil’s wedding guests. “They are the best examples of howto love, howto live and have fun, just really great educators, teachers by example,” she said of her grandparents.
She credits them for her best childhood memories.
“Every Sunday, always desserts, lots of desserts. Going to their house growing up when they lived in Chicago every Sunday. We ate in the basement” to accommodate the extended family.
“And thenwe’d go outside to play. They lived by Midway Airport, sowe got to see the planes fly very low.” The adults played cards, usually for money, after clearing the dinner table.
Halvorson agreed her grandmother, Ann, reigns as the familymatriarch. “Grandma still to this day at 91, you go over there to have her pasta and meatballs, brijole, soda, wine, cakes and cookies.”
She listed Ann’s specialties as pound cake, chocolate-chip biscotti, meatballs and, of course, her gravy, or red sauce.
“My son coined the name Grandma Pound Cake for her,” she said. “All thewomen got together last year and she tried to teach us howto make her meatballs and gravy. None of us could get it to taste like hers. At her Sunday dinners, we’d fight over the last meatball.”
Awonderful life of love and struggle to which attention must be paid as cause for celebration ofwedding jubilees, whether silver, gold, ruby, diamond or, in the Serratores’ case, platinum.
This year, however, the usual toasts and feasts, gifts and music giveway to more muted gatherings.
“It’s really kind of tough with theCOVID-19,” Tony Serratore said before the event. “They both turned 90 last year andwe had big parties for them. We’ll probably go to the house, maybe in shifts on Sunday for dinner, that’s our normal tradition. Itwon’t bewhat we otherwisewould do.”
What does the paterfamiliaswant to do? “I wish I could go with her for dinner, Greg said. Maybewe’ll get some carryout. Later, we’llwatch favorite old movies on TCM. We like musicals, comedies, suspense. We alsowatch the cardinal giveMass every Sunday morning.”