So, the next day I decided to take a side trip to Popoli (where a good friend's father was born).  On the map is didn't look too far.  Damn!  I forgot about the mountains again.  The GPS was very accurate, but there were times I had my doubts.  Here I was traveling along a two way country road and then the GPS would tell me to make a turn and soon I would find myself in either on a rocky road or a pasture.  Can this be right?  Will I forever be lost?  Then before you know it I'm back on the highway.  Then I hit another small town with the neighbors looking very suspicious at me.  Eventually, I reach the town of Popoli and I start walking around with my video camera for about a half an hour.  My friend Tom better appreciate the effort.  Well, knowing Tom, I know he will.  Whoopee!  Time to drive back through cow shit.

Now, it's Friday, the day I was told to come back to the Town Hall.  If this doesn't bare fruit I may never know of my Grandfather's birth and his secret will remain just that, a secret.  I'll admit I was a little nervous heading in.  My new Italian BFF Laredo accompanied me so he could translated the news, good or bad to me.  As we entered the lobby there was a line of people waiting to go in a see the official I spoke to on Wednesday.  Laredo told me to follow me upstairs where he introduced me to Elia Finamore (a top official in the town).  He spoke to her in Italian, with me standing there with a dumb-ass expression on my face and hoping he's not telling her that he's taking me around so people can look at the stupid American.  Fortunately, after Laredo stopped talking she turned to me with a big smile, shook my hand and said "Finamore!".  Just then she lead us down stairs, past the people waiting in line and through the door and into the room that might hold the "key" to my quest.

The women inside had me look at a big book laid out on a long table and there written out in beautiful calligraphy was the birth record on my Grandfather "Giuseppe Nicola Finamore" born April 29, 1880,  his father, Angelo Finamore (a pastore or sheppard) and his mother, Columba Valente.  I was stunned standing there.  I couldn't couldn't take my off the page.  Standing there I could feel the wave of emotion come over me.  I wanted so badly to have a family member next to me to share this moment and say "we did it."  The dots have been connected.  I looked up a saw the joy in the eyes of those who helped in my search.  Joy in my excitement and satisfaction that they were able to help. 

Elia then pointed out the the address on the certificate and said she would take me to where my Grandfather was born.  So, Laredo, Elia and myself headed off down the road to where it all began.  As we got closer to the address my heart began to sink.  I had been here during an earlier walk.  The archway of the Benedetto Croce home (a landmark in the town).  It was a lonely door in the archway and the home had long been abandoned and some graffity was written upon the ancient wood.

I started thinking about the hardship that the family went through.  And the courage it took the leave and head off to a strange country to start a new life.  Columba and her nine year old son Joseph Nicholas.  She must have heard that America was the land of new opportunity and hope.  It's unknown what came of her husband Angelo, so here was a mother wanting the best for her son trekking down to Napoli on a horse-drawn cart from the mountains of Pescasseroli to board a ship heading heading across the atlantic to a city that must have overwhelmed her and her son.  A city and a country that welcomed them like so many others that came with a dream and hope that a better life was in their future.  Thank you American and thank you ancestry.com

Well, after fighting off my nausea and getting my eyes focused again I realized I was so far up the mountains there was snow.  Sixty degrees, bright sun and snow.  Finally I entered Pescasseroli -- It must be because there's nothing else around.  In fact, as my car barely navigated the extremely narrow cobbled streets,  I didn't see a soul.  It looked as though the town was evacuated.  Wait......There's someone standing on the corner ----he looks at me like I'm there to take his home ----also, his eyes follow my car waiting for me to side-swipe one of his neighbors yugos.  Yes, it looks like yugos are still popular here.

My navigator system only has the street of my hotel, and soon I find myself traveling down a muddy road -- I can hear mud slapping against the car; so much for a spanking new car.  The road came to an end and there I was at a ski slope --and now being directed to a parking spot.  Oooops! I quickly put the muddy bucket into reverse and went in the opposite direction.  Two minutes later I see a sign that says Hotel Sport Daniel ( Now, how Italian is that?).  Here at last, here at last, thank God almighty, I'm here at last. 

I stepped out of the car and got my first look at the "mud bucket". Now, should I take it to the car wash?  Hello???????  Reality Check is in order.  Maybe I can put some snow in the hotel towel and just wipe?  What?  I can hear my wife say "It's the rental's job....leave it alone".....and so I did. 

One of the reasons I chose this hotel is because the staff was billed as multilingual.  Little did I know that meant that each staff member knew one word in english.  This is going to be fun.  I will never again make fun of mimes.  How was I to know the mime class I took at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts would help me years later in Italy.  After settling in, I decided to have a good meal at the hotel, rest and start my search first thing in the morning.

Again, after many wrong turns I finally found myself in the center of Pescasseroli.  What a beautiful place.  A perfect resort town.  It's small, but very picturesque (sp?).  After taking a small tour I took out my English/Italian dictionary and made a grand attempt to translate what I was looking for and took it to the Pescasseroli Commune (Town Hall).  To my surprise the woman at the reception desk acually understood what was looking for.  I was then directed to come through the main door and then lead into another room where two ladies met with me.  After they read what I had written, we all did our best Marcel Marseau (sp?) and decided to meet in two days (Friday).

