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Roaldus Richmond
SWISS STONECUTTER
Writers"J't ctiGn
Death was already in his shrunken face and drawn eyes.
The once sturdy body had wasted terribly in the last year. The
windows of the little sun -porch overlooked the railroad tracks
and the long gray sheds on the river bank. By raising himself
in the bed Castoli could see the shed in which he had worked
so many years. Beyond the plants the river flashed in the sun-
light, and on the other side automobiles passed along the con-
crete highway. Castoli„ wistful and patient, watched the pass-
age of life outside.
It was difficult for him to speak. But he was glad of
someone to talk to. The sun was warm through the glass, accent-
ing the pallor of his face and the deep lines that seamed it.
The dull eyes turned to his little vineyard. A sudden rasping
cough brought the tears. "Some days I don't cough much," he
apologized. "But today it is not so good." He shook his head
and a lock of hair fell on his forehead. he wore a small mous-
tache. "They used to kid me," he said. "Told me I looked like
Fitler. They know what I think of Fitler. Mussolini, too.
"I cut granite for thirty years. I stop then but it
was not soon enough. I learned my trade back home in Switzer-
land. Just across the border from Italy. We cut some nice stone.
It was a different kind more lire marble. I work eight or
ten years there. Then I come here with some other stonecutters.
Our friends have gone before. They write back what a wonderful
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country. high wages, plenty money, plenty work. We decide to
come over and see. It is like they say then. I work one
year here, save my money, go back to Switzerland. I get married.
lAy wife is from the same town. Then we come over to stay. I
cut stone about twenty more years. The wages was good but I
know then I have to stop. I left the shed too late.
"It's got to come sometime. Old Zonfrello went last week.
he was a year younger than me. We came over together, worked
in the same sheds. 1,e was a big man, strong like an ox. he
used to laugh at the dust. "Wash it down with grappa," he said.
"The grappa burns it away." Now on is dead. They had a big
funeral. Litrs lined all the way down the street. 1 watched
them go by. Zon was a nice fellow. Everybody his friend, every-
body like him. I don't know what his wife do now. Five -six
kids and only one I guess earns money. She'll have to sell
liquor like the other widows. I don't blame her. he's got
to do something with those kids.
"Ly own boys you know them? Yes, they're good boys,
but what they do? They're wild. They waste their lives away.
Drink, drink, drink. It's all right to be wild and drink. I
did myself. But sometirl, you got to stop, straighten up, earn
a living. You got to grow up. They don't seem to, those three.
"Joe, the musician, got married, but not good. Ile didn't
marry the right girl. She don't help him. She makes him worse.
Already they got three kids and all they do is fight and talk
divorce. She fights with my wife, too, calls her names. She
ain't been to see me since I came back from the hospital. Now
she don't even let the kids come see me. I miss them.
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Take Ernie, he's a good boy, everybody likes Ernie. He earns
good money with his machines those phonographs and pin -games.
But he's out all night. He gambles. He's always in trouble.
lie was a bootlegger. he smashes up automobiles. Then he had
a good beer business but be lost his license. Place too tough.
Always in trouble, Lrnie. But always he makes money some way.
And Luigi. That one is no good., I don't like to say it but
you know Luigi. Drunk all the time, fighting, never works,
never stays home. Makes his mother cry, cry, all the time cry.
"I don't know. I came here with nothing much but my two.
hands. I made plenty money and I saved. After I stopped cutting
stone I opened a store. I made more money for awhile. Then I
lost a lot, But I own this house. I brought up my family,
sent them to school, took care of them good. I don't know...
I'm disappointed in my boys. I'd swap all three for that Tonelli
boy that's studying to be a doctor. I don't like to say it.
But you know my boys. They're good boys. But something they
ain't got. Zomething I had and tried to give them. They
don't know how bad hurt a mother and father can be.
"Not that I would put them cutting stone. No, I never
let them near the sheds. Not even if they wanted to go. I
kept them away from the granite. There's been enough of that
in this family. No, my boys will never cut stone. No matter
what happens.
