Walgreens is fond of telling its loyal clientele that it’s “at the corner of happy and healthy.” If you’re looking for someone special at that intersection, someone who’s dedicated to making the happy and healthy happen, you’re likely to find Andrea Collaro.

As senior director of brand management and product development for the Walgreens Boots Alliance, Collaro oversees more than 4,500 products under the Walgreens banner.

The Private Label Manufacturers Association recently honored Collaro for her product development vision and leadership by inducting her into the Private Label Hall of Fame. Collaro was among 16 inductees in 2023 who “represent the best of the best from across the world of private label and showcase the depth of talent the industry has to offer,” according to Greg Sleter, executive editor of the magazine Store Brands.

“I hope to make a difference in people’s lives by developing best-in-class products that are affordable to everyone,” says Collaro, who leads a team in managing one of the largest brands in the world.

A Chicago native who grew up in Bridgeport, Collaro inherited Italian ancestry from both parents; her mother’s family hails from Sicily and her father’s from Calabria. “My Italian heritage is that of a strong, hard-working people,” she says. “From a very young age, I was taught the importance of a strong work ethic. And my mother has always been my cheerleader.”

Through her Lower Manhattan gallery, Laura Mattioli preserves and promotes the work of important 20th-century Italian creatives.

In the eyes of even the most adoring beholder, a stereotype exists that Italian visual art begins with a bang in antiquity, hits its peak in the Renaissance and ceases to be much of a factor by the mid-20th century. After all, the 1950s and ’60s were the era of Jackson Pollock, Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein, right?

One woman has reformed that view by taking a lead role in celebrating Italy’s influence in the modern and postmodern movements. The daughter of a prominent art collector, Laura Mattioli is the founder of New York’s Center for Italian Modern Art. This is no place for pretty wall hangings. Since opening in 2013, CIMA has dedicated itself to the appreciation and study of Italian creatives who arguably belong among the pantheon of modern art greats.

Mattioli opens the doors of CIMA’s SoHo loft every weekend to those who want to get a close-up glimpse of important works and learn about the artists behind them.

Through November 13, the spotlight shines on “Italy’s Andy Warhol,” Mario Schifano, whose circle of friends and supporters included Jean-Luc Godard, Mick Jagger, and Keith Richards. The exhibition is curated by Francesco Guzzetti, Ph.D., the 2019–20 postdoctoral fellow at the Morgan Library and Museum’s Drawing Institute and former CIMA fellow (2014–15). Schifano’s work could often be quite puckish. His 1963 enamel on paper “Leonardo” mimics the sketch style of Leonardo da Vinci as though the master himself had rendered a self-portrait, with piercing eyes as mysterious as the Mona Lisa’s.

Mattioli spoke with Lou&A about the Schifano exhibit, her family’s art-world connections and her ongoing mission.

Lou&A: Tell us about your Italian background and your family’s connections to art.

Laura Mattioli: I was born in Italy in 1950, and both my parents are Italian. My father, Gianna Mattioli, was an important collector of Italian avant-garde and modern art from the first half of the 20th century. I was living all the time with artwork and met so many artists who were famous. My education was in art history, and I taught in Italy at the [Florence] Academy of Art. I began to organize the collection of my father in 1984. I later made friends with some artists in New York and became a collector myself.

Lou&A: What influenced you to create CIMA?

Mattioli: I formed the organization because I realized that Italian art of the 20th century was not as well known. The Italian artists were always seen as followers of the French. But that’s not necessarily true, because Italy always had a strong tradition of independence from any country. Their modern and contemporary art has always been different.

Lou&A: The CIMA experience definitely does not resemble what one might encounter in a traditional art museum. What was the thinking behind that?

Mattioli: I wanted to set it up like a house — a house where the paintings welcome you, the artists welcome you, and to give you the experience of a collector. Many times in a museum, people feel a bit embarrassed by the importance of the piece and the huge rooms. So to give them the sense of a house — where they can see up close, they can look, they can discuss — is a more intimate approach that I think can be very rich.

Lou&A: With the current CIMA exhibit, you’ve picked quite a character, the postmodern painter, collagist and filmmaker Mario Schifano. Tell us about the exhibit and its connection to New York City.

Mattioli: It takes into consideration just five years of his career, 1960-65. That’s when he was working more in relation with American art. Schifano was deeply involved in the surge that went on in New York. He came in 1963 and spent about 10 months here — not just with visual artists but also musicians, poets and those involved in the revolution of the moment. There was a deep exchange, and it’s interesting to see how everybody was going in the same direction, making something new for the world.

Lou&A: He also sounds like a larger-than-life pop culture figure somehow lost to 1960s history.

Mattioli: He drove around Rome in a Rolls Royce and had countless girlfriends. One of them was the model-actress Anita Pallenberg, who was later the lover of both Brian Jones and Keith Richards from the Rolling Stones. In the late 1960s, Marianne Faithfull left Mick Jagger, who was then her boyfriend, to be with him. But Jagger and Richards admired him. They gave cameo performances in a film he directed, “Umano non umano.” And Schifano inspired their song “Monkey Man” (a classic rock standout from the album “Let It Bleed”). Schifano was even a rock musician for a time. But he also had a dark side. He had a weakness for drugs that earned him six prison sentences.

Lou&A: I love that the Rolling Stones thought enough of Schifano to write a song influenced by him. It speaks to that cross-pollination of different art forms that was so much a part of the culture at the time.

Mattioli: Absolutely. Sometimes the title of a song will also be the title of a painting. And with Schifano, we have a very close relationship with the famous poet Frank O’Hara. O’Hara was considered a “poet among painters” and part of the “New York School” of poets that took its name from an abstract painters’ group. O’Hara and Schifano lived very close to each other in New York, and it was a beautiful collaboration. (O’Hara owned some of Schifano’s work and dedicated a poem to him, and Schifano took a photo portrait of O’Hara in 1965.)

Lou&A: The core of CIMA’s mission also includes a commitment to fellowships. That’s clearly very important to you.

Mattioli: Many of our students are coming for the first time to live in New York, and those six months change their lives. The curator of this show, Francesco Guzzetti, is one of our first fellows. He was a very good scholar at an important university in Italy but had never been to New York. This is a way to educate our fellows from Italy to have a more international mind and context for the work beyond our little country.

Lou&A: This reminds me a lot of Schifano’s story.

Mattioli: To start a dialogue between Italian people and American or foreign people is very important. And for young people, it’s especially important because with the pandemic, a lot of fellowships were canceled. It’s a chance to make friends and begin a relationship that is very productive. It needs to go on. In the art world, we need to look at things in a different way. A better way.

