Time in a bottle

A forgotten and little-known piece of South Philly history can be found in the handcrafted wooden case inside Jim Graziano’s home.

Fifty glass soda bottles, some clear, others colored, dating back to the late 1800s and early 1900s, line the shelves in the illuminated case.

More than three-quarters of the bottles bear the names of local Italian-immigrant vendors like J. Esposito, Antonio Verna, A. Marculis and Pasquale Rossi, who made and bottled their own sodas. The remaining bottles are products of non-Italians in nearby areas such as Camden, N.J., and Marcus Hook, who also made their own soda.

The containers are empty now, long since cleaned and sanitized by Graziano, but each carries its own fascinating story, as well as a history lesson.

Looking a couple decades younger than his 85 years, the collection’s keeper gingerly removes from the case a blue bottle emblazoned with the words "J. Esposito, 812-814 Washington Ave., 1895."

"You see that bottle? You see that flag? You know these people were patriotic to put [an American] flag on that bottle in 1895," he says, almost moved to tears by his Italian forefathers’ love of their adopted home.

For organizational purposes, Graziano made a list of the names and addresses on the bottles. D.A. Turchi & Sons brewed their bubbly at 807-09 S. 11th St.; A. Marculis stirred his soda at the northeast corner of Fourth and Moore streets; Pasquale Rossi perfected his pop at 1139 S. Eighth St.

Using one of the only sodas on the market in the early days – sarsaparilla – as a base, Italian immigrants would blend extracts like vanilla, orange, cherry and grape that they brought over from the homeland, says Graziano, of the 2800 block of South Darien Street.

The home brewing would usually take place in a large garage or room. "This is history of the Italian people," he says.

Many corner grocers also would bottle soda and sell it. Stores and private bottlers sold their drinks for a mere nickel with a 2-cent return deposit on the bottle.

THE POP PURVEYORS would sell cases to anyone in the neighborhood. People often would order 10 to 20 boxes at a time or more for celebrations.

When Graziano was growing up on the 2300 block of Fernon Street, his Abruzzese immigrant parents ordered soda from Chester Esposito, who would deliver the beverage by horse and wagon.

Attempts to contact relatives of the original bottlers have fizzled out. When Graziano approached the Espositos who run a renowned butcher shop in the Italian Market, for example, he was told they knew nothing about a soda-making tradition in their family.

In time, larger bottling companies moved in and impacted the mom-and-pop enterprises. Around 1895, the now-defunct Frank’s, 1905-7-9 S. Sixth St., began operating in a factory converted from three rowhomes. Graziano has many Frank’s bottles, two of which contained orange soda and "pale dry ginger ale."

Italian soda bottles are not the only stars in Graziano’s container collection.

"Here’s a milk bottle from 1917," he says. After returning it to its rightful place on built-in shelves in his basement, Graziano reaches for another, a rum bottle that predates Prohibition. Above that rests an 1897 whiskey bottle from a St. Louis, Mo., distillery.

Graziano has been collecting bottles for more than 25 years, something that began by picking up pieces he found interesting. Last year, he decided to build a case to show off his prized possessions of Italian soda bottles.

He and wife Phyllis have lived in South Philly for 50 years in the same house. In the early days, nothing existed south of Bigler Street and the area was once referred to as "the dumps" because it was the site of a city dump. Graziano fished many of his beloved soda bottles out of the dumps, as well as from construction digs. After Veterans Stadium was leveled last year, the churned-up soil proved a treasure trove for the collector.

All of his bottles are intact as glass holds up remarkably well over the years, especially if buried in a protective mound of earth. Some of the caps had to be reconstructed, however.

Before the more traditional metal cap that required a bottle opener or the twist-off, there were two types, Graziano explains. The Henderson cap was a small rubber washer attached to a half-circle metal device. Affixed to a bottle’s inside upper lip, the Henderson cap could not be removed and worked by a simple up or down motion to seal the neck with the washer. Next came the Bubble cap, affixed to the outer lip by a metal wire device, which sealed the bottle with a plastic or rubber stopper that resembled a mushroom.

ASIDE FROM COLLECTING bottles, masonry and cabinetry are among Graziano’s favorite lifelong pastimes.

He worked full time in SEPTA’s now-defunct Kensington shop for 40 years as a trolley and bus mechanic. His father and uncle worked there with him.

Graziano’s parents are no longer alive, nor are siblings Charlie, Edward, Philomena, Josephine and Adeline.

He has fond memories of growing up on the 2300 block of Fernon, where his neighbors were Italian, Irish, Polish and German immigrants.

"We all got along. It just was love for all people," he recalls.

While most children have two grandmothers, Graziano had three. "You don’t believe me?" he says with a straight face.

It wasn’t until he was 8 that he realized the jovial Irish immigrant lady who lived across the street from his family, Katherine Quinn, was not a blood relative.

A midwife who delivered Graziano, Quinn played a loving role in the family’s life. He recalls many happy times spent at the Quinn home, where the fun always included traditional Irish song.

"Danny Boy, the pipes the pipes are calling," Graziano breaks into a verse from the popular melody, recounting how, although Italian, he knew the words to all the Irish songs.

Graziano felt Quinn watched over him during World War II. An Army sergeant assigned to an anti-aircraft battalion, Graziano and his men patrolled the north coast from Alaska to the Aleutian Islands in the North Pacific Ocean.

When Graziano and his fellow soldiers first arrived, their commanding officer gathered them together. He told the GIs to shake hands with the man on either side of them "because half of you won’t be coming back."

Graziano was fortunate enough to come home, returning to the woman who would become his wife. "She waited for me for four years," he says in awe of Phyllis’ loyalty. The couple has three children: James Jr., 44; Monica, 47; and Barbara, 50. Graziano still hunts and fishes with his son and grandson, James 3d.

A 63-year member of the Delaware Field and Stream Association, Graziano is now a charter member and no longer pays dues, he says proudly.

None of his children or grandkids shares his passion for bottle-collecting.

Graziano would like to sell his collection to a local restaurant so it can be enjoyed by others.

He says he’ll sell to the highest bidder, adding he won’t be sorry to part with his decades-long passion.

"It’s a showpiece. I would like to see other people enjoy it. Nobody is going to see it here."