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He has done remarkable work in the little time he can
spare from his many other duties. I learned that majority
of the Italian stonecutters came from northern Italy, a
section of the country long disposed to resist papal
authority and often engaged in religious controversies.
But their ancestors had been Catholics, the Faith was in
their blood; most of then were baptised, but with that the
external manifestations of their faith ended. On the other
band I found as many mho came to this country good chnrebr
going Catholics, but immediately their church-gOing stopped.
That wasn't difficult to understand, or to appreciate. A
strange language, the difficulties presented in the confes-
sional,- these and other problems kept them from Church.
"In Barre shore the Italian population is larger, we
have an Italian speaking priest. This spring be started
a series of broadcasts in Italian. They Were popular.
His work and that of his follow priests have borne fruit.
Many Italians are returning to the church.
"I have fouhd it easy to make friends with the Italians,
in Montpelier. 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, ny neighbors, they would
laugh at net They are Italian like ne. 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 people, we are honest we believe in God, but to
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go back to dhurchnew-----1
"I remind them that some day they will want burial
from the dbureib-
"'Sures' majority will cry, 'sure, burial from the
Church, we 'ant that. Are we not entitled to it? Are we
not born in the faith? Sure, our fathers and their fathers
before them had the reqpiescat in sacs sung over their
bodies. UM, we want that, too. Some day before we die
we will go back, we will make arrangement*'
"I will tell you about an Italim-Swiss stonecutter
who was buried from St. Augustine's church just yesterday.
We will call him Castoli. He was born in Besasio, Seltzer-
-land, where he learned the stonecutting trade. He came to
this eountry in 1900. He was an artist, a fine cutter, and
be went into the granite business, co -proprietor of a shed
with an Iriiihman. When his health began to fail be sold
his interest in the shed, and operated a thee store. It
has been six or seven years now since he has retired from
active business.' The nuns at St. Michael's Convent tell
me that he has &Ivey's 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, he was always willing to work, and for no
pay. Perhaps the obituary in the local paper will best
describe him 'Mr. Castoli was a man of great influence,
not only among the Italian people but in the entire city
of Montpelier. He was well-known for his honesty in
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business and had a great many friends.'
"It is true that be was an influential wan, but his
one sorrow was that be could not influence his own sons.
Three of .them. (iSod boys, popular and well liked, but
gamblers and drinkers. The youngest boy broke his ankle
in a drunken brawl a few day* ago. 144 was sent for at
the hospital when his father was taken bad.
*Yes, Mt. Costal was oneof those Whose church -going
stopped when be reached America. His three sons were bap-
tized soon after their births, but they've never been,
church -goers. When the nuns beard that Cast021 was sick
they paid haze. visit. Yes, it's one of the duties of
the Sisters of Mercy to visit the sick. It was more than
duty in this case. 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. They were
pleasant, encouraging. He and his it. began to look for-
ward to their visits. It was about this time that I started
going to see him. His oldest son, a musician, is married
and has three children. :Ust two weeks ago these children
were baptized. I could see that Mr. Castoli's days were
numbered. On my next to the last visit to him, be said he
was going to die soon, that be would like to go to con".
