On the train from Milano to Verona I found myself being suddenly freaked out. My family-heritage-enthusiasm was starting to leave me...and self doubt started to pop up. In moments like this...and in my lifetime I had plenty...I did what I was taught to do on the baseball diamond...stick to the fundamentals and don't try to do too much! So I took a deep breath and kept thinking to myself, 'one thing at a time...and the first thing is to get rid of this HUGE, unwieldy, ridiculously heaving duffel bag!'
There are two things everyone should know about Italian train stations:
Left Luggage - you can leave your bags with them, thus unburdening yourself for a small fee.
Buses - there are lots of buses outside of train stations and if you take Bus #1, it will take you to Il Centro (the center) of town.
So with this knowledge I rented one of their changing rooms for 30 minutes...took a shower and sorted through what I needed to begin my quest for a job.
Baseball glove, bat, baseball pants, long sleeves and spikes
Minimalist possessions such as clean underwear, socks and toiletries
I stuck my essential equipment into my huge scuba-backpack...with the baseball bat sticking out of the slot where your flippers normally go. Did I mention that fluorescent colors in diving were in vogue back then...so my backpack had some REALLY BRIGHT colors?! Well...it did...which did not help me to 'blend in.'
OK - I had a problem that needed solving...which was that I needed to find a job playing baseball and had no idea how to start.
- First step...get to the center of town to multiply my potential available resources. Bus #1 would be the transportation for this important first step.
I was dumbfounded by the beauty of the Roman Amphitheater, massive cascading fountain, gelaterias (ice cream shops), cobblestone streets and outdoor cafes with awnings that were filled with very stylish Italians strolling arm-in-arm and all speaking a language that was both beautiful and incomprehensible.
There I stood...khaki pants...button collared shirt...running shoes...sweater wrapped around my waist and a big black and fluorescent backpack with a baseball bat sticking out...and nowhere to sleep and no idea where I would be sleeping.
Being single minded has its advantages at times (contrary to all the women in the world who say that multi-tasking is the superior attribute)...and this was one of those times. Despite the beauty surrounding me...the fact that I hadn't slept in an ungodly amount of time and was feeling a bit overwhelmed to say the least...I stuck to the fundamentals and found myself a pay-phone and a phone book. There I promptly started alphabetically with "B" for baseball...and found the address of the "Federazione della Baseball e` Softball" (Federation of Baseball and Softball)...and promptly wrote down the address.
I had no idea where it was...as I only knew two Italian words which were 'no' and 'si.' And seeing how no is the same in English, one could argue that I actually only knew ONE word. And thus I embarked with my piece of paper in hand...and every so often would stop someone with a pleasant look about them...point to the address on the paper...smile and say, 'help!' This is where my Italian language lessons informally began. Sinistra (left)...destra (right) and sempre dritto (keep straight)... and help translated is 'aiuto' (pronounced I-you-toe).
Of course I didn't recognize any of those words; however I did recognize when someone waved their hand straight and then left...which translated means, "go straight for a bit and ask someone else for help so you don't turn left in the wrong place." Step-by-step...kind stranger after another I made my way to the Federation of Italian Baseball and Softball in Verona.
Thus far, this had been a long and taxing 17+ hours (time change considered).
- 2:30 pm - I left Los Angeles
- 6:20 am - (the next day) Arrived in Milano
- 1230 pm - Arrived in Verona
- 1:00 pm - In Verona's city center
- 1:20 pm - In pursuit of the Baseball Federation
- 3:30 pm - Arrived at President Laerte Panarotta's office
After lots of hand-waving...walking...smiles and blind luck I arrived at what was 1/2 trophy shop and apparently the office of the President of the Baseball Federation in Verona...one Signor Laerte Panarotta.
One may surmise that the President of the Baseball Federation would learn a word or two of English along the way, having dealt with American ballplayers every so often (when not employing Cuban shortstops for the same job); however this was not the case. Laerte (pronounced Lay-ere-tay) stubbornly refused to try to learn even one word of English or was playing possum better than the best back woods raccoon trader.
Alas, after 10 hours of arriving in Italy, I found myself standing in the Baseball President's office, near the beautiful Lungadige river that snakes through the middle of Verona. This is where the communication got much worse! Laerte would ask me in Italian what I want (Che cosa desiderate?)...and I would cleverly answer, "I don't understand." This went on for awhile with my pulling out my baseball bat and mock-swinging it to show that I was a baseball player...making throwing and fielding motions while smiling like a fool in the hopes that kindness would somehow overcome the barriers...and then I broke out my Million Dollar Solution...and used the only phrase I had come to Italy prepared with (somehow in my fatigued state, I had forgotten this till now): Sono un giocatore americano di baseball (I am an American baseball player).
I then pulled out my Italian/English dictionary and phrase book...which Laerte promptly pushed aside and refused to use or even look at when I found a word I wanted him to look at. He then took the ridiculous-age-old-time-tested method of speaking more LOUDLY and S-L-O-W-L-Y in the hopes that I would suddenly understand the Italian language.
At this point, my frustration and fatigue reared up...and I stepped behind the counter and grabbed his phone book. Yet again, I was sticking to fundamentals...'if you can't get someone to talk to you...get someone to do the talking for you' is what my logic told me. As fate and fortune would have it...I found the address for a Collegio Universitario (University), which was located close by. I motioned to Laerte that I was going to the address on the page I wrote, pointed at my backpack etc with the words, "I'll be right back," and way I went. As luck or fate would have it the University was two buildings away.
Seing at it was a University, I felt that the odds were pretty good that I could find someone to help me. I entered the building...for some reason went to the 2ND floor (some prehistoric impulse that tells one that 'high-ground' is an advantage) and proceeded to ask each friendly looking girl I saw if she spoke English. And this was how I became acquainted with Suzanna Zanolli of Brescia (near Lake Garda or Lago di Garda).
Me - Hi! Do you speak English.
Suzanna - A little bit (with thumb and forefinger slightly separated)
Me - Can I hire you to help me negotiate a baseball contract?
Suzanna - I don't understand.
Me - Sono un giocatore americano di baseball, and I need help talking to a man down the street. Can you help me? Aiuto me?
Suzanna - Ah...but you speak Italian?
Me - No. I can only say that I am an American Baseball player...and I will do anything...buy you dinner...pay you...whatever...if you will please help me talk to this man who is just two doors down the street.
Suzanna - That is not necessary. If you will agree to 'make conversation' with me so that I can improve my English, that would be enough.
Me - Of course! That's awesome! When can we go talk to this man?
Suzanna - Subito (immediately) `er, right away.
So it was thus that Ms. Suzanna Zanolli of Brescia became my official translator to speak to the President of the Baseball Federation in earnest...or so I believed at the time...
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