The Center for Italian Modern Art is located at 421 Broome St., 4th Floor, in New York City. For more information, call 646-370-3596 or visit italianmodernart.org.

The above appears in the May 2021 issue of the print version of Fra Noi. Our gorgeous, monthly magazine contains a veritable feast of news and views, profiles and features, entertainment and culture. To subscribe, click here.

After beating serious health challenges that hampered his athletic and corporate careers, Chris Bordoni celebrates resilience through a special podcast.

Talented teens and young adults tend to view themselves as invincible. Even when they suffer a major setback or two, they often emerge humbler but still immensely confident. But what happens to a star athlete and corporate wunderkind who gets sidelined not once, but four times by serious health issues?

In the case of Chris Bordoni, the answer defies easy analysis or explanation — especially since his last health scare was the worst: Stage 3B testicular cancer. Where others might have felt bitter or cheated, this former All-American swimmer and hot-prospect consultant emerged from it all with two gifts: peerless resilience and a sense of wonder that drove him to seek out and share the stories of others who have knit their personal scars into a constellation of stars.

Bordoni’s “100 Inspiring Voices” podcast revolves around questions that run the gamut from “Why do some people grow stronger when faced with adversity?” to “How are some organizations and communities able to thrive after devastating setbacks?” The podcast project, which will take him two years to complete, has definitely caught on. To date, it has more than 3,000 downloads.

Lou&A sat down with Bordoni to learn more about his story, his triumphs and the inspiration he gleaned from his parents, including an Italian father with health issues of his own.

Lou&A: Tell us about your family roots.

Chris Bordoni: My father is 100 percent Italian. His grandparents emigrated from Calabria and Rome in the early 1900s and eventually settled in upstate New York. They ran a grocery store, a shoe repair shop, worked in a manufacturing plant — whatever you could do to support your family. My mother’s lineage is quite different. Her English ancestors came to America on the Mayflower and spent generations in New England. She’s mostly English with some Irish and German as well.

Lou&A: By the time you were 30, you’d spent roughly half of your life fighting one health challenge or another, yet you never gave up. How do you explain that?

Bordoni: I’ve had some amazing role models in my life. My father was born in 1953 and contracted polio as a small child. As a result of the disease, he lost the use of his left arm. His mother — my grandmother — also contracted polio and spent the rest of her life in a wheelchair.

But to [my father’s] great and enduring credit, he wasn’t interested in being told what he couldn’t do. He and his sisters were the first in their family to go to college, and my father went on to law school and had a successful career as a lawyer in Syracuse. As a child, I saw my dad tying his shoes with one hand, playing golf on the weekends and teaching me how to hit a baseball. Try tying your shoes with one hand; these are incredibly difficult things to do.

Lou&A: You were a star swimmer who succumbed to shoulder injuries and surgery. You landed two incredible jobs in the corporate world as a consultant and had to leave them both because of back injuries that left you barely able to walk. Then came the cancer. Did you ever feel like giving up?

Bordoni: In the worst moments, I was just trying to survive. As humans, we’re pretty good at getting through the worst of things, and I was fortunate to have really good care. I also remember thinking “animals don’t complain” over and over. I don’t know why that occurred to me — it’s a strange yet true thought — but it inspired me to move beyond suffering.

Lou&A: In that spirit, you went on to get an MBA at the University of Chicago, and you run your own successful consultancy today. How do you explain your own resilience in getting to the other side?

Bordoni: In terms of hope, I have a deep sense of knowing and purpose. Even during the worst days of treatment, I knew that my work wasn’t done here. I never believed that I would die because I knew that I had more work to do. That was really powerful.

The other side of this is my faith. I was raised Catholic but never really integrated the religion into my life. No judgment; it just didn’t speak to me. But I am a very spiritual person. I feel supported by a higher power, and that gives me comfort and strength. I’m not sure what box you could put me in, but my faith is a big part of my life.

Lou&A: Though you have no experience as an audio engineer, interviewer or on-air host, you’ve started a podcast that sounds amazingly professional. Where would you say you are on the learning curve at this point?

Bordoni: There’s definitely a learning curve, and I’m still on it. My goal was for the episodes to be high enough quality that I didn’t embarrass myself or my guests, but not so high that I never actually launched. I think I’ve done a good job of striking that balance.

Lou&A: On your podcast, you’re a generous host in letting your guests take the spotlight, yet your story is worth a three-part series!

Bordoni: I’m getting better at sharing more of my story and my thoughts in the interviews. The No. 1 piece of feedback I get is that people want to hear from me more. That’s really hard to do when you’re asking amazing people to share their story.

Lou&A: Resilience is a key to the work you do and the life you’ve lived. What have you discovered about this quality?

Bordoni: What I’ve learned from my work, my research and my experiences is that we all have resilience inside of us. None of us start from zero. That’s the good news. But the bad news — or the news that most people don’t want to hear — is that you become more resilient by building it slowly over time.

I think I’m a good example of that. I’ve been able to make the most of some unexpected setbacks because I had a lot of resources to draw upon, such as family and faith, and because I’ve invested in slowly building up the mindsets, beliefs and practices that make people more resilient, inadvertently at first and now more purposefully.

Lou&A: You’re giving listeners a lot through this podcast, and yet it sounds like you’re getting a lot out of it as well.

Bordoni: These are deeply humbling conversations that remind me every week of the commitments I’ve made to myself and the type of life that I want to live. That’s an amazing forcing mechanism. Like everyone, I get ungrounded or lose my center. Talking to someone who is filled with optimism and hope after losing their legs, surviving the Holocaust or finding out that their child is ill will bring you back in a hurry. Without a doubt, being able to close my eyes and truly listen to a beautiful human being for an hour is one of the greatest privileges of my life.

To learn more about Chris Bordoni and the podcast “100 Inspiring Voices,” click here.

The above appears in the February 2021 issue of the print version of Fra Noi. Our gorgeous, monthly magazine contains a veritable feast of news and views, profiles and features, entertainment and culture. To subscribe, click here.

Lucia Mauro passion for Italy and humanitarian causes shines through in her award-winning films.

Some people make a life in film; others lead lives worthy of a film. Lucia Mauro is one of those rare individuals to whom both sides of the cinematic coin apply. Mauro was an established Chicago-area writer when she made her first foray into moviemaking with a 2007 screenplay. It led her to a major crossroads professionally and personally, for as that project ramped up, Mauro was stricken with ovarian cancer.

Despite two recurrences, Mauro forged onward and upward with courage and confidence. She transitioned to full-time filmmaking as a writer-director along with husband-producer Joe Orlandino in 2014, the same year they founded a nonprofit film production company. They dedicated In My Brother’s Shoes Inc. to creating original narrative and documentary films about healing, resilience and human connection. The corporation bears the name of a Mauro movie that won Best Short Film at the 2015 Vatican Film Festival in Rome and was featured in the Cannes Film Festival’s Short Film Corner.

