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original entry Jan. 2009
Remembering Naples  Here are some
excerpts from emails sent to
me over the last few years by Larry Ray of Gulfport, Mississippi. He
spent time in Naples many years ago and enjoys sharing his memories.
With his permission, I share them with you. Larry maintains a blog
called the iHandbill
as well as a website, Larry Ray.com.
He
also
does
English-translations
of
the
material on Napoli
Underground,
an
organization
devoted
to
exploring the tunnels and caverns beneath
the city of Naples. (Also see Larry's items The Great Money Pit and Beneath the
Oldest Basilica in Naples on
this website.) The material below is in no particular order,
and I have not edited the content other than to insert an occasional
explanatory
comment [in brackets like this]; I have also linked to the
entries in this encyclopedia that were the sources of his notes to me.
Larry also has This recorded
interview (about 30 min.) from Radio New Zealand about the
caves and quarries beneath Naples.Below: Napoli-Piedonte railway; Brit cemetery; Riva Fiorita; Achille Lauro; Grand Albergo di Londres; Main Post Office; Wall shrines; Villa Floridiana; the Femminiello; Santa Lucia.  ...One of many, many nagging mysteries about Napule has always been
that narrow building near the Orto Botanico, the “Ferrovia
Napoli—Piedimonte
Matese”. I actually searched for rails, looked
for stairs descending to a platform, etc. and finally tucked it into
the
Naples X File drawer of my memory. I frequently walked home up to Cupa
Carbone all the way from Piazza Municipio and on Via Foria would see
this mystery station sitting out there all by itself . . . now I
know! There is also a gray columned gate leading to an army barracks of some sort nearby. Also in 1959-60, a theater, beneath the Galleria Umberto, with its entrance almost at the inside intersection of the Via Roma - Via St. Brigida entrances was a porno grind cinema with a real rough edge to it . . . the underground theater idea fascinated me . . . the rough crowd did not. Then in the mid 80's, right beneath the steps at the entrance on the Via Verdi side, a friend of mine (who owned the 'Fratelli Cimmino' TV and appliance store across from that entrance) told me that a small theater for live performances of jazz, theater, etc. was being restored there. I watched the construction down in the lower 'bow' of the two stairways leading up from via Verdi into the Galleria . . . on subsequent visits, the Cheops factor had done its logarithmic thing and when I last saw it, it was a boarded up, dust covered place mark in time. Are either of the places I mention the location of the café-chantant of your article? [Yes, they both are.] I visited the Metropolitan cinema in the huge tuffo cavern off via Chiaia many times. I understand after being closed for decades it is now a multi-screen theater. My speleologist buddies in Naples tell me that the huge theater only occupies a tiny bit of the massive tuffo quarry in that part of the Chiaia district...  ...I seem to recall a Brit Cemetery and
an American one too. I believe the British Cemetery was or is also
called Cimitero dei Protestanti
and is off Piazza Volturno on Corso Garibaldi about halfway between
Piazza Garibaldi and Carlo III. I know this because I used to go to the
Anglican Cathedral on Via
San Pasquale up off Riviera di Chiaia and some of the older folks would
go there annually for a bit of a tidy up… Garibaldi gave four prime pieces of real estate to the Brits for Protestant Anglican churches in Milan, Rome, Florence and Naples, it is said, in appreciation for their help in the unification. The one in Naples is a time warp . . . small expat congregation, part military, consular types, Brit shop owners and visitors. There is an ancient tracker pipe organ, it is freeze-your-ass-off cold in the winter . . . old round cracked red leather kneeling pads . . . a cornerstone honoring Queen Victoria, and a lovely little courtyard on one side for after mass gathering, tea and such. There is a older local woman who for years has been the assistant to the various young pastors who have been posted there. She is serious, sweet and the church is very much her whole life. One of my favorite tales is a visit many years ago for morning mass, and as we filed out, I mentioned to the ruddy-faced young priest that I was from St. Mark's parish, 1847, in South Mississippi. His face formed into a condescending beacon of superiority and through a stiff half smile he nodded and said, "Ah, Episcopalian… well, you are always welcome." Then he turned abruptly to pump the hand of a pledging member behind me...  ...I was more than
