When Ferraro was 8, in May 1944, her father died of a heart attack at the age of 45. She described the event as a “dividing line” that ran through her life. Ferraro’s mother sold everything, moved to the South Bronx section of
New York City in 1945 and began working countless hours—doing her painstaking beadwork day and night and cooking on weekend nights at her small restaurant.
“I was no longer anyone’s princess,” Ferraro wrote in her book Framing a Life: A Family Memoir, describing a time of lonely struggle. “I was suddenly forced to concentrate on lessons I would never forget—the importance of always having another plan at the ready, the realization that nothing can ever be taken for granted.”
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