In the Bloomfield section of Pittsburgh, pockets of old-timers inform those who will listen, running businesses and reflecting several generations of living in our Little Italy.

Bloomfield Groceria is one of those businesses, run by 75-year-old Rich Ciccio and his son, Rick.  It’s a neat little place with all sorts of Italian sauces and pastas, breads, and frozen goods, plus a large deli offering meats, cheese, fish, and subs that vary on weekdays and are a great bite for $9 and up (including a foot-long half-pound roast beef sub for $13).  They also have soups that vary daily and a few small tables with chairs if you want to dine in.

All of this, while trendier parts of town not far away are charging $20 for a fish sandwich as a Lenten special (they ought to confess that sin).

I stop into this place sometimes specifically to pick up the $3 crab cakes and some Mancini’s or Cellone’s bread (the crab cakes are form Merkles, a longtime fish store around the corner with limited hours).  The Groceria’s subs and soups are great, and the premade ravioli, desserts, and the like also are fine.

But our Little Italy, and our city, are not what they used to be, those of us who’ve been around a long time know.  I was reminded of this when I stopped into the Groceria recently and had a chat with Rich while I ate my bowl of chili.  We got to talking about how Bloomfield was, how Pittsburgh was.  I admitted I am less fond of it and not crazy about a lot of the folks moving in.

I ask about the handwritten sign in his shop window that reads, “We are still open!”

Rich waved a dismissive hand.

“We just put that up because some guy wrote a story about one of the businesses upstreet closing down, and they said we were closing, too,” he explains.  “The guy didn’t even talk to us. ... People are weird over here — on one block you say that sign is red, a block away they say it’s green.”

There’s a lot less community, and neighborliness, I say.

“That’s right, and people used to take care of each other, and you didn’t have to worry.  We’d leave the house unlocked when we were gone and nothing ever happened,” Rich said.

Our family would go on vacation and leave the house unlocked, I add.

“We would, too!  Now they fight around here over parking spots!”

Rich is ruddy-faced, energetic, and a good storyteller, so he throws me a line, prefacing it with “You’ll like this story...”

When he was a little kid, a new family moved in up the street, and he became friends with their son, and they’d play together.  The family kept pigeons.  So the new neighbors invited him over for dinner.  They were fresh from Italy, and the son had learned English fast, though the father spoke mostly Italian.

“We sat down to dinner, and of course there was a big bowl of spaghetti.  We ate, and the father asked me if I liked it, and I said yes,” Rich said.  “‘Would you like to take some home?’ he asked, and I said yes.”

He took the plate of food home, and his father nearly cried when he saw it.  “Do you know what that is?” the elder Ciccio said.  “That's pigeon.”

“And my dad went out and bought a huge bag of steaks and other meat for the family, and took it to them.  And they were so grateful.”

“People used to care about each other,” Rich said.

Image via Pixabay.