delighted to see the photos and read about my old
hangout, Riva Fiorita! I have
had many wild and wonderful times in "The Castle" and the close up of
the turret being restored is also a close up of my days in that turret
with a wild, genius cybernetician, Dr. Valentino Braitenburg and his
wife and young daughter. He lived in the front portion of the villa
with his American born, New Yorker wife. Dr. B was doing research in a
laboratory located in a building just across from the Zoo entrance at
the Mostra, and we got connected because he needed a technician to help
with things electrical and electronic in his research work. He took a
real shine to me and taught me how to extrude micro glass electrodes
which I inserted with a micro manipulator into live frog brains (they
had been immobilized with a dose of curare . . . can't make this kind
of stuff up!) He was mapping a portion of bovine brain wherein lie
groupings of Purkinje cells, also called Purkinje neurons which
were of interest to him because they act as a delay network. Frog brain
was used for in vivo study on an oscilloscope screen. Valentino was
highly animated, juggling several projects at once . . . he is a phD
cybernetic scientist, earned his MD, played concert piano and was
incredibly influential upon my early development because of the machine
gun exposure to things mysterious, challenging and delightfully new. In
the very turret he played wildly and excellently upon his piano, and
then enlisted my assistance in helping him design a transducer to allow
him to put music INTO a violin while it was being played. And yes, he
was a masterful violinist as well.In your bottom photo, the second story balcony on the light colored apartment building took me back to another Riva Fiorita halcyon memory . . . for that was the apartment of Irene Abi, a German or Austrian girl about my age, 20-21, with whom I had a deep friendship and a somewhat beatnik romance. We had a striking resemblance to one another and were easily taken for twins which was a total hoot to both of us. Somewhere I have a photo of her leaning over that top railing, her chin resting on it, with a delightful mischievous smile. In what used to be small monocamera apartments at street level in the building behind the Villa Volpicelli, on the road up and out of Riva Fiorita lived a friend of Irene, a starving German artist who seemed to delight in lecturing me about where art came from, railing that my large surreal, abstract paintings which I was exhibiting were "uninspired trash, a fortunate conjuncture of color devoid of true artistic depth." She really raked me over. I had a Lancia Aurelia Gran turismo, four door "machinone" as my friends called it. It had a right hand steering wheel, and the winding descent down to the Riva Fiorita was always like running a road rally...I had a straight exhaust pipe on the Lancia and It was a helluva lot of fun...I loosened tiles on the roof of the galleria Vittoria at 1 AM many times...some of my dearest memories of those years in Naples from 1959 to 62. In 1990, a good friend drove me back down to Riva Fiorita and the old castle was looking pretty rough, as was most of the area. I had a great visit with an old fisherman who indeed remembered Irene, and seemed to think that she was still in Naples. I really thank you for popping this gem, replete with great photos, before me. A real delight and to know the history of, and present situation of the old place really is wonderful.  ...My favorite tale about Achille
Lauro is that after he and a lovely lady friend arrived at Zi Teresa for an afternoon bite to
eat, the scugnizzi [street kids] below began to chant
his name, applaud, etc. He beamed, and finally acceded to the
adoration, stood and went to the iron railing where the urchins
gleefully presented him, for all gathered on the long terrazzo to
enjoy, with a loud, raucous pernacchio chorus before diving
back into the waiting Borgo marina. The Mayor walked back to his table
while fellow diners smiled and held back snickers. Great tale, and might even be true!...  ...The piece on the Grand Albergo di Londres
brought back warm memories. When I arrived in late 1958, the Capo navy
bus, a gray Mercedes coach that was nicely appointed, stopped right
near the Londres. You will probably also remember the Bluebird club
right off Piazza Municipio down the short alley that connects to via
Depretis. The club was always predictably full of drunk sailors
sopping up the 25 cent mixed drinks and so-so eats. Friends took me
around the corner to the Londres where I discovered the real inviting
feeling of their Lowenbrau beer garden-themed restaurant. I loved their