Lou&A spoke with Mauro about her artistry, charity, creativity, and love for Italy that has imbued her life and work.

Lou&A: Tell us about your Italian roots.

Lucia Mauro: My family ancestry is Sicilian — Palermo and Ragusa — on my father’s side and Polish on my mother’s side. Both were born in Chicago, as I was. My father’s parents were born in Italy, immigrated to Chicago, and met and married here. I grew up on the Northwest Side of Chicago. My husband, Joe Orlandino, grew up in Melrose Park. His grandparents emigrated from Calabria. Joe and I met in 1993 while I was covering a story for Fra Noi. I wrote for Fra Noi from 1992 until 2005.

Lou&A: What about your upbringing stands out as pivotal regarding your careers as a writer and filmmaker?

Mauro: My father, Frank Mauro, and my great-uncle Frank Puccio were very influential in my life. Though born here, my father still peppered his conversations with Sicilian and Italian phrases whenever we visited my great-uncle. My father, who worked at Uniroyal Tires, drove me to all of my dance lessons without ever complaining, and even though he was not a theater fan, he would often join me in the audience at many theater performances.

As a child, I enjoyed writing poems and short stories. I studied ballet, piano, and was always interested in theater, film, visual art, literature and travel. My parents encouraged me to pursue these interests. I went on to become a theater/dance critic, arts writer, author and photographer — disciplines that led me to filmmaking. Uncle Frank inspired me to study Italian, which I did in high school and at Loyola University Chicago.

Lou&A: Loyola opened the door to a whole new world, didn’t it?

Mauro: One of the most pivotal moments in my life was attending Loyola’s Rome Center during my junior year, 1985. I immersed myself in the Italian language, culture, history and food with the country as my campus. Since then, I’ve been able to work and travel to all the regions of Italy. In 2014, I shot a scene for my first film, “In My Brother’s Shoes,” at the entrance to the Rome Center. I feel like part of my soul is in Italy.

Lou&A: How did you segue from writer and journalist to filmmaker?

Mauro: The catalyst came in 2007 when my husband, Joe, encouraged me to write a screenplay on Brazilian revolutionary Anita Garibaldi, the wife of Italy’s “Hero of the Two Worlds,” Giuseppe Garibaldi. I wrote the first draft in Palermo, where friends allowed me to stay at one of their family’s apartments. By 2010, we were working with local theaters doing staged readings and starting to fundraise. But in 2012, we halted the Garibaldi project because I hit a major turning point in my life: I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It was during my recovery from surgery and chemo treatments that I decided to make the film “In My Brother’s Shoes.”

Lou&A: What inspired that film?

Mauro: I was in Rome in 2009 at the obelisk in St. Peter’s Square and encountered a young American man who was wearing shoes practically torn to shreds. He told me that those were his brother’s favorite shoes and that his brother had always wanted to backpack with his friends in Italy. Sadly, his brother was a U.S. Marine who was killed in action in Iraq, so this man decided to literally walk in his brother’s shoes to the places he would’ve visited. This story so moved me that, five years later, I finally turned it into a narrative short film with actor Danny McCarthy as a man taking a healing pilgrimage to Rome in his brother’s Marine desert boots.

“In My Brother’s Shoes” is being shown to veterans and their families at colleges and military museums, with funds raised going toward PTSD resources. Joe and I also decided to create a nonprofit film company, as our goal from the beginning was to share our films with communities and raise funds for great causes.

Lou&A: You’ve been very busy over the last two years. Tell us what you’ve been up to on the cinematic front.

Mauro: “Voci del diario” (Entries) is an original narrative short film that I wrote and directed. Inspired by Joe’s lifelong keeping of journals, it follows one man and his journal entries through four phases of his life: childhood, youth, middle age and senior years. It’s in Italian with English subtitles. “I Have a Name” is a documentary that aims to put a respectful face on those experiencing homelessness and need in Chicago. We went into production by October 2019 and completed the film over the summer.

I’m currently focused on a new documentary, “The Loneliest Road,” inspired by Silvio Manno’s book, “Charcoal and Blood: Italian Immigrants in Eureka, Nevada, and the Fish Creek Massacre.” It chronicles a practically unknown massacre of striking Italian immigrant charcoal burners in 1879, during the early days of mining in the American West.

Lou&A: You’ve traveled all over Italy, and your passion for the culture and country shows in your work. Why do you think that is?

Mauro: I believe we’re all on our own path in life. We meet people, and they meet us at different points in our lives — and even if we’re no longer in each other’s lives, we’ve somehow moved each other forward along our individual paths.

We didn’t travel much when I was a child, except for Disneyland. Once I got older, and especially spurred on by my experiences at Loyola’s Rome Center, I had a great desire to see the world and meet people from different cultures — and most definitely from all parts of Italy. I credit Fra Noi with allowing me to explore Italy and write about my experiences.

To learn more about the films of Lucia Mauro, visit inmybrothersshoes.org.

The above appears in the January 2021 issue of the print version of Fra Noi. Our gorgeous, monthly magazine contains a veritable feast of news and views, profiles and features, entertainment and culture. To subscribe, click here.

In his award-winning book “Crying the News,” Vincent DiGirolamo brings the fast-fading history of 19th- and 20th-century newsboys back into focus.

The shopworn stereotype of the newsboy — some rosy-faced rascal hoisting the Five-Star Final above his head, shouting “EXTRA! EXTRA!” —  is all most Americans know of this once-ubiquitous urban icon. Then, along comes Vincent DiGirolamo to tackle their story with the passion and precision of a front-page scribe.

In “Crying the News: A History of America’s Newsboy” (Oxford University Press), DiGirolamo shines a light on this once-vibrant milieu, in the process preventing it from disappearing from our cultural memory. According to a source no less august than the Wall Street Journal, “The author has done prodigious research, and it’s hard to imagine what, if any of it, he has left out.”

The scope and skill of “Crying” have earned DiGirolamo Cornell University’s Taft Labor History Award, the Organization of American Historians’ Frederick Jackson Turner Award for a first scholarly book on American history and the American Historical Association’s Eugenia M. Palmegiano Prize for most outstanding book on journalism history.

A history professor at Baruch College of the City University of New York, DiGirolamo grew up on stories his father and uncles told about selling papers on the streets of Boston and Monterey, California, during the Great Depression.

Lou&A spoke with DiGirolamo about his remarkable achievement and the familial roots that inspired his life and calling.

Lou&A: Tell us where you live these days and a bit about your Italian lineage.

