Mario • mio papá

My father Mario, was also my mother, that made the difference in my life. He taught me water and mountains, birds and fishes, he held my hand and took me everywhere with him. He taught me to pray, to sing, to see the sky, the sun and feel the wind on my face. He loved me and told me the truth, he trusted me and gave me lots of space for action, I had no fears. He never set me free.

He was from Piedmont, born in a family of artists, inventors and engineers. He was tall, gentle, modest, serene, a man blessed with an enlightening radiance, we laughed a lot together.

On Sundays, we went to the “Messa Cantata” in Santa Maria degli Angeli and to the park; there, we saw puppets or a Charlie Chaplin movie. Sometimes, the band played, I would eat many ice-creams and he would always buy me a balloon. We lived in Rome at the time. Later when we moved to Africa, my first friends were a gazelle, a monkey, a donkey and many birds. I was very much alone, as he was very engaged by his several duties connected with overseeing the Italian colonies: Eritrea • Asmara. I had time to observe and dream. At night, the hyena cried but I felt very safe in bed.

These are a little girl’s memories, the ones I want to remember.

I grew up in Rome during the Second World War, life was very difficult, but “mio papa” always managed to provide food.

Father was the Head of the Finance Cabinet, Secretary to Count Giuseppe Volpi di Misurata, the Minister of Finance. He was responsible for several missions, among them: he was the Head of the Italian Delegation for the settlement of the debts of the Old War 1915 – 18. This settlement took place in Washington on November 14, 1925, presiding were: Mr. A.W. Mellon, Secretary of Treasure, President of the Commission for United States, H.E. Count Giuseppe Volpi di Misurata, Italian Minister of Finance, President of the Italian Delegation and my father Mr. Mario Lavatelli, Secretary of the Italian Delegation. They were guests of President Codlige at the White House.

The first time I was in America, I went to Washington to see where these documents were preserved. I was very impressed , I felt a great emotion in reading them and seeing my father’s signature among that of all the representatives to this event in history.

He was always very proud of having been a volunteer, an officer in the Third Regiment of the Alpines, in the Italo-Austrian War of 1915. He spent four years in trench, participating in several victorious feats of arms, conquering with his troops the most wanted strategic positions. He had received many distinguished awards and medals, which I proudly preserve.

When my son Carlo was born, he would visit with us at his bed time, instead of reading fairy-tales, he would sing for him and taught him all the Alpine songs. As Carlo grew up, they would sing them together, for him they are still a loving memory of his grandfather. One day, several years ago, Carlo had been invited to the Cini Foundation, in the evening, after the various meetings, he was walking down a tiny alley in Venice, he heard around him, an Alpine chorus. He followed, where the voices were coming from, rang the door-bell, he introduced himself to the Alpine opening the door, as the nephew of an Alpine. He told him that he knew all those songs, and asked if he could join the chorus. Indeed he was invited, and spent a wonderful evening singing away, with a big group of Alpines.

Mario mio papá had remained very close to his place of birth, Pallanza on the Lake Maggiore, returning there every summer was his great joy. He called this place: “My paradise on earth”.

Our periods there, are better described in my short story called “Summers on the Lake Maggiore”, Part Two of this book about my life, page no.:   

He would always want to take care of me, solve any  problems                I might have had. His marriage to the woman that gave birth to me, but was never a mother was very painful, we all suffered a lot, my brother Alberto committed suicide. He loved dearly his grandson Carlo, who asked him many times to write for him a book about his life : “ Grandpa, you are an antique, please write to me about the antiques ”. My father was very touched by this genuine request, started writing the memories of his life. He called me one day and said : “ Your son is giving me, many sleepless nights, I am writing the book, but if I mention some of the people I met, and so many of the things that happened, many of them would have to go to jail ”.

The book was written and dedicated to Carlo and me in December 1965.

Even in those years, he claimed that Italy, was in the hands of a corrupt political group, many exploiters.

Did it get any better in 2005?  His book is for us his moral testament.

One day towards the end of his life, he came to see me at my studio in Via Margutta, brought with him his Alpine hat, the one he had worn during the war, through the several battles.

It had a beautiful black feather, a little branch of mountain flowers called : “stelle alpine”, but most important, at the top of the hat one could see two holes made by bullets, that had luckily missed his head. He asked me if I would make his portrait in bronze, to be installed on his place of rest.  I did, He came for several sittings, he was very pleased by the result, and said that I deserved to have this hat as a gift. I still dearly preserve it.

When he left us for his little cloud of peace, Carlo and I were in great pain. His last words to my son were: “ Promise me, that you will always take care of your mother ”.

My husband Roberto to help us recover, took us for a trip to Greece, where we were guests of Melita and Ugo Granafei. On this occasion, we met the husband of Barbara Hepworth (he later sent me a note enclosing a lovely pebble), we rented a little fisherman boat so that we could go all around.

I know that if he can, from his little cloud of peace, he will always keep his hands on Carlo and me, to protect us, to help us