shashlik kebobs with an icy mug of beer. All new and excitingly
European for an 18-year-old from Aransas Pass, Texas!A couple of years later I rented a room with a buddy in the Londres on New Year's Eve and we filled the large armoire in the tall-ceilinged room with fireworks, mostly Roman candles we bought. Some poor carriage driver was trying to make it around the round-about with his wild-eyed horse wanting to get the hell out of there. It was dark. We sighted in on the back of the jouncing carriage with the Roman candles, the exploding fireballs serving as fire-directing tracer rounds. Great fun, but not for Luigi and the poor horse. The entire piazza was swallowed in a murky sulfurous fog, limiting visibility to a meter or so at best. I had no knowledge of the home-made botte [firework explosions], and on several occasions was sure that either unexploded WWII ordinance was going off, or that entire fireworks stands had gone up. Finally a combination of too much spumante, panettone, and lack of oxygen from the thick smoke sent me off to sleep. What a hangover the next morning.  ...Astounding that
[the main] post office
it is four years older than I am, and remains in such great condition.
I have always loved the wonderful severe, almost forbidding Art Deco
cavern. The snotty Post Office clerks behind the windows continued the
Fascist tradition every time I bought stamps or needed information. The
steps down from street level on Corso Umberto always generated a
strange almost eerie out of place feeling. Used to go to the PTT in
that general area where one placed a long distance call, took a
numbered receipt, sat on a bench and waited to have your ticket number
called to enter an ample sound-proofed phone booth to begin your
call. Wish I had of had a teleported copy of your encyclopedia back
then in the late 50's, early 60's. Imagine how much more I could have
enjoyed Naples…though I doubt that would have been possible. Still the
most magical and memorable years of my life...
One younger fellow in the crowd came up
chided me for carrying around a
camera
"down here." Certainly I knew that it would be snatched! He then said
he
would
go with me wherever I wanted to go and that I could take all the
pictures I wanted
"with no worry." The trip then really became interesting. I was invited
up to his
apartment for
coffee and was introduced to wife, kids and a dozen other assorted
family members,
including one who was a Scafi Blu
captain. I
told him I had friends who owned a trattoria
at borgo Marinaro and had
talked to lots of the Scafi
Blu folks down there. He warmed up even
more and gave me the inward waggle of his hand, palm in, index finger
extended
indicating I
should come for a look see in the bedroom. Beaming, he proudly showed
me large
brown boxed
cartons of  I also noted the
update on the Villa Floridiana and
notice of it being transferred to a new bureaucracy. I got to know the
museum and staff very well, and even would take a nice panettone or
other goodies every time I returned for many years.I also got to know Enrico DeConcilis, a mild mannered and wonderful gentleman who was a guide there. More of a docent, actually. His wife, Margarita, worked for the yellow pages and we have been dear friends for more than 30 years. Both are now retired. They live in a very nice apartment in the uppermost part of the Floridiana...we used to get to it using a doorway into the rafters and attic, thence across a suspended walkway and into a small but modern and well appointed apartment. Since my last visit, Enrico tells me they now have an elevator. The apartment also has access to the wonderful roof terrace atop the Villa. The panorama is truly breathtaking. I now must call them and see if the change in supervision of the museum will impact their living arrangements which they have had for decades. I never asked, but it seems that Enrico's dedication to, and knowledge of the museum somehow made him a live-in security presence, though I do not know that to be the case. I sure would hate to see them forced out, and hopefully his presence and knowledge will be appreciated and seen as an asset. There is also a huge underground auditorium beneath the Floridiana from the early days of the Villa, which is now dank and forgotten. I was told all about it by Enrico and almost worked in a visit to see it, but time was too short. Fulvio knows all about the auditorium cum void from his days with the Departemento di Sottosuolo. I loved the Villa Floridiana and spent lots of time there just escaping the noise and hustle of the city. Lots of lovers groping and mothers pushing babies in preambulators of veddddy British design. (In