Vincent DiGirolamo: I currently live in East Setauket, New York. I’m a native of Monterey, California, the descendent of Sicilian immigrants from Marsala on my father’s side and Portuguese immigrants from Madeira on my mother’s side. Sweet wine and salt water are in my blood.

Lou&A: How did growing up Italian influence your career path as a historian?

DiGirolamo: Monterey was home to a large Italian-American fishing community. They became wholesale fish dealers and opened a bar and restaurant, Angelo’s, on the wharf — and later a gift shop, art gallery and theater. The wharf was like a Little Italy: the heart of the community. The fishermen and merchants all spoke Italian to each other and played bocce by the old Custom House on Sundays. I grew up working at Angelo’s with all my aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings and enough ringers to keep the operation afloat.

Monterey was the capital of California before statehood. The past was always present in the street names and architecture — the Spanish adobes, the Presidio, the missions. You didn’t have to have a lot of imagination to know that you were dropped into a story that long preceded you.

This message also came across at home. My great-grandmother had a photograph of her son in an Italian military uniform hung in an oval frame up in a corner by the ceiling of her bedroom. He was killed in World War I. I had asthma as a child and spent a lot of time laying on that bed looking at that picture. It stimulated my curiosity about who he was, how he died and what that war was all about. I wondered who I’d be if my relatives had never come to the United States. I didn’t have the word for it, but I was intrigued by the contingency of the past — how easily things could have turned out differently.

Lou&A: The subject of newsboys seems like an unusual one to pursue for a book. What drew you to the topic?

DiGirolamo: My father and uncles told stories about hustling papers and shining shoes on the streets of Boston — how their older brother would smudge their faces and rip their clothing to make them look more pathetic and tippable, how they would have their earnings demanded by their bosses, who sometimes turned them upside down to shake out the coins hidden in their shoes.

Few historians took these unwaged child workers very seriously, except perhaps as objects of reform in the progressive era. But I thought it was intrinsically interesting to investigate the street as a workplace and to see how news-peddling might shed light on family economies and the process by which young people formed attitudes about class, power, justice, race, sex, politics — a whole host of issues. As a former journalist, I was also keen to turn my attention to the press itself, not just as the politically influential Fourth Estate, but as a pugnacious, non-smokestack industry that relied on vast numbers of people, including children, to manufacture and distribute the most perishable product in the world.

Lou&A: Who were these kids, exactly, and what kind of working conditions did they endure?

DiGirolamo: Newsboys generally ranged in age from 6-16, though younger kids were sometimes spotted and remarked upon. The news trade always attracted the hungriest children in the city, predominantly children of immigrants. Irish Americans dominated their ranks in the 1840s and 1850s, followed by Jews and Italian Americans in the 1880s and 1890s. There were no bars to access. New immigrants didn’t even have to speak English. All they needed was a few coins to buy a stack of papers. And they didn’t always need that; suppliers would sometimes give them papers on credit. Though absent from the Horatio Alger myth of success, African Americans were always part of the trade. In fact, they tended to stay in it longer than white boys because so many other occupations were closed to them. Girls, too, peddled papers, though in far fewer numbers and without the moral approval that boys received. “Girls who begin with selling newspapers usually end in selling themselves,” one New York police captain said.

Most newsboys lived at home with their families and would sleep on the streets in good weather to be closer to the newspaper offices. But a good many were homeless, especially during the economic downturns of the 1850s, 1870s and 1890s. Runaways and orphans sometimes found shelter in newsboys’ homes or lodging houses.

Lou&A: Did you at any point feel the presence or influence of your forebears as you wrote?

DiGirolamo: I couldn’t help but notice how much scorn Italian Americans in the trade generated. The press ridiculed them as “Tony newsboys” who were obsessed with “money-getting.”

Lou&A: What other topics call out to you at this point?

DiGirolamo: I have two projects underway. One is a biography of a radical Gilded Age journalist. I’m also steeping myself in Italian-American history and literature, and teaching courses on the subject, with an eye toward writing about the close relationship between Italians and blacks at the bottom of the working class.

For more information about “Crying the News: A History of America’s Newsboy,” visit vincentdigirolamo.com.

The above appears in the December 2020 issue of the print version of Fra Noi. Our gorgeous, monthly magazine contains a veritable feast of news and views, profiles and features, entertainment and culture. To subscribe, click here.

Approaching architecture with heart as well as smarts, Luciana Burdi he crafts airport spaces that soothe the soul while they hasten you on your way.

Most of us don’t think of buildings beyond their mere function. Whether they’re made of steel, stone, concrete or glass, they provide us with places to live, learn, work, heal and have fun, and that’s about it, right? But have you ever considered how buildings can flow with us, taking us from stress to rest while getting us from point A to point B?

Dr. Luciana Burdi has. As the deputy director of capital programs and environmental affairs at the Massachusetts Port Authority, she always asks how airports can transport us emotionally as well as physically. No high-flying daydream this. Her talent for turning vision into reality netted her a Women in Design Award of Excellence in 2019, and her indomitable Italian spirit earned her a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Cegliesi Italo-American Association in 2015.

Burdi takes her job very seriously, but not so much herself. In a conversation brightened by laughter and self-deprecation, she took Lou&A on a journey that began in Italy — with a young woman who hated learning English — and led to a remarkable life and career in America.

Lou&A: So let’s get this straight: You actually flunked English before coming to America?

Dr. Luciana Burdi: Yes, I failed my English classes in middle school. Really, I did not like English. Then I told my parents I wanted to come here, and they asked, “Are you sure?” But I was in love with the movies, the TV shows — ”Magnum P.I.” (Laughs.)

I came to the U.S. to study when I was 26, not knowing a word of English. I had to work for a year to learn the language before applying to schools. But to me, it was indispensable in advancing my career. I wouldn’t have the position I have now if I weren’t in America. It’s still the land of opportunity, just as it was for previous generations of immigrants, so I’m grateful to America for the opportunities.

Lou&A: You’re proud of your Italian roots, too. Tell us about those.

Burdi: My mother, Gabriella Lorenzelli, is from Pontremoli, a province of Massa-Carrara in Toscana. My father, Michelangelo Burdi, is from Ceglie del Campo, where I was born, in the province of Bari in Puglia. I grew up in Puglia until I was 18 and went to study architecture in Venice, but I spent 50 percent of my summer with my mother’s mother in Toscana. Most of my mother’s family is spread all over. My father came from a family of eight and my mother a family of six — so we had a lot of relatives, and I loved it. I am very, very proud to be Italian. My husband says I have to tell people I’m from Italy, not just an Italian American.

Lou&A: What made you decide to pursue architecture as a calling?

Burdi: My mother was a physical education teacher, and in a similar way, I’m in the public sector because she instilled that sense of giving back.

