Royersford Pennsylvania, small town America, what a wonderful place to grow up. Italian immigrant parents and a slew of brothers and sisters—yes a big Italian family. How I wish I could give the world a piece of what that childhood was like. We were not America’s middle class and by today’s standards we would be on food stamps but they didn’t have food stamps back then so Pop grew a large garden and Mom made something out of very little. The people from Royersford’s welfare would bring her twenty pounds of flour on a Saturday morning and enjoyed her happy kitchen as she baked loaves and loaves of Italian bread. That welfare worker joyously took a loaf home with her. You see, her job was to insure that Mom did not sell the flour for cash, but to ensure the flour was used for food. More. . .