reference to The Femminiello) I remember seeing them around midnight around the exits of the Galleria Umberto, in the open areas around the Castello Angioino posing and parading about and there were no cat calls or insults . . . I asked a friend what that was all about and he merely explained that they came out on the weekends around midnight and were 'femminielli,' noting that some were damned hard to tell from the real thing. Then some while later I remember reading somewhere that there was a protective, supportive and accepting tradition in the bassi above via Roma where the femminielli were regulars sitting with the women as they played tombola, and also were trained like daughters in hand work like crochet and such. This reference mentioned that everyone in the quarter was just fine with the situation and in fact, the femminielli were frequently protected by brawny men in the bassi from cafone who made a big deal out of their femininity. (re Santa Lucia, Swedish St. Lucy) I have an Italian-American immigrant tale from the United States, this time from New Orleans where St. Lucy is venerated in an innocently inappropriate way by the St. Lucy Society of New Orleans. The wave of Italian immigrants arrived at the port of New Orleans after the war between the states in the U.S.. Most all came from Sicily, and New Orleans culture today is rich with Sicilian cuisine, customs and traditions. The annual St. Joseph's day altars in churches and many private homes still feature huge ornate baked breads and pastries. There are many Italian benevolent societies, clubs and organizations as well, including an Italian-American-Italian federation of the Southeast. Our Gulf Coast Italian-American Cultural Society from the Mississippi Gulf Coast always had representatives for the annual meeting of the state federation. One year when the federation gathering was hosted in New Orleans, I went over with several of our society's officers. ( I was local club president that year … the first and only Irish descended president of an Italian cultural organization in the area.) One of the events was attending a special annual St. Joseph's Day mass honoring the St. Lucy Society of New Orleans's patron saint in a huge Catholic cathedral there. Few if any present day Italian Americans in the New Orleans area speak Italian, and their Sicilian dialect also vanished under generations of pressure from parents to speak English and "be American." The incongruence of honoring a patron saint of the blind on St. Joseph's day is just part of the mish-mash of traditions and cobbled together memories of "the old country." Adding to this gumbo from the past is the song selected to be sung at that mass for their patron saint, Saint Lucy AKA "Santa Lucia." Yep, that's what we sang loudly, filling the church with song not about St. Lucia healing the blind, rather it was a familiar melody from around 1849 that glorifies the beauty of an ancient seaside quarter of Naples, Italy: Over the sea shines a silver star. Placid is the wave. Fair is the wind. Come to my swift little boat, Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia. Come to my swift little boat, Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia. It seems that the St. Lucy, who lived in the fourth century has long had a history that does not match her name. All that scholars and historians really know is that she was a brave individual who lived in Syracuse and died, unflinching, at the hands of those persecuting Christians. Fanciful legends evolved after her death as a tribute to her faith and courage. One tells of a chaste young girl who had devoted her life to Christ. Her mother, however, wanted to marry her off into a fine family. Lucy would have none of it, and through her prayers at the tomb of Saint Agatha she brought about a miraculous cure for her mother's long-standing illness. That convinced Mom, but her jilted bridegroom turned Lucy in to the local governor as a Christian. We know she was persecuted and killed. And the killings were pretty grim in those days including burning, a sword thrust through the neck and torture that included mutilation of the eyes. Another Lucy legend has it that Roman Emperor and persecutor of the church, Diocletian, put out her eyes himself, only to have them restored by God. At any rate she wound up as patron saint of the blind. Her name comes from the same root of the word "lucid" or light, and what the heck, she could be that bright shining star reflecting her light off the waves in the bay off the ancient fishermen's port of Santa Lucia in bella Napoli. to main index to miscellaneous portal |
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