My father was an engineer, but I was never strong in math. Thank God for calculators. (Laughs.) From the time I was little, he always brought me to job sites. I was fascinated by buildings, by tangible things. I told my father I wanted to go to architectural school, but there were none in Bari, so I went to Venice. Venice is a major city on a very human scale; there are no cars there. I was so fascinated by the architecture and the idea of trying to build something that lasts.

Lou&A: Remarkably, you tackled English well enough to earn a master’s degree at MIT and a doctorate at Harvard. But it was a stop in Chicago that set the stage for that.

Burdi: After Venice, I wanted to live with my cousins in Chicago, Maria and Vito Del Zotti. They opened their home and hearts to me. It was originally intended to be a brief visit to learn English, but I stayed a year. When I decided to pursue my education, I went to Boston to visit another cousin. That’s when I applied to MIT. I fell in love with Boston, and with my husband, the reason I stayed!

Lou&A: There’s a human dimension to all of your architectural work. One of your earlier projects illustrates that beautifully.

Burdi: I’m very proud of the work I did on a female correctional center. My mother taught at a low-income school, so I got to see how people who are underrepresented live. For people in a correctional facility — especially women — there are fewer programs, and they are less considered. It’s about understanding the process of building a building that works for the people who use it, not just creating a structure.

Lou&A: Take us through the work you’ve done with Boston Logan International Airport.

Burdi: With an airport, it’s about the flow of people. Something I instituted is the Passengers Ready Team walkthrough just a few weeks before we open a structure to the public. I take people unfamiliar with the project through it to make sure things make sense intuitively and they don’t get confused or turned around. I mean, I still get lost in my own garage, so this process is very important to me. (Laughs.)

Lou&A: The work goes further than that, right?

Burdi: It’s looking at things from the passenger perspective. In every new women’s bathroom, there’s a Refresh Bar: a counter with plugs and a very big mirror. When we have to put on our makeup, in front of the sink is the worst place to do it because it’s wet and people are waiting behind you. Even the men loved the idea, and we are installing those in their bathrooms, too.

Logan is the living room of every passenger, and pre-COVID, we had more than 42 million passengers. So with the furniture, we look for a material that lasts long and looks nice. If it doesn’t hold up, it’s gone. But if something is durable and doesn’t feel right, that’s not good either. We try to integrate resiliency with comfort.

Lou&A: Your Catholic faith plays a big role in your life and work.

Burdi: From kindergarten to the last year of high school, I was in a Jesuit school — pretty strict. (Laughs). But without my faith, I wouldn’t have been able to handle my mother’s death 10 years ago. It’s a place where I know I can find peace. I tell my husband that a lot of people spend money to go to counseling. Well, church is my counseling, and it’s free! (Laughs.) I wouldn’t be where I am without my parents, my education and my faith.

The above appears in the October 2020 issue of the print version of Fra Noi. Our gorgeous, monthly magazine contains a veritable feast of news and views, profiles and features, entertainment and culture. To subscribe, click here.

In dedicating his academic career to preserving and celebrating Sicilian language, literature and history, Dr. Gaetano Cipolla has engendered countless pages devoted to the beloved island of his birth.

While Rome’s emblem boasts an ancient symbol of a wolf suckling its twin founders, Sicily’s emblem packs equal primordial power. Known as the Trinacria, it depicts the winged head of Medusa, girdled by shafts of wheat and three bent legs, on a bold background of gold and maroon.

She’s the gatekeeper of an island as mysterious as her own visage. Just as many Italian Americans can’t understand the language of their forebears, the Sicilian tongue baffles most native Italians. “Where are you from?” translates to “Di dove sei?” in Italian, but it’s “Di unni si?” in Sicilian.

Sicily’s mysteries are passionate, poetic and profound beyond measure, and no other academic in America understands that better than Dr. Gaetano Cipolla. Born and raised on the island until he emigrated to America as a teen, this professor emeritus at St. John’s University has devoted his life to the study and celebration of Sicilian language, history, culture and literature. He became president of the international organization Arba Sicula in 1987, taking over as editor of the organization’s eponymous journal the same year and launching its newsletter, Sicilia Parra, two years later. Over the last four decades, he has accrued a record of scholarship so prolific he earned the title “The American Voice of Sicilian Poetry.”

Lou&A asked Cipolla to look back on his upbringing and storied career as a champion of all things Sicily. As he shares what life was like on the island, listen for the voice of a true poet.

Lou&A: Tell us about your Sicilian roots. What was it like growing up there?

Dr. Gaetano Cipolla: I was born in Francavilla di Sicilia in 1937. My father was a shoemaker specializing in women’s shoes. My maternal grandfather emigrated to New York alone at first and eventually took my grandmother and her two younger daughters to the U.S., leaving my mother, who had gotten married, in Francavilla. After World War II, my grandparents retired in Francavilla, but Italy was struggling to recover from the ravages of war. My family had the opportunity to come to the U.S. in 1955. I’d just received the diploma as an elementary school teacher when we left.

With my 18 years in Sicily, I carry each moment written in my memory with indelible ink. We had the absolute freedom to roam everywhere — to search, to experiment, to test, to dare — in complete assurance that we were invincible, that nothing could harm us. The days of our youth were filled with discoveries of our strengths, our fears, our courage and our growing bodies. We played soccer with green oranges for lack of a ball until utter exhaustion; we rode bikes pretending we were Bartali and Coppi; we had heroes with names such as Hector, Achilles and Ulysses. We formed friendships for life: Our allegiances were absolute.

Lou&A: How would you introduce our readers to Sicily’s very distinct culture?

Cipolla: It’s difficult to characterize Sicilians. Whenever you think you’ve found a key, something pops up and the key does not work. I wrote a booklet to explore the essence of Sicelitude titled “What Makes a Sicilian?” We have sold more than 25,000 copies, which tells me people identify with its content.

Out of the many people who dominated Sicily, two or three left a mark: the Greeks, the Arabs and, to a lesser degree, the Spaniards. Sicilians inherited their sense of drama, liveliness, hospitality, gifts for reasoning and even their physical demeanors from the Greeks. Sicilians are much closer to Greeks in looks and attitudes than to Venetians or Florentines.

The Arabs, who ruled the island from 827 to about 1092 A.D. had a lasting effect on the Sicilian outlook. It may be said that Sicilians inherited the Arabian sense of fatalism, persistence, and their acceptance and resignation to a harsh life. The Sicilians’ thoughtfulness and melancholy, their deep sense of nostalgia and bouts of depression are also Arabic in nature.

They also share many traits with the Spaniards, who were masters of the island for more than five centuries. The Spaniards’ sense of grandeur and preoccupation with how things look — their love for pomp and ceremony, for decorations and external elegance — touch responsive chords in the Sicilian psyche.

