Olive Oil, Brick Dust, and Lightning Wires: The Grandparents’ Tale
Before Enzo and Giuseppe ever laced up their cleats or dreamed of Texas sno-cones, their story was already brewing in Newark’s First Ward, where every stoop was a stage and every Sunday sauce smelled like heaven with a side of basil.
Salvatore the Bricklayer
Enzo’s grandfather, Salvatore, was born with mortar in his veins. He could stack bricks straighter than a ruler before he was out of short pants. Legend has it, he once built an entire backyard wall in a single afternoon—while humming Neapolitan love songs and sipping a demitasse. Folks said if Newark had a spine, it was laid one brick at a time by men like him.
Carlo the Wire Man
Giuseppe’s grandfather, Carlo, didn’t have hands for heavy stone—he had fingers like quicksilver. A born electrician, people swore he could sniff out a short circuit like a bloodhound and tie a junction box with his eyes closed. Rumor has it the lights on Bloomfield Avenue burned a little brighter when Carlo was on the job.
Maria and Rosa: The Lice Queens of Essex County
Now, the real magic belonged to the grandmothers. Maria (Salvatore’s wife) and Rosa (Carlo’s better half) were queens of their neighborhoods, the kind of women who could whip up a Sunday spread for twenty with nothing but a sack of tomatoes and a wooden spoon. But they were also custodians of the schoolhouse.
Every few winters, lice would sweep through the classrooms like a nor’easter. The teachers panicked, the mothers despaired. But Maria and Rosa? They had the secret lice treatment. Each—without knowing the other—reached back to the old Sicilian ways.
They’d line up the itchy-headed kids, drizzle good Sicilian olive oil onto their scalps, wrap ’em in towels, and let the oil smother the little buggers. They didn’t spray for lice, fumigate the house, fuss over lice bites, concoct a magic delousing spray, or use some harsh pesticide. Still, by the time the kids went back to school, their hair shone like polished chestnuts, and the lice were nothing but a bad memory. Lice removal was a sure thing.
Fate in a Bottle
Was it coincidence that both grandmothers fought the same battle with the same remedy? Or was it destiny in a green glass bottle? Hard to say. But one thing’s for certain: the grit of bricklayers, the spark of electricians, and the oily wisdom of grandmothers all coursed through the veins of Enzo and Giuseppe.
And years later, when they’d strike out west and call themselves The Lice Guys, it was that same blend of stubborn work ethic and folk remedy flair that set them apart.
Because in the end, every great story begins the same way: with a little olive oil, a lot of family, and just enough luck to keep the lights on.
