The Tailor of Casoli (CH) Italy

For several years, my father, Dennis G. S., lived part-time in Casoli, Italy, in the region of Abruzzo. His maternal side was from Naples so Dad was deeply drawn to his Italian roots and the beauty of Italy.

Dad’s home was located near the castle, or what is now a Catholic Church and museum. From his terrace you could see the Adriatic Sea and behind you, the snow capped mountains. I stayed with him for a bit in 2012 and enjoyed getting to know the people in the village while admiring their way of life.

I had no idea that my dad was a writer. His mother was a poet. She had many poems published in the Catholic community. So I guess writing is our blood as several of my children write as well.

Dad sent this short essay to me sometime after my trip. I appreciate this writing and his beautiful observations of The Tailor of Casoli.

He sits by the door as there are no lights, no electricity or water for that matter. Scraps of material hang on the wall with faded pictures and newspaper clippings of the past. Bits of cloth scatter the wooden floor. Dust clings to the underside of his sewing machine and all along the thin belt that drives his foot operated apparatus. Next to the cluttered table, on the floor to his right is a green canister that contains bottled gas to operate the iron for pressing clothes.

His sewing machine is as close to the glass door as possible so he can see to work. When practical, the door is left open. He can only work on the days of full light so he arrives early and stays as long as the day allows. The hot late summer days are more productive. The winters are cold and short. When dark clouds come, he closes the shop.

He glances up when he sees me pass by the doorway on my way down the 150 stairs or to the Gran Cafe del Borgo in the piazza del Populo or to the main piazza further down the 223 stairs from my home. “Buon Giorno”, he says. “Buon Giorno”, I repeat. Sometimes I visit with him and try to understand his Italian. Sometimes I actually can, a little anyway. Today we actually had a little conversation.

Renato is 75 years old and has been a tailor since his learning days as a child. I know very little about him except that he lives in Fara San Martino, the little town famous for De Cecco pasta, a few short miles from here. Other than his birthday, December 30th, I know nothing else. He is a friendly man. I would like to know more. 🇮🇹

I do not have any other writings of Dad’s so I cherish this. I feel certain that he wrote throughout his years due to the beauty of this one.

♥️

Andi