Lou&A: You’ve dedicated so much of your life and career to Arba Sicula and Sicilia Parra. What drove that?

Cipolla: My longstanding interest in Arba Sicula was a way of connecting with my roots. I’d reached the rank of associate professor at St. John’s University, specializing in Jungian approaches to literature, before I turned my attention to Sicilian language and culture.

Before the 1980s, I hadn’t written a word about Sicily. But having been born there, I carried Sicilian culture in my blood. Starting around 1980, I became interested in the group of people who had founded Arba Sicula, an organization dedicated to the study, preservation and dissemination of Sicilian culture. I started to devote time to studying Sicilian poetry, especially the poetry of Giovanni Meli, translating “L’origini di lu munnu” and then his “Don Chisciotti e Sanciu Panza,” which required four years. The experience was so rewarding it changed the course of my career. I remember reading the poem at night in bed and laughing. I had never made such an intimate and visceral connection with a poet. His Sicilian spoke to me at a deeper level. When I read his famous poem “Ucchiuzzi niuri” that Goethe himself liked and translated into German, I realized that true poetry has almost a physical effect if it’s in the language you learned as a child. I could not ignore the call.

Lou&A: As a professor emeritus, where does your energy go these days?

Cipolla: I write, give lectures occasionally, and publish Arba Sicula and Sicilia Parra, in addition to other books, mostly on Sicilian subjects. As editor of Legas, I have published so far about 140 titles since 1988. I created the first college textbook for learning Sicilian, “Mparamu lu sicilianu,” and I’m happy to say it’s having great success. Last year, I published an Italian version, and interestingly the English version has been reprinted three times already. The book is being used at the Universitè de la Manouba in Tunis and the University of Pennsylvania.

Lou&A: There’s the risk that Sicilian culture will continue to fade as the world continues to globalize. What are your views on this?

Cipolla: About 50 years ago, someone predicted Sicilian would disappear in 30 years. I’m glad to say that it hasn’t happened. I am optimistic Sicilian will evolve and adapt. Arba Sicula has been at the forefront of the struggle to study, preserve, and promote the language and culture of Sicily. Hopefully, it will continue for a long time.

Lou&A: What elements of your Sicilian heritage and work give you the most joy?

Cipolla: Arba Sicula was founded in 1979 by people who believed that the Sicilians’ reputation in this country did not correspond with reality. While most of the original founders are gone, Arba Sicula has remained faithful to the original objectives. This is our 41st year of uninterrupted operation, and our goals, reprinted in every issue of Arba Sicula, state: “We are, above all, concerned that the key to the Sicilian soul (the language of our forefathers) be preserved and studied with attentive appreciation.” We have done that.

For more about Arba Sicula, click here.

The above appears in the August 2020 issue of the print version of Fra Noi. Our gorgeous, monthly magazine contains a veritable feast of news and views, profiles and features, entertainment and culture. To subscribe, click here.

In his tireless dedication to the downtrodden, Anthony D’Urso follows in the footsteps of his heroic parents.

New York City was no place to land alone in 1960 without a job, high school education or social safety net. Now imagine not speaking a lick of English when you stepped off the plane from Italy at the age of 21. What was a young man to do?

For Antonio D’Urso, answers came, one after another, in terms any immigrant would understand. Work hard. Learn the language. Get an education. And not just any education in D’Urso’s case, but a 16-year academic odyssey that took him all the way to a master’s degree. Then again, how could he not be so determined and brave? As a child, he took part as his father hid their Jewish neighbors from the Nazis during World War II.

A longtime public servant in New York City’s public housing system, an elected official on local and state levels, and a volunteer in some of the world’s most destitute and dangerous places, New York Assemblyman Anthony “Tony” D’Urso embodies all a great and generous man should be. He shared stories with Lou&A about his Italian upbringing and a lifetime of variations on the theme of service.

Lou&A: Tell us about your roots in Italy.

Anthony D’Urso: I was born and raised in Formia, a town of about 36,000 halfway between Rome and Naples. It’s right on the Mediterranean Sea. The ancient Roman road, the Appian Way, goes through the town.

Lou&A: From the start of your life, you saw your parents model generosity and bravery in a historic way. Could you share that story with us?

D’Urso: It was World War II, and the Jews had to find refuge somewhere from the German soldiers. I’m very proud that my father decided to take two families — the only Jews in that area — and hide them. We shared what little food we had with 12 additional people, and we moved them at night when the Nazis were getting too close. It was a difficult, dangerous time, but we got it done.

Lou&A: Then came the recent discovery of diaries written by two of the family members. How did that happen?

D’Urso: In the summer of 2017, a friend of mine found out that there was a synagogue in Naples and coordinated an encounter with them. After 74 years, I went to Naples with my wife, and we reunited with the descendants. We were given diaries written by two survivors. It was very emotional.

Lou&A: You’ve sought recognition from Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center in Jerusalem, for your father’s role. Where does that stand now?

D’Urso: We’re getting close to it. We’d like to see him added to the list of the Righteous Among the Nations for his role in protecting Jews. But if not, we know it and our families know it, and that’s good enough for us.

Lou&A: What made you want to come to the United States at age 21, especially since you couldn’t speak English? You had just eight years of formal education to boot.

D’Urso: I was the only one in my family of six who had more than five years of schooling in Italy. I had a thirst for knowledge, and I told my father I wanted to go to even more school in Italy. He said no, so I came here because I wanted to learn more.

Lou&A: And from what I understand, you wanted that education pretty badly.

D’Urso: I came here alone. My parents didn’t want me to come to America. And yet, my father found a way to make me eligible to emigrate through a French quota. There were 400,000 Italians in line for 4,900 U.S. visas, but because the French had 49,000 visas and my father had French citizenship, that’s how I got in.

I washed dishes in the catering halls. I cleaned cesspools. I loaded trucks in a furniture factory. I worked as a carpenter and bricklayer. For 16 years, I went to school after work. I had to learn English, and I got a high school diploma, then an associate’s degree and finally my bachelor’s degree at the Pratt Institute School of Architecture. I did all that while my wife and I raised four kids.

Lou&A: But you didn’t stop there.

D’Urso: I was working for the New York City Department of Housing before I graduated. Once I got my master’s degree from Pratt, I rose through the ranks to become assistant commissioner of the Division of Architecture Engineering and Construction. I worked for the city for more than 30 years. Many parts of the city burned down during the civil rights riots, and I was in charge of designing new apartments as part of a slum clearance. We built for the homeless and low-income people: 2,000 apartments a year without any extra taxpayer money. Imagine that!

