THTooLongDon'tRead

Looking back on my junior year abroad experience in 1979-1980, I am struck by how little I did without throughout the duration of my year abroad. At the time I felt as though I was on a very limited budget. While some of my classmates were from very privileged families, most were like me, watching every lira spent. Keep in mind that most of us students at the time had traveled to Europe with a stack of American Express Travelers Checks that we hoped would last throughout the course of the year. That stack of Travelers Checks had been earned through part-time and summertime work waiting on tables and skimping and saving wherever possible. Every month or so I would take a check or two into the Italian bank on the corner of Via Tornabouni and Via degli Strozzi that had an agreement with Gonzaga-in-Florence to accommodate the students. The bank was an imposing building and it was full of very fashionably dressed Italians, mostly men as I recall. The building now houses the luxury jewelry Bulgari. The process of cashing checks seemed very serious and officious. 

My junior year abroad coincided with the Iranian hostage crisis and as a result, the exchange rate was low. I think on a good day one would get 800 Italian lira to the US dollar. Even with these challenging financial circumstances, in recounting stories of my year abroad, I realize that I truly wanted for nothing. I was able to participate in the optional trip to Egypt in early January of 1980, I was able to afford to see the capital cities of Europe over the course of my three week spring break, and before the end of the year, I was able to purchase a signet ring bearing the city emblem–il giglio di Firenze–the lily of Florence. I don’t recall the details but the school had arranged with one of the jewelers on the famed Ponte Vecchio to make the rings available. I had the ring engraved inside with my initials and “79-80”. I remember justifying the expense understanding that this would be my class ring representing my entire college career. I would not be further indulging in a Jostens ring to match my high school ring!

 A quick Google search lets me know that the price of gold per troy ounce at the time what somewhere between $450 and $595. For reference, it is now $2591 per ounce. Based on the gram weight of my ring, at the time it likely cost between $200-300. I loved that ring. It was a constant reminder of my incredibly enriching experience in Florence between September 1979 and May of 1980. I wore it proudly and likely would bore the hell out of anyone who asked about it. Although I do not have any specific memories of doing that! 

In the late 1980s while on vacation, the ring along with some other sentimental jewelry was stolen from me. In the aftermath of the event I recall being very philosophical about the loss of the items. They were merely that, items that helped me remember a special time in my life, wonderful places, and wonderful people. While the thieves had taken the items, they could not take their meaning. While I had been threatened, and hands were laid on me, I was not hurt and I still had the memories and emotions linked to the stolen items. 

After having lost the ring, I was determined to replace it. While I cannot recall the exact timing, it was likely on a visit to Florence in 1991 or 1993. Again, I do not recall which jeweler I visited or exactly what I paid for the replacement ring, but again I had it engraved with my initials and “79-80”. I have had the replacement ring ever since. I have worn it with pride and likely continued boring anyone foolish enough to ask about it. Well, I have worn it and I have not worn it. In recent years, age, gravity, and a lifetime of eczema have made wearing the rings challenging. While my brother Pat inherited our mother’s long, elegant fingers, I managed to inherit my fathers’s short stubby, knobby fingers. Like my father’s hands, mine are somehow stodgy and thick without being manly. While the ring would technically fit, there were times when it would have been unbearably tight and likely to irritate my chronic eczema. So for the past 10-15 years the ring has been put away in a box. There were times when I toyed with wearing it on my pinky finger, but for me, there is just something smarmy about a man wearing a pinky ring. (Apologies to anyone reading this, wearing a pinky ring.) I may be many things, but I hope smarmy is not one of them.

I decided that during this extended stay in Florence I would bring the ring in hopes of finding a good goldsmith to make it bigger. I asked a friend who lives here if she knew a good jeweler and explained why I was asking. She replied, “Do you need a jeweler or do you need a goldsmith?” (Hai bisogno di un gioielliere o di un orafo?) It made me realize that while there are an untold number of jewelers in this fine city, not all of them would actually do the goldsmithing work I needed. Even before arriving I did a search for “orafo” in Google Maps for possible services near my apartment. One came up, Artigiano Orafo Giacomo Giannone (Goldsmith Artisan Giacomo Giannone). Once here I decided to at least start here to ask if he would or could do the work for me. His opening hours to the public are mostly late afternoon into evening. While I had walked past the location before, it was a very unassuming storefront that when closed behind the bandone (sheet metal roller blind) it was even less so. 

I think it was when I walked past the store when it was closed that I made the connection that Giannone was the maiden name of a long ago colleague. I reached out to Lynn to ask if she knew if she had any relatives in Florence, and she said that there was a very real possibility. The afternoon I took my ring in, Giacomo Giannone, a man perhaps in his early to mid-forties was double tasking and while assisting another client  with a series of graduated gold beads on a fine gold chain, asked how he could help. I stumbled over my words to explain that I had this ring that I had bought in Florence years ago that I wanted to be made larger to fit my ring finger. He took the ring, slipped it on his little finger and told me that this was an option. Without expressing my opinion on pinky rings, I simply said that I would like to wear it on my right ring finger. He asked his colleague in the back room to come determine current and future sizes of the ring as he returned to the lady with the gold beads.

