This was a day to honor St. Paulinus. His saint's tower — four tons, 70 feet tall — waited. A hundred and twenty men stood poised to lift and carry it down Havemeyer Street in Brooklyn.
Sal Mazzatenda, 40, focused his thoughts on his wife, Gina, who died last month. "I was praying to God that any pain I feel I could get her that much closer to heaven," Mr. Mazzatenda said. "I don't feel the pain while I lift. I could do this all day, I never get tired. You go into a zone when you lift this thing. It's exhilarating."
They say that when St. Paulinus — a fifth-century bishop and poet — was freed from slavery, he was welcomed home to Nola, Italy, with lilies.
The people of Nola still remember the saint by erecting giglio (lily) towers. And Nola's sons and daughters brought the tradition to New York.
When the saint's tower is lifted again tonight at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church in Williamsburg, it will celebrate the 100th anniversary of the giglio festival in Brooklyn.
"The giglio is a link between this world and the next," said the Rev. Joseph Fonti, who is pastor of the Roman Catholic Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church. "It points us toward heaven."
The 120 men, who lift the tower 25 times just to travel four blocks, take on the burden as a religious penance to remember dead relatives as well as to honor family and neighborhood tradition. And it is a test of manhood, according to Dr. Joseph Sciorra, 48, a folklorist at the John D. Calandra Italian-American Institute at Queens College. "The giglio is also about the correct way of being in the world, masculine prowess and a mature masculine responsibility," he said.
The lifters are led by five capos, or chiefs. Those men who reach the position of No. 1 capo, the leader of the whole endeavor, consider it the highlight of their lives.
"It's in my blood," said Phil Galasso, a former sanitation worker who has lived in the neighborhood for all of his 50 years. "It's a way of life. My grandfather was a tutti capo, my father was tutti capo. Being the No. 1 capo is the greatest honor, the thrill of a lifetime."
The current giglio celebration, which ends Sunday, is the result of a merger of two feasts, one honoring St. Paulinus with the giglio and the other dedicated to Our Lady of Mount Carmel, in 1954. The 12-day feast features three separate processions of the statue of Our Lady of Mount Carmel through the community and three giglio lifts, plus two children's giglio lifts of a 350-pound, 20-foot tower.
Last Sunday morning, a procession led by a brass band and Father Fonti wound its way through Williamsburg picking up the capos at their homes.
The first stop this year was the home of Joseph Galasso Jr., Phil's nephew, a 28-year-old New York City firefighter who is playing the Turk, the hero who helped St. Paulinus to freedom. Mr. Galasso made a grand entrance riding atop the ladder truck from his firehouse nearby.
After Mass, the crowd grew, fueled with sausage and peppers and bresaola. The lifters gathered around the giglio. The brass band climbed onto the giglio tower. Father Fonti blessed the lifters. Phil Galasso shouted "musica." As the music played, Mr. Mazzatenda and his fellow lifters began their four-hour journey with a giglio on their shoulders. Wives shouted encouragement — and occasional advice. The giglio followed a narrow path, at times pressing dangerously close to the sausage booths and carnival games. The crowd of 4,000 cheered wildly at the completion of each lift.
At the end of the last lift, Mr. Galasso shouted four commands, the men bent their legs, the giglio hit the ground and the lifters cried for joy. The pain would set in soon.
"It's a sweet pain," said Mr. Mazzatenda, who has a tattoo of St. Paulinus's tower on his right arm near the permanent lump on his shoulder from 22 years of giglio lifting. "It doesn't bother you because you know what you did this for, why you did it, and you love the feast with all your heart and soul."