Elisabetta

Instigated by the ever present Paolo Gas, I gate-crashed the annual blood donor’s bash up at the Ciocco in the guise of Sacco’s nephew from Rome – I even got to do a turn on stage with the magician at the after dinner party …

After that he was always affectionately known as my “zio”, and I as his “nipote”.

Ever the acrobat, in those days he would do his famous death defying somersaults in Casciani’s, and then insist on lying down so that the heaviest guy in the place could stand on his stomach (the joke being that he didn’t actually have one – it had been removed together with the tumour that had foolishly dared to take him on). Later he would have us all worried sick as he performed the most excruciating belly flops from the high board – not much of a swimmer, he often preferred simply to walk along the bottom of the pool until he reached the steps.

His life, from war orphan and refugee to the very end, was up hill and full of hardship; however his optimism and positive spirit became legendary as he turned his hand at any number of jobs – from cook to handyman, from repairing umbrellas and painting and decorating to factory work in France (“rien da faire” and “les jeux sont fait”, as he would proudly, if randomly, declare). Always on hand to help in any way he could, and never short of a bright idea whatever the problem to be solved, he was much sought after long after retirement.

So many memories flood back as I review the last twenty years of our friendship – too many to mention. All of them, however, contain his ever present wry grin, his sense of fun and games, his proud determination to never give in and never give up.

So, why not take a moment to crack open a can of beer: let us raise it high in honour of a little guy who will always be remembered as a giant of a man!

“Evvero, dice il Sacco”

R.I.P.