He was unbendable, determined, hard-headed and above all a family man. His love of glass was only surpassed by his love for Valeria, his wife.
We met in San Francisco in the 90s through the Italian Trade Commission which sponsored a group of 20 or so furnaces from Murano who came to a small trade show. We were already importing Murano Glass, but this was an opportunity to meet more glass artists. We loved what we saw, bought all their samples and invited the entire group to dinner in San Francisco to show them a little of “our” city. That night we closed the Buena Vista but not before our friends had sung their favorite Venetian songs in dialect and sealed a friendship that endured. And as luck would have it, he was President of the Association that promoted the glass in Murano. He introduced us to other furnaces, the famous MACEF show in Milano, bead makers, shipping experts and tools designers.
So for about 20 years our number one restaurant was at his house in Murano with our families around the table (no matter how many we were there was always room) and his wife Valeria cooking. And oh my she could cook. In the summer there was a small cottage out back to escape the heat and a grill fish because when you live on an island, you eat fish!
Franco was born in Murano in the years between World War I and II and began working in the furnace as a young boy, never finishing school. After World War II, with so many of the men lost, he had to work to help support his family. This was the experience of so many during this period.
He met his wife Valeria when she was 13 (she was from a different parish in Murano) and they were engaged for years as he refused to marry until he bought a house for her and owned his own furnace. They both worked, he in furnaces and she in furnace that made smalti (mosaic) tiles. They saved their money. His determination and single focus never swayed. He was controversial, opinionated and his fellow furnace owners and bead makers lined up either loving or loathing him.
Either way, my political capital on the island went up when I walked home with him for lunch, or attended official Venetian functions with him, because Valeria had long tired of these events (and I absolutely drank in every moment of being surrounded by glass blowers). No one doubted my seriousness as a buyer when they saw us together. In those days, it was difficult for an American to establish a bank account. But not if your friend was on the Board of Directors of the local bank.
He schooled me in glass, in the politics of the island and in family life in Murano. As the “reigning” head of the glass workers, he was the Solomon to whom everyone brought their grievances. I have listened as he reasoned with drunken husbands, unhappy spouses, mis-understandings between local companies, unpaid debts and perceived wrong doings. And yet, when it was over, he never said a word, never repeated a accusation.
He never stepped foot in a bar on the island (except for the restaurant he owned with his children). But he enjoyed a good bottle of Valpolicella and great grappa, which we drank every night for good health. I can attest to its value to a cough or cold.
When I studied glass blowing in the US, he was the first to invite me (a woman) to work in his furnace, schooling me in the ways of the furnace and the Muranese terminology. His generosity in sharing the workings of a furnace, from putting the ingredients in the pot, to making zanfirico was a privilege few people outside of Venice ever have. When we traveled as we did every August when he and Valeria visited with us in California. We stopped at every glass shop, gazed at every chandelier – and the talk was always glass. And everywhere we went, the glassblowers were thrilled to meet him and asked him to blow glass with them and nothing could have made him happier.
He dearly loved to drive (a special treat for someone living on an island where there are NO cars) with his Mercedes parked at the airport in Venice, we traveled the back roads of the Veneto. He loved showing us “his” Italy. He introduced us to his friends, we spent weekends exploring the Alta Adige, Asiago staying in their cabin or staying with friends on their farms, picking cherries, playing cards and eating the fresh pasta that had laid on the dining room table of the farm house the day before to dry.
In the US he absolutely loved driving on our freeways – it’s how I learned so much Muranese (the local dialect) as it became important to be able to get the point across quickly and accurately. He spend several August vacations with us and we toured the California, Nevada and the southwest, and in the Christmas holidays, we explored Hawaii and Florida. We celebrated New Years in Las Vegas at the Venetian, of course where he was distraught to learn not one of the gondolieri spoke Italian.
He was world traveled, an avid reader with an insatiable appetite for knowledge. And despite his limited formal education he was knowledgeable in politics, history, art and, of course, glass. He was responsible for the installation of a furnace in the Venetian Casino in Macau demonstrating the techniques of glass blowing.
He was President of the Abate Zanetti (school of glass) in Murano. He created a course to accommodate locals who needed to work and could only attend in the mornings. He was my entry to all of Murano, walking home with his from the furnace gave me instant credibility. We called him the Godfather of Murano as he settled arguments, dealt with family crises and above all promoted Murano Glass.
But he was also stubborn, we argued over dinner, over the phone and around the world together. Rarely did I win an argument-usually only when his wife, Valeria interceded!
