"Mama mia.. . che bella!"

In early August of 1996, I was helping my Aunt Diana move some things from an apartment in Florence, Italy, when the phone rang. It was my friend Giuseppe, informing me that he had been able to obtain some CD 376.2's in a beautiful shade of purple. He explained that a power line was being taken down and that he happened to be in the right place at the right time. 

My heart began to pound as I spoke in my version of Italian: "Are they in good condition?" His reply was, "Sure, they appear to be respectable." Then, he laughed, trying to fathom this crazy Americano's passion and obsession with Italian industrial glass. Excitement surged, because in six previous trips I had been able to get my hands on only two of these chunky purple treasures. After hearing more details of this glorious news, we set an appointment for Saturday, to meet at his home just outside Pisa.

The next day, plans for the four-hour trip began. First, how to get there and back? Aunt Diana had two mopeds, but they were only good for local small-time scavenging ... and, this was going to be big-time? Also, the train would not suffice because these insulators are heavy, and although I had not asked Giuseppe how many there were, my optimism was soaring. In the past I had taken a train but had learned that it was better to get a car. You never know... he might take me to a recycling "mountain" of insulators as he had done twice before. So, I called my good friend Valerio, and he said it would be no problem to give me a ride. Valerio is a painter and we have used his vehicle and ladders on previous adventures. He has been to my place in Florida three times and has seen what all the fuss is about since he has slumbered in the insulator room.

Saturday finally came and, after a shot of espresso and a sandwich, Valerio and I were on our way. The two-hour drive seemed more like ten hours because of anticipation, but there were plenty of crown jewels to speculate about as we raced along the highway. Almost everything in Italy is old, and good insulators are not hard to spot. Getting them is altogether a different story. Many are still in use. However, some of the best places to look are abandoned foundries and houses. Usually the insulators are quite high up. A long ladder is a necessity and a boson's chair with block and tackle (such as sailors use) can come in handy.

In the Apennine Mountains, north of Florence, there are hydroelectric stations along the rivers deep in the forests. These stations are excellent places to find very old and unique pieces of porcelain. A hacksaw is standard equipment on such excursions as the insulators are often cemented to a steel pin. Sometimes a very old trail will lead right to these dreamy structures. The sound of screeching is like music to the ears as the saw blade hacks through the stubborn steel pin. Animals and plants are the only ones around to notice, as sweat, sore arms and sore shoulders complete the joyful task.

"Present hacksaws!" 
With permission, you can work VERY hard sawing for hours!

Now, back to the matter at hand ... purple CD 376.2's. When Valerio and I pulled into Giuseppe's driveway, the front door to the house was open and the welcome mat out. I reached into the back seat and pulled out two bottles of Brunello (Chianti) that I had purchased the day before. We went to the door and conducted introductions and gave hugs. This was the first time I had met Giuseppe's wife and only daughter, Sara. We went into the big, old-style villa and sat at a large, beautiful dark wood table in the dining room. I handed him the bottles of wine and gave his wife a small bouquet of flowers. For the daughter, I had some earrings and a ring that my aunt had helped me pick out.

In the past I have tried to give Giuseppe money, but he has always refused it adamantly, saying, "If you want, you can do something nice for my daughter Sara." As a result, I have sent many semiprecious stones (garnets, smoky quartz, fire agates, etc.) through the mail, as she likes to make jewelry. For some reason these stones are much more expensive in Italy than in the U.S.

We talked about the weather for a while, as I tried to convince the family to come and visit me in Florida. After espresso and cake, Giuseppe instructed me to follow him to the shed so he could show me the insulators.

Once inside the shed he pointed to three large boxes tucked under some shelves and told me to pull them out. And, I did! The first box was filled to the top with the beautiful purple powers, as were the second and third. A dream had come true. "Mama mia ... che bella'" I exclaimed. Giuseppe asked, "Are these the ones you asked me to watch out for?" And, I responded, "Si .., si ... yes, they are!" Nervously, I asked if! could have a few of them. Giuseppe laughed and said, "You may have all of them. I got them for you. Just leave one or two of the little white ones for Sara. She likes them."

Giuseppe in front of an Italian insulator graveyard!

About that time I began to think how great God is and I hoped there would be insulators in heaven. I had hoped and prayed for something like this and here it was. I gave praise. 

Giving the insulators more attention than they had ever received, Valerio and I wrapped them and positioned them carefully in the car for the ride home. Then we all chatted a bit ]longer, finally bidding, "Caio" until next time. On the trip back, Valerio endured a couple of serious tongue-lashings when he hit a bump or in any way jeopardized our 24 FIDENZA buddies in the back seat.

Cover Photo

When we arrived back in Florence, it was dark. We unloaded all the insulators except for two, which I left for Valerio to bring the next time he visits. I shook his hand, smiled and said, "Questa e la vita buona." ("This is the good life.")