Raffaele Vertaglia

When I was born, in the late 1950s, life was hard because a global catastrophe had just ended less than a decade ago.

But a flourishing period awaited me, made up of so many hopes but with at least one certainty: eating.

I don't think that as a child I ever suffered from hunger, despite my family being simple, honest and hardworking, I think I really wanted a lot, but in the end I never lacked what was necessary.

The "economic boom" only touches me, because perhaps I only remember masses and processions of those years.

The parish priest was still an authority for the poor people, but also for the wealthy of the area, mostly the merchants of Corso Garibaldi in Naples.

There is not yet that swing of criminal power, but there is still talk of the "guappo del rione", as the authority who, together with the parish priest, hold the strings of this barely mentioned urban fabric, calm and serene.

For the boys, the fun is going to the parish, attending catechism classes, being part of Catholic Action, seeing some slides of the pilgrimage trips made by the younger priests, participating in the Liturgies as altar boys, then obtaining that much desired "approval" from part of the parish priest to participate in the interforanial championships, a single group with round-trip matches. The cost? A certificate from the parish priest certifying the presence of the whole group at Sunday Mass.

There was no sterile competition at a distance, through the "NETWORK", there were no various electronic games, at most there was "table football" or pingpong, always in the Parish Halls, or the infamous "Billiard Room" , where adults gathered to play broom betting a coffee that really cost what it was worth.

The football matches, the official ones, were played at the Salesian Don Bosco oratory, but to train on the road a stone was enough as a pole, and when this was missing a coat was fine, turning it with the lining on the ground, it didn't get dirty outside ! This was what we thought, but our mothers were not of the same opinion. The machines were very few, the majority five hundred, but also six hundred, multiple. There were green and black taxis, green buses too, and when there were the first public transport strikes, it seems strange, but the military trucks came out, making a single itinerary, only for those who had to go at work. There wasn't yet all that emancipation where even women could fly a military truck, there weren't yet jeans. Befana was believed more than Santa Claus; there was respect for the elderly person. White hair was a sign of experience and wisdom. The work of others was respected, the Others as a Neighbor, not as a shapeless and leveled mass, but civilized people with "social" dignity. Of course the "master" was the most important figure in the social fabric of those times, as it should be. Today school preparation is entrusted to a team of teachers, who carry out the work that the master did alone in those distant times. But, surely, it is that "sentimental" relationship between pupil-educator that existed and certainly could not be misunderstood. Today, if a teacher caresses the face of a pupil, he is already condemned for "pedophilia" ... Once upon a time, the educator was the intermediary between the family and society. Today he is only a state employee, as such, he awaits the end of the month and as time goes by, the advent of the pension!

It is certainly this way of conceiving Education, which is lacking in the new generations, who deserve the credit for not having done anything to transform the School into this state, they have simply suffered it!

From these statements, it should be clear that I studied to be a Primary School Teacher. But I don't teach, obviously, because the "teacher", an educational figure, is no longer needed. The good teacher, father and exemplary husband no longer educates. Today it is the appearance that teaches young people. Being the best in school subjects? No thank you! A nice little film with the cell phone and put on YOU-Tube is worth more than any official commendation given by a School Director. Sometimes, it is the same media that encourage young people to play pranks (acts of pure and simple vandalism) because this television has called the competition for the best amateur filmmaker, diverting from these kids the value of being gullible and to demonstrate that they are good, they do it even to the detriment of other colleagues or school furnishings.

The work that was carried out by a single educational figure and who followed the pupil from the first year up to the Elementary License is no longer needed today (or rather, it would be useful, but this figure was not considered educational; there is the Internet, which is much more complete! I am not convinced, it is the human relationship that is missing. We are many "alone" in search of the "Sun".

But I digress excessively.

I am Neapolitan, not only of football faith, but also and above all of birth, cultural extraction where I lived there until 2002. In the places of my childhood, some have called it bigoted, but nevertheless it is my childhood, my youthful life, my adult life. Then, as I feel responsible for my family's future, I moved to the North-East. In Veneto. Here, in a social fabric, devoid of mandolins and pizzas, I have found it appropriate to adapt to any type of work, without ever forgetting my origins, my roots.

The will to pursue a goal has given me the courage and strength to implement my intentions: to give a peaceful and dignified life to my family.

Currently I am a security guard at an institute in Venice, the CDS.

At around 18, I presented a poem of mine in Neapolitan dialect at a street party, disguised as Pulcinella. Then my participation in a radio program on one of the first free radio stations gave me a certain notoriety: Radio Azzurra. Subsequently I proposed my text on the occasion of an International Literary Prize, the second edition was the one that took place in 1986, entitled to Luigi Pirandello, organized by the Passport Journalistic Agency of Rome. On that and only occasion, I won the prize of the Critics and the President of the Council, the special mention awarded with the gold medal of the Holy Year with diploma, delivered to me by the hands of the Mayor, through a municipal messenger. I certainly wasn't looking for fame and notoriety, so I locked myself up in voluntary silence. I had other things to prioritize. I had to survive. My aspirations? Live and write.