As I exited the building, an older Italian woman spoke to me in Italian and then directed me to follow her.....Soon I was standing before a seventy one year old man called Jerry Gentile. He spent years in Australia and knew english pretty well.  Finally, some hope.  Jerry owned the cheese shop in the center (run by his daughter) and a hotel on he other side of the mountain. Fortunately, he took a third job as a personal tour guide for a lost man from Boston. Once I told Jerry who I was and why I was there I was drawing crowd everywhere I went.  Apparently Jerry is quite the gossip.

Now, I was told the name Finamore (FIN-a-more') is common in Pescasseroli and not really found in other parts of Itlay. Jerry quickly introduced me to the barber in town (Nicola Finamore), but there didn't seem to be a connection.

The next day, while ordering a slice of pizza and a coke zero in the center pizza shop, the owners (a Syrian married couple), asked me if I was Finamore.  When I told them I was they went outside and called to a man named Lorado.  When he came into the shop they volunteerd his services.  He agreed and soon became my guardian angel in town. We decided to meet the next day at 8:15 and head to the Parish Church to look up the records.

The church was built in the 12th Century (By looking at the town it's one of the newer buildings). We met the Pastor who then took us to the room where the old records are kept.  Lorado and I spent hours going through many books.  We found some clues, but nothing definative.  Was this going to be the end of the road? Will my grandfather (Mio nonno) still remain a mystery?

I paid the priest 20 Euros (more than expected) and said "Thank you".  In Italy they all think we in America are rich and I didn't want to kill the elusion by just giving the priest one euro.

Tomorrow I head back to the Town Hall to see if they found anything.  I even sweetened the pot by bringing them pastry.  Lets see if it pays off. ---------

Finally,I found a computer that I can use since the laptop I brought decided not to work.  There is so much that has happened from the minute I got to Logan.  First, I had Susan drop me off at the Delta Terminal.  When I tried to chck in I was told I would be flying out on Alitalia Airlines, which just so happened to be on the other side of the airport. Trying to save some walking time and be kind to my feet I tried to take one of those "walking sidewalks".  As I was manuvering my bags one of them got caught and of course I landed on my ass.  As my bags started getting further away, or should I say I was getting further away from them, I started crawling back to them as quick as I could so I wouldn't cause a bottle-neck.  All I could think of was "Now this is a Kodak moment."

Next, while waiting to check in at the correct line, an airport security woman called out if anyone belonged to a piece of luggage that was standing alone not more than ten feet from me.  Shortly after someone brought a bomb sniffing dog to check it out.  "Is it too late to change my mind?"  Finally, a little old Italian man came over and said it was his and was told he had to keep it with him at all times.

The seven hour and fourty five minute flight went very smoothly and I would have rested all the way except for this "darling" little child who used the back of my chair as a dance floor.  I was so looking forward to jumping into my rental car and driving into the mountains of central Italy without a wink of sleep.  When we landed, and after I stuffed the "darling's" head in the plane's toilet, I left looking for AutoEurope for my rental.  I found AutoEurope right away,but they didn't have my registration.....SHIT!  I started checking all the rental companies.  Finally, Hertz had my reservation.  I NEVER WENT THROUGH HERTZ!  "Shut up Michael and just get the car."I wound up getting a brand new Ford Focus (with less than 9 miles).......Off I go!!!!

Bless my wife Susan for downloading maps for Italy on her GPS.  If not for the GPS I would still be circling the airport.  Didn't Tom Hanks do a movie about not being able to leave an airport?

The first two sights I saw when leaving the airport was McDonalds and an IKEA.  Did the airplane just circle Logan for eight hours and then just land?  That thought soon changed when a massive mountain range lay before me.

It be came crystle clear why the Smart Car is so popular.......those friggin' mountain roads.  The roads are narrow to say the least and they were winding every which way (I feltI was doing UTurns for two hours).  My Ford Focus felt like a semi-tractor trailor.

Tomorrow I'll take you into Pescasseroli (I now know how to say it correctly) and tell you what I found. 

Okay, it's less than 48 hours before my flight and I haven't thought about packing.  The weather is going to be sunny all week with temperatures in the upper 60's.  Would I look too strange getting on the plane with just a backpack and a garbage bag?  This adventure is surreal and I haven't come to grips that I'm really going to do this.  I know tonight I'll have the "Actor's Dream" of walking onto the plane in just my underwear.  Yea, I better get busy and start packing, or at least start thinking about what to bring.

Yesterday I exchanged US currency into Euros.....yikes!  I handed over a good amount and got enough to buy a meatball and a gelato in return.

That's all.....I have to go a find a suitcase and socks that don't have holes in them.

My Grandfather Joseph Nicholas Fennimore

                                                                                                                                               
My Grandfather's 1910 census reads his birth place as England.  His marriage certificate has his birth place as Manchester, England.  Coming home from the burial of my Grandmother (Ethel Agnes 'Robinson' Fennimore), he told my cousin Robert Fennimore that he came from Shrewsbury, England. 

Because all vital records are centralized in the British Isles, I thought accessing them would not be difficult.  However, I couldn't find anything that came close.  I later contacted the Naturalization Board at the Southern District Court of New York after locating his name and a number on Ancestry.com.  The woman on the phone came up with my Grandfather's name, wife's name, children's (including my father), and his home address.  You can imagine my surprise when she told me that his birth place was Pescasseroli, L'Aqula, Abruzzo, Italy!  Now I'm wondering who my Grandfather was.  Why did he keep it a secret?  So, I decided to start from the beginning and the beginning is in Italy.  Monday I take off for Italy to find my roots.  I'll keep you posted during my journey.  Wish me luck.