Here is the story of the birth of Berardino and Letizia’s son Antonio. Joseph S. Frelinghuysen Jr. and a few other soldiers were at the house at the time. The Germans were on patrol in the vicinity that night. Letizia who was 9 months pregnant had been upstairs with Berardino’s mother Rosa. This excerpt below summarizes the closeness of an Italian family, their situation in the midst of war, and their generosity. It was October 23, 1943.
From Passages to Freedom pages 214-215
I asked Berardino how things were going. He said with a sparkle in his eyes, “Big things will happen tonight, Joe,” and he ran upstairs. Dr. Eisenstein (a British soldier on the run) was sitting alone, so I went over and said cheerily, “Aren’t you involved in all this, Doctor?

“Not at all. Of course, I wanted to help. These people have been very kind. I’m a general practitioner so I asked Rosa (Berardino’s mom) about helping, but she told me, ‘Our women don’t expose themselves to strange men. I’ve delivered enough babies, and since the midwife cannot come this far, I shall do very well with the assistance of my daughters.’ The doctor went on to say “the customs of these people are very old and in most cases, well founded on practical experience.”

At 10:00 Letizia’s sisters put some bread, pasta, and wine on the table and quickly disappeared. After we served ourselves, we put some aside for the guys on guard duty. Later on I moved over to the fire and sat with Berardino, trying to take his mind off his worries. But it was useless – every moan from upstairs would bring him bolt upright in his chair. Occasionally, he would even put his hands over his ears.

While I was trying to comfort Berardino, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Berardino’s dad Antonio drew me over to the table and said “the baby will arrive tonight. And don’t worry about my son, he will survive. Remember how you felt when your first child was born. He looked wise and winked at me.

Two hours later I was on guard duty outside when Antonio stuck his head out the door. “Come in, come in.” A dusty cobweb-covered bottle of wine, along with some glasses stood on the table next to a plate of bread and prosciutto. The old man poured us each a drink and one for himself. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he said, “I am the grandfather of a beautiful boy, who will be named Antonio after me.”

We clapped, stamped our feet, and congratulated him in both English and Italian. Then I insisted that there be at least one of us always outside on guard while the rest joined Antonio in the bread and prosciutto and a few rounds of toasts with his finest wine. At 4:30 AM Berardino came down, setting off another round of congratulations and toasts. As morning approached, all the older people fell asleep with their heads on the table. The happy old man poured more wine and began reminiscing.

The first rays of dawn were appearing in the Abruzzi skies when Antonio proposed one final toast to young Antonio II, who had already been affectionately named “Tonio”. Then the proud grandfather and Berardino went off arms around each other, rejoicing over the evening’s blessed event.