"The barest part is lying here all day. I don't read much
now. I used to read a lot. The neighbors got books from the
library. I don't feel like reading. I think about things. I
got plenty to think about. Sometimes I think of Switzerland.
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The mountains and the village where I lived. I only went back
once after I brought my wife. Mussolini has changed it. It's
an Italian village even if it's across the Swiss line. Spies
everywhere. Everything is Viva Mussolini. Many people I had
known were gone. But the old friends had changed. It was in
their faces. They were afraid. I don't want to 6o back any
more. When I think of Switzerland it's the way I knew it when
I was young.
"In 197 I went to California to a senitorium. It was nice
out there. There were some more stonecutters in the place, A
Swede from Minnesota and a fellow fi4am Georgia. Both of them
knew some men I knew. They had worked with them. Stonecutters
used to travel around the country more. But granite is dying.
People can't afford it now. Maybe never will again.
"Sometimes I think I should have stayed in California.
It's not so nice for the family having me here. You know, a
sick man in the house. Gets on their nerves. I understand.
They're very good to me, though. They do all they can. But
just the same there's nothing much --they know it and I know
it. Anyway I wanted to be home. I don't bother them much.
But I'm here like this.
Castoli gestured impatiently with the waited hands that
had once been so tireless and patient in the carving of beauty
from solid granite blocks. he glanced from the vineyard to the
sheds, flatcars loaded with rough slabs of stone, the rippling
gleam of the river, and automobiles racing along the opposite
bank. In the background a steep green hillside stretched up
against the blue sky. White clouds floated above the crest.
B.
"Itts a nice country. It's home. And I'm glad to be here.
It's the way I want it to be. It's 8ot to coue sooner or later.
I had a good life. I worked hard. I had plenty good times*
too. I got a family grown up now. This house is theirs and
there'll be something else, too. Not so much as ltd like
but something. 6ben I lost my store I lost four, maybe five
thousand dollars. iell, that's gone. A good thing I always
saved.
"Not many came now to see me. I understand. They got
their lives to live. So many things to do. The days go fast.
I know, all right. You core again, anytime. And what I said
about my boys well, they're good boys. They'll be all right.
And one thing makes me glad: they will never cut stone."
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Young Father cCullen„ the assistant priest, smiled. "I'm
a Vermonter, yet I knew very few granite workers until I was
assigned to this parish by the late Bishop of Burlington. But
for the granite industry Montpelier and Barre would be muoh
like dozens of other Vermont towns. Perhaps that is why this
group of workers easily became of primary interest to me.
Especially the Spanish and Italian element with emphasis
on the latter. I was amazed that so small a number of Italian
names appeared on our school register. I felt, as others no
doubt had before me and as my pastor still des, that here was
a problem for a priest, a duty for the Church to reclaim her
cIaldren who had been born in the 'kith.
"I learned that a majority of the Italian stonecutters
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came from northern Italy, a section of the country long dis-
posed to resist papal authority and often engaged in religious
controversies. But their ancestors had been Catholics, the
Faith was in their blood. Yost of them were baptized, but with
that the external manifestations of their faith ended. On the
other hand I found as many who came to this country good church-
going Catholics, but immediately their church -going stopped.
That wasn't difficult to understand. A strange .lauguage„ the
difficulties presented in the confessional -these and other
problems kept them from church.
"In Barre we have an Italian speaking priest. This spring
he started a series of broadcasts in Italian. They were popular.
Els work and that of his fellow priests have borne fruit. Many
Italians are returning to the church.
"I have found it easy to make friends with the Italians.
They are an intelligent, likable people. For the most part
they are law-abiding and just. A few of the older ones have
said to me very frankly, 'Go to church now after all these years?
