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Society / It Takes a "Piazza"

Once Upon a Piazza

Anthony J. Tamburri (October 13, 2008)
Photo: "Tomatos" by Luca Fantini

In 1970 in Settefrati, a small town in Lazio, the piazza was a meeting place for the town’s citizens, a shopping center, a playground, a resting spot, a political forum. And it still is...

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My first experience with an Italian piazza was, to my surprise, the only piazza in the town that I had visited back in 1970. Then, that small town in Lazio, Settefrati, at the top of the mountains in the Parco Nazionale d’Abruzzo, had a winter population of a few hundred people. Fortunately, I got there in July.

That piazza became, for me, a meeting place of the town’s citizens, from contadini (yes, there were still genuine contadini at that time) to the town’s pezzi da novanta, which included, first and foremost, the priest, someone I remember as a middle-aged man named Don Antonio. (He took a liking to me because, I guess, we shared the same moniker.) Also included in this group was, naturally, the mayor. (Yes, this little mountain town is its own comune and has its own mayor, as well as a few frazioni!).Then there were a few members of the town, such as a prominent family or two, the barber who, at that time, had the only public phone in town (one of the very few phones at all in those years…), and a relative or two of mine from my home town here in the States. And, of course, my grandfather, who had spent close to two decades, at that time, traveling to and fro because he had retired from Con. Ed. in the 1950s.
 
That piazza was basically the town’s central nerve system. The only bar/caffè was there; the only alimentare was there; the post office was there; the barbershop/centralino was there; and the municipio and pro loco were also located there. As a consequence, if you needed to take care of business, you could basically go to city hall and get the documents you needed, then proceed to the post office for a stamp, and ultimately mail them. Once that series of tasks was completed, you could then proceed to the barbershop to call whoever was to receive your letter. In the meantime, if so desired, you could even get a coffee for that morning or afternoon pick-me-up. Or, if there were some special event going on, you might get a trim either before or after your phone call, in order to look ever the more dapper for later on.
 
Yet, that piazza was, and remains, more than just the functional nervous system of the paese. It was where just about everyone ended up after dinner, somewhere between 8 and 9 PM, dressed well, though not necessarily to the nines; that was reserved for those special Sunday events. During these evening promenades, all sorts of other town business took place. Chats were held, for example, about what to do with the laundry fountain, located literally underneath the piazza. Yes, there was still, at that time, a functional public laundry fountain, where the proverbial lavandaie engaged their craft: cleaning clothes and, some would say gossiping, as they shared town news! Depending on the time of year, discussions on the annual feast of the Madonna di Canneto took place; a feast that lasts from the 14th to the 29th of August. Actually, two Madonnas inhabit the area: one ceramic, which spends most of the year in a sort of tabernacle in the church in town that overlooks the piazza; the other, a black Madonna that resides higher up the mountain   in the Sanctuary of Canneto. And, more important, over the years, what to do with the elementary school, whose population changed significantly from time to time, due to all sorts of reasons, most of which were tied to family economics and possible relocation.
 
I remember so vividly my first time in that piazza. I had traveled close to twenty hours, from New York, to visit my grandfather. From JFK to Fiumicino; then to Roma Termini; then, to my chagrin, a failed attempt to get a train ticket to Settefrati. “Quale linea?”, the ticket man asked. “Boh!”, I replied, thinking, “What the heck did the paesanos back in Stamford mean when they said Settefrati was near Rome?” It took some research, as I dragged my suitcase all over Rome’s train station, but I did make it… I took a third-class train to Cassino, and then a taxi to Settefrati. The piazza, at my arrival, was empty! Well, almost. There was this young boy, sitting idly on a small wall, fiddling. I approached and asked him, in Italian, if he could direct to “la casa di Michele d’Egidio”. “You American?”, he blurted out loud, almost with relief. “Yes,” I replied. And after some introductory conversation, from which I learned he was there for the summer with his family, from a town in Connecticut only a few miles from mine, he knew exactly who my grandfather was and where he was staying. That teenager, who barely knew my grandfather personally, knew exactly where he lived; he habitually hung out in that piazza, even when everyone else was resting after a huge afternoon meal, soaking up not only the sun but, indeed, information about everyone and everything. (Yes, lunch-time meals were still abundant: a mountain of spaghetti al sugo, followed by a roasted piccione, followed by salad, and then either fruit or cheese).
 
This past August I returned to that piazza after twenty-two years. It was the same square, significantly redone, with the newly remodeled church still overlooking the piazza. Smack in the middle was a bandstand, where the nightly entertainment played for the few hundred that strolled in and out of that piazza after dinner, during this fortnight of celebrating the “festa della Madonna”! I returned, partly, because my cousins Theresa and Al were there on summer vacation, and we wanted to see their new house; partly, also, because, Italo, another dear cousin of 88 years, wanted once more, as he put it, “dopo più di trent’anni camminare con te a bracetto in piazza ancora una volta.” Yes, in that square he wanted, once more, to walk arm in arm, discussing with me—once more, after more than three decades—so many things, including my grandfather’s escapades over the years, as we had often done since 1971 in his sartoria, in Florence, in Piazza Santa Croce.
 
 

Anthony J. Tamburri is Professor and Dean at the Calandra Institute

 

 

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Madonna di Canneto Piazza Settefrati

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On October 20th, 2008 Antonette wrote

PIAZZA

Dear Professor Tamburri,

What a superb article. You have described this amazing town, for what it truly is. I was born in Settefrati, my family surname is DiPreta. My family and I left Settefrati for Corona, New York in 1968. I was quite young back then. I went back to visit in 1971 and then again in 1976. My mom and dad still visit every year. If all goes well, my family and I are planning a trip next summer, in August of course, so that I can show my children, this magnificent little town, which I still hold dear after many years. Thank you again!!!

On October 18th, 2008 Tony wrote

Festa di Santo Antonio -- Boston, MA

Hi Anthony,

It is a small world. I went to the Festa di Santo Antonio this year at the end of August with my mother and my older brother. While walking in the procession I met a young man who works with you at the Calandra Institute. I think he was with his father and pretty sure they are from the Naples region. In the middle of singing, walking, laughing, and joking we discussed our backgrounds. In bringing up Settefrati and La Festa di Canneto he told me you went to Settefrati for the feast. He, also, told me about the Institute. I felt very proud you are from my town and are in charge of this great establishment. Great article about La Piazza.

Thank You

On October 19th, 2008 Anonymous wrote

thanks for your kind

thanks for your kind comments. drop a line when you get a chance. ciao, anthony

On October 15th, 2008 Rocco Del Carmine wrote

Once Upon a Piazza

Excellent article Professor and I am also very familiar with the subject matter Piazza, for I was married at the town church in 1974. Due to the fact that the town is extrmelly small including residing citizens, we are probably cousins and do not even know it. Both of parents were born in Settefrati and came to the U.S. at a very young age. Lived most of their lives in Stamford, CT., prior to retiring to Settefrati prior to passing on. Please fee free to e-mail me so we may perhaps excahnge some additional correspondance. Once again an excellent article and you have certainly brought back some memories.

On October 15th, 2008 Anonymous wrote

Thanks!

Hi, send me your name and email! Ciao, Anthony

On October 17th, 2008 Rocco Del Carmine wrote

Requested Information

Rocco - e-mail (rdelcarmin@copper.net) additional contact information to follow upon e-mail correspondance excahnge. Thank you Anthony.