Easton Sv12 - Ssv1breviews

Non solo malta e mattoni

Vania mi ha inviato una bellissima lettera che prende spunto da un mio post dedicato agli scrittori bergamaschi per rievocare la splendida figura del padre. Mi ricorderò certamente di suo padre Giuseppe, Vania, e con lui di tutti quei bergamaschi che hanno fatto della fatica una regola di vita, una sorta di beatitudine che ha consentito ai figli il privilegio della parola e del ricordo. [ccalz]

Osvaldo Licini, Angelo ribelle (1949) 

Buongiorno, mi permetto di mandarLe questa mail perchè mi è un po' dispiaciuto leggere la frase "smentire il luogo comune che vede i bergamaschi dediti solo a malta e mattoni" . Premetto che sono arrivata a Lei su segnalazione di un caro amico che mi ha consigliato di leggere il prologo (che tra l'altro ho trovato bello e nitido come una fotografia, tanto da spingermi ad acquistare subito su bol il suo libro, ma questa è un'altra storia) de "Il sorriso del conte". Incuriosita, ho sbirciato qua e là nel sito fino ad arrivare all'elenco degli scrittori bergamaschi (segnalo la mancanza di Giusi Quarenghi, ma anche questa è un'altra storia) e alla frase che davvero mi ha lasciata perplessa. Allora, e devo dire che non ho l'abitudine di farlo, mi sono sentita in dovere di raccontarLe una storia vera. Mio padre, Giuseppe, when he was 8 years out of the house and sent to do the bottle neck. It happened during the war, some families finding themselves in a position of not being able to maintain their children, the children give way to the maser in exchange for labor gave food and lodging. So Joseph finds himself in the farm of his brother and his sister to work to eat. No more school, which stops for him in the third grade, no more no more family and even God, why can not there be a god so cruel. At 12 he started as a laborer on construction sites and at 15 he enrolled at the school Fantoni to learn how to read construction drawings and construction techniques. But he had no money for the book, because the His pay of the worker still had to deliver at home, so he steals a basket of cherries which then resells the exact amount he needed to buy the book. At 18 he emigrated to Switzerland, and save on everything, after a year back with a tissue which is enough to buy land and build a house with four rooms for themselves and their parents (he is the last of seven brothers and sisters, from which has never received the least help.) Years after we arrived, three daughters, his pride and his only reason for living. He piled bricks and mortar for the rest of his life unstintingly never beat the effort with double shifts and overtime because her children could go to school because none of us were forced to steal the cherries and let me say that it was a time in which to study the children was a luxury to study daughters was a nonsense. My father Joseph was a bricklayer from Bergamo, just one of those "common place" and has taught me: - that no one chooses for you is your destiny - that the honest and hard work can do everything - that means to educate themselves, before who know, understand. These are the men who built Bergamo, these are the men who not have a gun under the bed, ready to call a fanatic but improbable, under the bed like a baby, we preserve the integrity, dignity and 'pride of sweat. I hope not to have it bored and passing in front of a busy building site, now memories of Joseph.
Yours sincerely, Vania