Why, my neighbors, they would laugh at mel They are Italian
like me. They do not go. And my children, what would they say
to see their father and mother doing what they were not taught
to do? Us, we are good peoples we are honest, we believe in
God, but to go back to church now -----t
"I remind them that some day they will want burial from
the church. 'Sure,' majority will cry, 'sure, burial from the
church, we want that. We are entitled to it. Are we not born
in the faith? Sure, our fathers and their fathers before them
had the requiescat in pace sung over their bodies. Us, we want
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that, too. Some day before we die we will go back, we will
make arrangements ---I
"An Italian -Swiss stonecutter, Castoli, was buried from
St. Augustine's church just yesterday. Fe was born in Besazio„
Switzerland, where he learned the stonecutting trade. Ee came
to this country in 1000. Fe was an artist, a fine cutter, and
Ye went into the granite business, co -proprietor of a shed with
an /rishman. he kept on cutting stone with the rest. When his
health began to fail he sold his interest in the shed, and op-
erated a shoe store. It has been six or seven years now Since
he has retired from active business. The nuns tell me' that
he has always responded generously with his talent. When statues
either in the church or in the convent chapel needed repairs,
repairs that had. to be done cleverly and artistically, be was
always willing to work, and for no pay.
"Fe was an influential man, but his one sorrow was that
he could not influence his sons. Three of them. Popular and
well liked, but gamblers and drinkers. The youngest boy broke
his ankle in a drunken brawl a few days ago.
Castoli was one of those whose church -going stopped
when he reached America. Tiis three sons were baptized soon
after their births, but they've never been church -goers. Wien
the nuns heard that Castoli was sick they paid him a visit.
They liked him. They were grateful for his kindnesses. They
made weekly visits. at first the visits disturbed Mr. Castoli.
He said the neighbors would laugh at him, being visited by nuns.
It was about this tine that I started going to see him. I
could see that Mr. Castolils days were numbered. On my next
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to the last visit to him, he said he was going to die soon,
that he would like to go to confession and receive the Lost.
"I had been sitting with him for an hour, I was nervous
and worried, and was beginning to think my visits had been in
vain, when suddenly he said, 'Well, rather, 1 have decided
I will go to Confession.,"
ilit4HH11.******SH11111111
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Monday morning a requiem mass was sung for the repose of
Castolils soul. The three sons sat with two friends in the
living -room still heavy with the odor of death and flowers.
Castoli had taken the sleeping powder pressed upon her,
and was resting in the room above. The oldest eon, the mus-
ician, spoke. "That church music was good. It would have been
better with a violin accompaniment. Especially with the sing-
ing. But it was good."
"The flowers filled two cars," Luigi, the youngest, said.
One of the friends asked, "The bearers, Lou, who wore they?
There were some I didn't know."
"Some of them I don't know myself," Lou replied. "Batini
represented the Stonecutters, Union; Salmi, the Italian Pleasure
Club; korgan, the Order of ,Coresters (my father was secretary
Treasurer until he resigned in the fall); Beglierini was a
friend of my father's, he worked for him when my father owned
the shed with hyle; the other two were neighbors. YacDougal
was there. he walked in back of the coffin. Lets President
of the Lontpelier branch of the Union. My cousin Lola's husband
wanted to be bearer. My mother wouldn't hear of it. Eels had
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a touch of t.b. Eels just thirty. Got a touch of it after
he'd worked in the sheds only a few years.
'FAit seems to be in good health now. Me was up to Bill
Bartlett's Health Camp for a year. When he came back he gave
up granite work. Ee's running a hardware shop in Barre. Poor
Lola. he's seen a lot of it. rer father died of it less than
a.year ago. Ee was a stonecutter, too. Then there was my
father's brother---"
The musician nodded towards the spot where his father had
lain. "re forosaw this. He'd seen it grabbing off stonecutters
for more than forty years. That's why he didn't want us to
go in the sheds. It was good enough for him, but he didn't
want us to be a part of it--"
The gambler suddenly sat upright in the chair. "What's
the difference, one :ob or another?" His voice rasped. "It's
just a chance you take--"