Lou&A: Before you became a state assemblyman, you also served as a councilman in North Hempstead, New York, for 14 years. Along the way, you’ve done some extraordinary charitable work. Those stories alone could fill many pages. I’d love to hear some highlights.

D’Urso: I’ve spent a lot of money from my pension — and my wife from hers — to save as many children from starvation as possible. I’ve made 10 trips to Africa, including to the biggest slum on the continent: Kibera, outside Nairobi. They have no water, no sewers, no electricity. Nothing. But we’ve provided food, clothing, shelter and a modicum of health care. It gives me great, great pleasure. The children with the swollen bellies are getting fed, and when I’m there, the children surround me with so much affection. You feel so tall and so proud.

I’ve made 17 trips to Nicaragua, the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere after Haiti. I raised money to build maybe two dozen small houses there. We’ve built water projects, schools, a community center and even a little bridge. There was a small town where a river splits it, and when the heavy rains came, people couldn’t get from one side to the other.

Lou&A: Speaking of Haiti, you put yourself at risk there much like your father did.

D’Urso: I’ve made eight trips to Haiti after the earthquake in 2010 that killed 316,000 people. There was an image I could never get out of my mind — a bulldozer scooping up dead bodies and putting them in a truck. There was no reliable electricity, so we installed solar panels at an orphanage and fed and clothed them.

Lou&A: How do you connect your generosity to your upbringing?

D’Urso: My parents always preached that no matter how little you have, you share it with people who have less. Back in Italy, we used to boil beans and drink the water from the beans. There was a family in a hut that had even less than us. My mother would always share something with them. Always. How could you grow up and not be affected by that? It’s what you have to do. You just have to.

The above appears in the July 2020 issue of the print version of Fra Noi. Our gorgeous, monthly magazine contains a veritable feast of news and views, profiles and features, entertainment and culture. To subscribe, click here.

A native of Toronto, Joseph Yanuziello is the master craftsman behind some of the world’s most sought-after guitars.

In the boutique guitar marketplace, where instruments routinely command $5,000 or more, Joseph Yanuziello’s instruments have become so popular you might think his company’s motto is “sold out.” As fast as he can build his stunning instruments — which draw universal raves for their sound, look and feel — they’re gone.

Working from a shop outside his native Toronto, Yanuziello builds stringed instruments that reflect a singular vision. While so many companies outsource parts from overseas, he builds his own. While many copy the styles of Fender, Gibson and Martin, Yanuziello creates models themselves worthy of imitation.

Yanuziello learned his fearless, creative approach to hand-built creations from his father, who worked in sheet metal and carpentry. Here he shares with Lou&A the background behind his successful career and how rich roots fed his formative years.

Lou&A: Tell us about your family background.

Joseph Yanuziello: My Italian grandfather, Giuseppe Iannuzziello, emigrated to Toronto around 1900. His hometown was Pisticci in the province of Matera in the region of Basilicata. My father’s parents were both Italian. My grandmother, who he met in Toronto, was Mildred Abate. When my grandfather arrived in Canada, his last name was changed to the spelling of Yanuziello, perhaps during the process of emigration.

My grandparents raised five children, and my father, Joseph, was the youngest. My mother came from an Irish/Welsh background, and apparently an Italian and Irish combination was not uncommon back then.

Lou&A: What was it like growing up in an Italian household, and how did it influence your path to first-rate luthier?

Yanuziello: My Italian grandfather died when I was 2; this was in 1954. The subway had just opened in Toronto and my grandfather took a fall on his way down the stairs to the subway.

As a young boy, in the mid-to-late ’50s, I remember going to my grandmother’s house every Sunday in Little Italy where the whole family would convene for dinner. My family lived two doors away, so every weekend I would get to see my cousins, aunts and uncles. The essence of my grandfather was especially present in the basement, where all his tools and winemaking apparatus resided. In retrospect, my grandmother most likely left it as a shrine in honor of his memory.

Meanwhile, my father had a sheet metal shop up the street. I would hang out there sometimes while he worked. He also did some carpentry, and I remember being fascinated by all of this. There was a certain comfort I felt in his ability to do things and make things.

Lou&A: What inspired your desire to build guitars?

Yanuziello: The idea came to me after finishing art college, and I had become a full-time cabinetmaker. At that point, I had enough skill to try to build an acoustic guitar.

Without realizing it, I had learned how to work with confidence from watching my father and working with him. Mostly from him, I acquired a good work ethic and the idea that there was nothing to fear in trying things out.

Lou&A: How would you describe your building approach and philosophy?

Yanuziello: I would say that I’m trying to build instruments that are uniquely mine, that are built with integrity and style, and ultimately function as reliable tools for creative musicians to inspire their art form.

I’m also self-taught. When I built my first guitar in 1979, there were no schools for guitar building in Ontario or most other places. And before the Internet, there was very little information on the subject. So whatever I could find in books or articles, I read — more like devoured. This idea of building a guitar was, at the time, just a notion or a potential hobby, and secondary to my career as a furniture designer and cabinetmaker.

Once I had built a number of guitars over the next few years, acoustic and electric, I started to realize that this could be a vocation instead of cabinetmaking. Fortunately, the same tools and skill set are required for both, so the transition wasn’t that difficult.

Lou&A: With all the competition out there, what do you think contributes to your success?

Yanuziello: Competition is a good thing. It raises the bar and raises people’s awareness of the possibilities. In my case, the unique design of my electric instruments has finally been recognized as a brand after many years of being in the marketplace. I think that there’s a lot to be said for being persistent, having faith in what you do, and that working very hard will produce results. As they say, the harder you work, the luckier you get.

Lou&A: I understand some Italian guitar models influenced your building. Tell us about that.

Yanuziello: Yes, definitely. In Italy in the 1960s, many factories, large and small, produced accordions and stringed instruments. The accordions and drums were often covered in pearl, or glitter acetate and celluloid, and manufacturers such as Eko, Galanti, Gemelli and Wandre were quick to pick up on the visual appeal. It was the equivalent to what U.S. automobile manufacturers were doing at that time with fins and chrome.

Lou&A: Then came your own twist.

Yanuziello: A couple of years ago, I decided to pay tribute to these Italian electric guitars by designing and producing my own version. I started off with a prototype, which was called the Stella Bella Strada. It was built at the request of my friend and incredible guitar player Kevin Breit. Kevin wanted me to make this thing stand out, so I came up with the idea of creating an homage to the wild Italian electric guitars of the ’60s.

The pickup grills were see-through so that allowed us to put a period photo of Sophia Loren looking through the grill in one pickup cover and a picture of Marcello Mastroianni in the other. I had two button switches light up that control the pickup functions, and the lever that selects the pickups had a tip that resembled a vintage Gaggia espresso machine lever.