fession and receive the Host. I remember it was a hot day,
I had been sitting with him for an hours I was nervous and
worried, I was beginning to think my visits were in vaim---"
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Father MoCullan continued his story. You saw the
picture: A hots breathless Awe afternoon. Sun flooding
the small sleeping porch that overlooked the tracks and
the shade where Castoli had worked. Sun beating relentless-
ly on the few fUrnishings. Two straight backed chairs. A
metal bedstand that held a book, a glass of eater, an en-
velope of pills three black stogies resembling bits of
twisted rope, a sterile sputum cup. Bun beating, too,
upon the narrow bed, and upon its vested occupant, the
Italian -Swiss stonecutter. Mr. Ofstoli lying back onihis
pillows. His blue eyes, too bright. His sunken cheeks,
red with fever. He raises his band feebly to ward off the
sun. As if grateful for the momentts distraction the
young curate springs eagerly to his feet, and drays down
the shade that will leave Oastoli in cooling chador. He
is a young priest, but little experienced in comforting a
dying man's agonised breathing. Fain and suffering in an-
other wring his heart. Beneath the Roman collar his throat
swells with sympathy. His round face is beaded with per-
spiration. He can leave. Yes, be can leave this death
chamber, go back to the pea** of his study, to the vigorous
fun of the tennis courts He clenches his bands. Than
Oastolits words, "Well, Father, I have decided- I will go
to Confessionp.-41
Oastoli was buried. His funeral was held from the
church Sunday afternoon. Monday morning a requiem mass
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was sung for the repose of his soul. At'800 the three sons
were gathered with two friends in the livtbg-Imommeittime for
three days Castoli had lain against a messed wall of flowers.
Mrs. Castoll was upstairs resting. She had taken the sleep-
ing powder that her nurseniece, Lola, had pressed upon her.
There was silence in the living -roam. The heavy, em-
barrassing silence that sometimes bangs between good friends.
Friends suffering a mutual sorrow. The oldest sari, the
musician, spoke. "That churehswaic was good. It would
have been better with a violin accompaniment. Especillly
with the singing. But it was good-.-"
"The flowers filled two open cars-" Lou, the youngest,
said tonelessly. His face was white and strained. Added
to his sorrow was the physical pain from his injured ankle.
He lay on the davenport, his bandaged foot resting on a
pile of pillows. He had insisted upon valuing in the
funeral procession. Now his foot throbbed.
Silence again.
One of the friends asked, "The bearers, Lou, who were
they? There were some I didn't know."
"Some of them I don't know well myself," Lou admitted.
"Batini represented the Stonecutters' Union; Saadi, the
Italian Pleasure Club; Morgan, the Order of Foresters (gy
father was Secretary -Treasurer until be resigned last fall);
Beglierini was a friend of my father's, he worked for him
when my father owned the shed with Ryle; the other two were
neighbors. Buchanan was there. He walked in back of the
coffin. He's President of the Montpelier branch of the
Union. My cousin Lola's husband wanted to be a bearer.
My mother wouldn't boar of it. He's had a touch of T. B.
himself. Hote barely thirty. He got a touch of it after
he'd worked in the sheds only a few years.
*Nos he seems to be in good health now. He was up
to Bill Bartlett's Health Camp for a year. When he came
back he gave up granite work. He's running a radio and
paint shop in Barre. Poor Lola. She's certainly seen a
lot of it in her family. Her father died of it leas than
a year ago. Yea, he was a stonecutters toe. Then thiire
was my father's brother
The musician -brother inclined his head towards the
spot where his father had lain. "He foresaw this, he'd
seen it grabbing off stonecutters for more than forty yearS.
That's why be didn't want us to go in the *beds. It was
good enough for him, but be didn't want us to be a part of
it--*
The gaMbler-brothor jerked his short, heavy body up-
right in the their. He spoke for the first time. "What's
the difference, one job or another?* His voice came deep,
rasped. *It's just a chance you take --w
Lou jammed a fiat hard into a pillow. *Gods to Willi'
of itt When my father was my age hold already learned a
trade in Switzerland, he'd already crossed the ocean--*
He hesitated. Shame crept into his words. *Well, I've
crossed to Switzerland and Italy myself, but it wasn't on
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my money, and it wasn't to find a job. It was a pleasure
trip... When he was my ago he was in business for hlmself,
he was married and making payments on this house. Just my
age be was. And what have I to &how/ Nothing, I guess.*
His lips were bitter, scornful. PNoth4rg'but a bell of a
good time, empty pockets, and a broken ankle:" His fingers
ran nervously through his black hair. There was a baffled,
confused look in his eyes. °Gods I don't know. I don't
know that it makes any difference. One way or the other,
it just doesn't add up...11