The ring was measured, my finger was measured, the colleagues discussed and a price was set. For fifty euros he would be happy to make my ring larger. He asked for my phone number and I clarified that I could be reached on Whatsapp, he told me he would let me know when the ring was ready but likely the following week between Wednesday and Friday. Before I left I asked “Sai se hai dei parenti negli stati uniti?” Do you know if you have any relatives in the United States? He said yes, he knew that he did in the Boston area. I explained that I had a colleague with the same surname who was from the Philadelphia area. Giacomo explained that all of his grandfather’s brothers had gone to the US while his grandfather had gone to France. Based on the proximity of Boston and Philadelphia and the multiple great uncles who immigrated, I think there is a chance he is related to my long ago colleague. He was really gregarious and friendly and gracious about my use or misuse of his native language. Most Italians are very forgiving of foreigners making an effort. There was an open friendliness to his manner that my gut told me I had come to the right place. 

I left the store that night with a business card along with a claim ticket with the date, my name spelled phonetically, and the weight of my ring before being enlarged. As I was leaving he assured me that in addition to sizing it, they would polish and make it round again. Again, my gut tells me I have a new favorite goldsmith in town. 

The week passed by quickly as I was preoccupied with the arrival of my first guest to take me up on the use of the guest room in the Florence apartment. Wednesday passed without a message on WhatsApp from Giacomo, Thursday came and went without a word as did Friday. Late in the day on Friday I emailed to let him know that email was also a way to let me know the ring was ready and to ask if he preferred payment in cash. I have yet to meet an Italian business owner who doesn’t prefer cash. I sent the email on the chance that somehow he may have not written my phone number down correctly. I also knew that he was not open on the weekends so I was not expecting a response until the following week. 

Sunday afternoon my phone rang with a WhatsApp phone call from a number I did not recognize. In the past when this has happened I have blocked the number and not given it a second thought. This time, for some reason after blocking the call I just had a gut feeling that I shouldn’t, so I unblocked it. A few minutes later I received a long text message via WhatsApp from Giacomo’s daughter Claudia Giannone, from the same number I had just blocked and subsequently unblocked. She explained that her father had been called out of the country on business and had indeed had trouble entering my number in his phone. She told me the ring was ready and that she would meet me to deliver it and asked if I would pay in cash. After a few texts back and forth we agreed to meet at 5pm outside her father’s shop. Absolutely nothing shady about meeting at dusk in front of a closed store exchanging cash for a gold ring, nothing I tell you. 

Luckily I had Pam “Mamma” Mancano with me to make the pick up. No one messes with Mamma Mancano! Well, in all honesty Pam is a diminutive woman who is very soft spoken and likely harmless, but in the event of the transaction going sideways, I figured she could run and scream for help as well as I could! As the sun was setting we headed out to the busy Via Gioberti to run a few errands ahead of meeting Claudia to pick up the ring. 

I mentioned earlier that even when open and active, the storefront of Artigiano Orafo Giannone is unassuming and discreet. On a Sunday evening in the dusk with the bandone down and only streetlights illuminating the narrow sidewalk in front, Pam and I likely resembled a couple of streetwise malcontents looking for trouble. A few minutes past five I texted, “Sono qui” (I’m here) as opposed to “Siamo qui” (We are here), to add the element of surprise if Claudia turned out to be a 6’4” wall of a man intent on relieving me of my 50 euros in cash money and absconding with my precious ring! 

Just moments after the text, I see emerging from the dusky shadows of the evening a decidedly non-threatening young woman who gestures a greeting as she approaches. Undoubtedly Claudia Giannone. I would guess Claudia to be somewhere between 16 and 20 years old, clear fair skin, soft features and that medium chestnut brown hair that seemed somewhat prone to curl. I introduced myself and my bodyguard…I mean Pam, and thanked her for agreeing to meet to deliver the ring. I gave her the 50 euros in cash and she gave me the ring which slipped onto my ring finger without any resistance. 

With business transacted, I asked how she came to speak and write English so well. It turns out her mother is American and originally from Boston. Surprisingly, Claudia has never been to the United States but hopes to visit someday. She expressed interest in finding her Giannone relatives–the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of the many great-uncles that long ago left Italy for opportunities in the United States. She could not have been any more kind or pleasant, we thanked her for her time and walked back into the darkening evening towards home.

And now for the irony, or the part about what goes around not coming off or continuing to go around and around. Above I mentioned the ravages of age and gravity combining to make my fingers too big for my ring. Well, since being in Italy this year my fingers seemed to have settled down a bit. No eczema flare ups and it seems that they are less likely to be bloated. While still not long and elegant, my fingers seem to be on hiatus from swelling and bloating. I think they took my ring from an 18 to a 23 or in US sizes from a 9 to a 10.5. Well, it fits over my knuckle but with the new streamlined fingers, it may be a bit loose. I have now safely stacked it behind my trinity bands and my wedding band to keep it safe and snug on my left ring finger. 

Forty-five years later I immediately recognize the privilege I enjoy being able to spend three months living in Florence. A lifetime of work and saving and planning has afforded me a level of freedom to enjoy my time without the same sense of restraint felt by the 20-year old student. I have a familiarity of the place that is the culmination of regular visits over the past five decades and I have friendships that have endured the test of time, distance, and absence that contribute to my sense of home here in Florence. The ring that I saved and scraped for so long ago reminds me of that initial visit that has evolved into a lifelong adventure of returning and renewing my relationship with a place that for me has captivated my imagination. So like the newly sized ring, things do go around and around and I find myself back but never in the same place twice.