Pizza Italia at 1528 North 14th Street has anchored its block for more than half a century, the kind of neighborhood place where Albright students, nearby families, and Little League teams all learned the rhythm of a hot pizza pie sliding from the deck and the ring of an arcade cabinet waiting for “one more quarter.” The shop was opened in 1973 by Vincenzo “Vincent” Scotto Di Luzio and his wife, Anna Maria (Scotto DiUccio), from Naples, Italy, who brought with them the cooking instincts and work ethic of southern Italy. From the start, Pizza Italia was family—owned, staffed, and styled—built on simple recipes, long hours, and a determination to make a life in Reading.
Vincenzo “Vincent” Scotto Di Luzio and his wife, Anna Maria (Scotto DiUccio)
The early going required grit. Family recollections describe how, before opening, a neighbor across the street circulated a petition to stop a pizzeria from taking the corner space. The effort failed to gain enough signatures, and the Scotto Di Luzio family pressed ahead. The doors opened, the ovens warmed, and a new routine took hold on North 14th Street.
Grand Opening Newspaper Advertisement, February 1973.
Proximity to Albright College made the counter a natural meeting place: students drifted in after class, locals popped by on their way home, and kids learned to fold a slice on summer afternoons. Inside, the shop developed its own small culture—good-natured conversation across the counter, familiar first names, and a pride in consistency that turned first-time visitors into regulars.
“Family-run” wasn’t a slogan; it was the operating model. The Scotto Di Luzio children all pitched in. Gennaro (“Gerry”) and Antonio (“Tony) handled the dough—mixing, resting, and portioning to keep pace with the dinner rush—while Sara, Mena, and Michela worked the counter, taking orders, keeping the line moving, and remembering who liked extra sauce or a well-done bake. In the dining area, an arcade machine became part of Pizza Italia’s lore: Ms. Pac-Man spent a long stretch as the game of choice, and family memory holds that Gerry’s initials perched unchallenged at the top of the high-score table.
What drew people back—neighbors, kids, families, and city residents—week after week and year after year was the cooking. The dough, made in-house, set the foundation: sturdy enough for a generous ladle of sauce, light enough to blister in the heat. The pizza pies were unpretentious and reliable, their familiar balance the product of repetition and care, not novelty. And beyond the pizza, the special Italian sandwich and cheesesteaks became staples—simple, satisfying picks that rounded out the menu and kept folks coming back for more. That reliability mattered in a neighborhood spot. Parents knew what they’d get; students counted on it through the ebb and flow of semesters; alumni swung by whenever they returned to campus; and kids on bikes learned early that a slice or a sandwich here tasted the same every time. Like many long-running family shops, Pizza Italia became a keeper of local time—birthdays tallied on the calendar, class years turning over, and the same faces reappearing at different ages across the counter glass.
There were sorrows and milestones along the way. Anna Maria passed on October 8, 2003, and Vincenzo—remembered as the owner of Pizza Italia and a loving father and grandfather—died in Naples on February 21, 2012. Their daughter Sara (Scotto-DiLuzio) Pugliese, who had immigrated as a child with the family, grew into a pillar of the shop’s front-of-house warmth and later of the wider Reading community; she passed on December 14, 2018, and is fondly recalled for a generous spirit that treated customers like extended family. Through these losses, the threads of family and community held. Siblings, nieces, nephews, and friends kept telling stories about the shop—the long nights, the dough routine, the laughter around the counter—because those details preserved what the place meant.
Sara (Scotto-Di Luzio) Pugliese
By the measure that matters most for a neighborhood pizzeria—endurance—Pizza Italia succeeded. It weathered the churn of student populations, shifts in local retail, and the usual ups and downs that test small businesses. Its reputation rests less on hype than on habit: you show up, you’re welcomed, and you eat something made the way it was last week and the week before. In that sense, Pizza Italia does more than serve food; it supplies a reassuring cadence to everyday life on North 14th Street.
Today, when longtime patrons talk about Pizza Italia, they speak as much about people as about pizza pies and menu favorites. They remember Vincent and Anna Maria building something from scratch; the kids learning the business by doing it; the cheerful greetings from the family as you walked in; the easy counter chatter; and the summer air mixing with pizza steam. Those memories—ordinary, affectionate, and specific—are the best proof of Pizza Italia’s place in Reading’s story: a family shop that became a community habit, and a community habit that became a local tradition.
Reading High basketball champions spending some time at Pizza Italia, 2023
Sara Scotto Di Luzio
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