This guitar worked out so well that I decided to do a series of 10. I call the series the Milano, and all 10 share the same specs, except the top color on each one is a different sparkle. The back, sides and neck are lacquered in a cream color that I call Mascarpone. The result is striking, and the Milano series could easily fit into the ’60s vibe. I’m pleased to say that I’ve sold six out of 10 of my first special-edition series.

Lou&A: When you think about your Italian heritage today, how do you feel it has most informed your work?

Yanuziello: I’ve always been and continue to be proud of my Italian heritage. When you look at history, recent and past, so many great original ideas have been realized by Italian artists, crafters and designers. Art, architecture, furniture, food, fashion, automobile design, science, manufacturing — the list goes on — have all been greatly influenced by Italians over the last century and beyond. It’s exciting to be part of that tradition, and hopefully I’ll leave something behind that holds up to it.

To learn more, click here.

The above appears in the April 2020 issue of the print version of Fra Noi. Our gorgeous, monthly magazine contains a veritable feast of news and views, profiles and features, entertainment and culture. To subscribe, click here.

In her bilingual musical for young adults, Simona Rodano breaks artistic boundaries while tackling a topic of importance and poignancy.

One well-worn cliché where adventurous artists are concerned centers on how they “follow their own muse.” But Simona Rodano is far more driven than that. Working within the four disciplines of music, theater, environmental science and education — spread out over two languages no less — this native of northern Italy has created what she calls an “edumusical” titled “Sempreverde: Evergreen.”

Where anything environmental is concerned, Rodano knows whereof she speaks: A scientist by training, she deftly avoids the trap of sounding too apocalyptic or preachy. “Sempreverde” targets young audiences with a straightforward theme. The mission of the heroine, Sempreverde (Evergreen) is to persuade her antagonist Spreco (Waste) to reuse and recycle.

In “Sempreverde,” Rodano has created a modern fairy tale. That’s only appropriate, given that Rodano has an alter ego known as The Italian Fairy or La Fata Italiana, who performs children’s shows.

In fact, you could characterize Rodano’s career as something of an enchanted tale, but one propelled by hard work and vision. Her many awards include the IBLA Grand Prize Award at Carnegie Hall; the Italian American Association of Educators Award; the Columbia Association of U.S. Customs Award as International Singing Sensation; and even an honorary citizenship in Little Rock, Arkansas.

On the performance side, Rodano has spent ten years on Italy’s RAI TV in the variety show “Ci Vediamo in TV.” On stage, she’s played Grace Farrell in the Italian adaptation of “Annie” and Baroness Elsa Schroeder in “The Sound of Music.” Halfway around the world, she’s won the final competition of South Korea’s “Star King” (think “Korean Idol”) with the female trio The Italian Sisters. And recently, she’s toured extensively in her one-woman show “ITALIANA.”

Rodano spoke with Lou&A about the inspiration behind her ambitious new work, her roots in Italy, and the path that led her to a career in the arts, culminating with her latest work.

Lou&A: Tell us about your roots in Italy.

Simona Rodano: I live in New York City. However I travel often to Torino in the Piemonte region where I was born, to visit my mother, my brother and his family. My parents were born in a small town called Asti. They grew up in two small villages near Asti; their parents were farmers.

Lou&A: How did growing up in an Italian household influence your eventual path into the arts?

Rodano: I grew up in a family of musicians. I think I received most of the encouragement from my grandmother, nonna Francesca, and my uncle, zio Pino Reggio, a fine musician and composer. He’s well known in the Piemonte region and Italy due to some of his musical pieces. One composition, “2 Agosto,” is still played by the most popular Italian orchestras and around the world.

My cousin Felice Reggio is a famous jazz musician. I started singing when I was 6 years old by performing at amateur singing contests, at school, at church or at birthday parties and began my professional career in show business at 15.

Lou&A: You have a master’s of science from the University of Torino — and we could’ve well been referring to you as Dr. Rodano. Tell us about that.

Rodano: I’ve always loved both science and music since I was a kid. I was awarded a bachelor’s degree in biology, yet I also studied music and have always sung. After my graduation, I decided to come to the U.S. to start my PhD at New York Medical College in Valhalla, New York. Then I was invited to work for RAI a few months after. Science or music? That was the question. I ended up choosing music.

Lou&A: Tell us briefly about what inspired you to create “Sempreverde: Evergreen.” When did the proverbial light bulb go off to do something multilingual, musical and environmental?

Rodano: The inspiration comes from the beauty of the Earth and the strong wish to deliver an important message: We are guests on this planet and we need to respect it. I started writing songs and then developed the idea of staging an educational musical or “edumusical.” It took me one year to develop it. It was an incredible and intense year.

Lou&A: You’ve described your mission as “to expose young audiences to the beauty of languages and global themes.” Personally and professionally, why is this so important to you?

Rodano: First of all, it’s about establishing a strong connection with my land, the place where I was born and raised. Personally and professionally I’ve done and learned so much since living in New York City. I first started writing songs for children in Italian for an international company here. That’s where everything started.

Children in New York grow up in such a varied cultural and linguistic environment, thus learning Italian through the songs I wrote opened up a whole new world for them. My professional experience at the theatre and on TV helped a lot in the creation of a program made for children, schools and families. In 2006, I called that program “The Italian Fairy, La Fata Italiana.”

Lou&A: What do you hope audiences take away from “Sempreverde: Evergreen”? What have you taken away from creating it and performing in it?

Rodano: It’s simple: Learning languages brings peace into the world. I strongly believe that we can inhabit a better world using arts and language exchanges. I’m driven every day by this belief. Creating art can help people to live better and respect each other.

Lou&A: When you look at the path ahead — both for you and in your successful career — what are some things you’d love to accomplish and why?

Rodano: I’m in the process of starting a non-profit called “Arts to Heart,” with the mission of bringing the arts to children and families all around the world. Especially those that don’t have the possibility to access art and explore creativity.

Lou&A: What have been the most rewarding aspects of your work, and how do you connect this back to your heritage and upbringing?

Rodano: Building an audience that is passionate about languages, music, theater and dance. I believe that America is still the land of opportunity. Each one of us can share his or her own story, heritage and passion with others. Arts are a great way to unify people and honor diversity. I will continue pursuing my mission using creativity and music as much as I can.

UPCOMING PERFORMANCES OF “SEMPREVERDE” HAVE BEEN CANCELLED FOR THE TIME BEING. PLEASE CHECK THE WEBSITE FOR DETAILS.

For details, click here.

The above appears in the March 2020 issue of the print version of Fra Noi. Our gorgeous, monthly magazine contains a veritable feast of news and views, profiles and features, entertainment and culture. To subscribe, click here.