FLORIDA (Chapter 3)

In my last article I described the experience I had in Miami Beach some time ago, when, arriving there to visit my aunt, I found myself dealing with her death and the aftermath that followed.

The rich, unsophisticated but generous individual who called himself Marcel, an Italian adventurer well connected in Miami, and owner of various flower concessions in hotels, among others the ritzy Fontainebleau, took me under his wing and helped considerably in alleviating my state of mind, while I dealt with the loss of my aunt and the handling of her affairs. Among other things, he helped me dispose of her expensive jewelry and the proceeds were handed over to my aunt’s sister Lilli, who inherited her wealth.

I got to know a number of individuals, all Italian-Americans, who were prominent figures in the social Miami landscape. I got to know people who turned the old cliché’, that circulated among the early nineteenth century Italian emigrants, namely “The streets of America are paved with gold”, into reality. But all these individuals had to pay their dues to reach success, and worked extremely hard building new businesses that took decades to establish, or turned genial ideas into successful enterprises.

For example, Gene, a brilliant engineer, had been a top scientist for Bunker-Ramo Corporation and had developed microwave technology patents for the company. Retired, he lived on a mansion in Coconut Grove, near Celestino Leone, owner of Mamma Leone restaurant in New York. His magnificent villa featured the most exquisite use of marble and granite and all its bathrooms had been fitted with the most luxurious brass hardware I had ever seen. The kitchen was so large and well equipped that he could serve enormous parties.

My kitchen in Rome, although quite sufficient for my needs, in comparison was just a cooking corner. Gene was nonetheless a very humble person and I made a great friend in meeting him.

Another gentleman, an Italian American whose name has faded in my mind, owned two large plastic manufacturing companies in Ohio, and lived in a palace on the waterfront in Naples. He took me to his yacht, and I stepped into something Aristotle Onassis would have been proud of; the vessel, over 100 feet long, featured three magnificent bedroom suites, each with its own bathroom gleaming with brushed bronze fixtures.

A captain, permanently assigned to the operation and maintenance of the vessel, gave me a comprehensive tour of it, inclusive of a thorough demonstration of its radar capabilities. The owner, smartly clad in maritime attire, inclusive of a fashionable and impeccable double breast dark blue blazer with gold shining buttons and immaculate white silk pants, insisted on a small tour of the bay and promised a party at his yacht club, to honor my uncle’s and aunt’s memory.

The event took place on the following Saturday, around one hundred guests attended; the richly appointed tables, ten guests to a table, included small Italian and American flags in front of each setting. Sitting next to me, on my right, was Celestino Leone in a white linen jacket and to his right sat his wife.

To my left a young, lively woman who spent the entire dinner lobbying the host, sitting across from me, for a top management job in his firm. The host kept his cool, but brutally retaliated with:” Hey, darling, I busted my butt to get where I am today, I will give you a job but you have got to start from the bottom.” To my right, Celestino kept nudging me, asking sotto voce but with persistence to arrange a date for him with the young lady.

I guess he somehow determined that I possessed extraordinary match making skills. I glanced at his wife over his shoulder and she seems aloof, probably she was used to his unrealistic salvos. Under our feet, again a further example of the opulence in which we maneuvered, a deep blue carpet with enormous anchors in red.

Back at the hotel where I was staying, I made arrangements for my aunt’s cremation. I was not sure whether or not the Catholic Church accepted cremation, but a telephone conference with a local monsignor assured me that the practice was accepted by the Church, especially for people deceased abroad. I immediately made the necessary arrangements with the mortuary. It was a relief to know this could be done, avoiding a complicated procedure to ship her remains back to Italy.

In the meantime Marcel called and invited me to dinner at the Fontainebleau. Sitting in the fancy booth and dining with this flamboyant character, took my mind away from the sorrow of the loss, as it had happened before. I listened to him recount the incredible steps that took him from abject poverty to his success, leaving his family at twelve, the suffering and humiliations of his early life working for miserable wages and surviving to become a rich man. A broken marriage with an American wife who still worked with him in one of the flower shops he owned. As we talked, a very attractive blonde joined us at the table. Marcel got up, threw the keys to his suite on the table and left us behind.

Celestino Leone lived in a beautiful villa near Gene and prided himself of being a great chef. He organized a dinner party and invited us and a number of friends and did all the cooking. His reputation was validated by a sumptuous ten course feast, inclusive of lobster and steak, all the vegetables and fruits from his garden. He would get up every morning at five and pampered his plants, all disposed in neat rows, zucchini, bell peppers, eggplant, lettuce, tomatoes among others. An enormous fig tree adorned a corner of his property.

A few days later, we were ready to board our flight back to Rome. I was carrying a tall box containing aunt Mado’s ashes. Celestino showed up with his wife to bid us farewell. He embraced me and handed over to me a package saying:” Alberto, take this back with you to Rome. It is the best filet of beef money can buy”. I walked onto the plane where an eager stewardess met me and greeted with;” Can I help you with your packages”? “Yes, thank you. This contains my aunt’s ashes and this is a filet of beef”

 

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