Remembering Silvio

The interior of San Giovanni a Porta Latina in Rome

When my parents finally decided to get married, it wasn’t a get-down-on-one-knee sort of event. They had been writing letters back and forth between New York and Iran, with my father writing, “Say yes. Say yes. Say yes.” More times than that, until finally she did. In a letter from Ahvaz, dated April 18^th, 1960, he addressed a letter to Paolo and Antonio, two imagined future sons my mother had previously  written about: “What shall we call our children? I get chills thinking of it. I like Paolo and Antonio.” In my father’s letter, he wrote, “Funny. I had visualized my children as so many little replicas of your mother. It’s one of the tricks that love plays on you.”

Today is Silvio’s birthday, and so to commemorate the day, my mother and I decided to spend this beautiful sunny Sunday driving to the church of San Giovanni a Porta Latina, about half an hour away from where we live. We parked nearby, and walked up a cobblestone road, turning by an old

sign, despite my mother insisting that none of this was familiar and we must be in the wrong place. But I had seen some people walking ahead of us who seemed they might be going to mass, and it turns out they were. We entered the church, and sat in chairs to the left rear, just in front of a woman seated alone. Neither of us has been to mass in a very long time, yet the prayers in Italian came back to me easily, the mass rituals were familiar, and mostly we just took in the beauty of the church and the children’s choir which sang so sweetly.

There is a point in the mass when we turn to each other to share a greeting and sign of peace, and this woman behind us had a beautiful smile.  After our exchanges, she touched my mother’s shoulders from behind in a typical Italian way of showing affection that moved me deeply. After the mass ended everyone stayed to watch a couple renewing their wedding vows privately in the first row, and receiving a special communion. Then there was a gentle applause. This prompted me to share with our new friend that my parents had married here in 1960, and we showed her two black and 

Silvio and Maureen's wedding in 1960

white photos we had brought along. It turned out that she too had married in that church in 1971, and as a retired cardiologist, had travelled to New York many times. We vowed to see each other again on a future Sunday. We greeted one of the black priests who had assisted during mass and also shared the photos and story, and enjoyed the sounds of the choir children laughing and running around outside as we exited the church.

It all seems so romantic, doesn’t it? An intercultural marriage in an ancient Roman church, popular with couples seeking an intimate setting in a part of the Eternal City where time seems to stand still. Yet getting through the marriage bureaucracy is no easy feat, requiring careful navigation of church and international laws. My parents managed to accomplish this in record time, thanks to assistance from family, friends, and their contacts, and a good dose of luck. They needed a Nihil Obstat document declaring no impediment to marriage between an Italian and American citizen, but tensions with the Vatican over divorces not yet finalized meant one could not be obtained. My mother wrote to Senator Javits, and a lawyer on the Board of Trustees of Barnard College, obtaining signed government documents, only to discover in Rome from the American Consul Doris Allen that they were meaningless. Undeterred, she used her cousin’s contacts (he was a Catholic priest) to enlist help from an American priest in Rome, who not only invoked Article Thirteen to circumvent the Nihil Obstat requirement, but obtained a Papal Blessing as well.

My parents' marriage certificate 

In more recent times, we have seen the struggle for civil rights of LGBTQ people focus on marriage equality, reminding us despite the divorce rate in the United States, that being able to marry the person you love is not to be taken for granted. Friends of mine who are gay and married after twenty five years together are currently collaborating on a documentary film project about the history of same sex desire. They recently spent a few months in Rome conducting research and uncovered a fascinating history of homosexual wedding rituals in Rome during the late 16^th century at San Giovanni a Porta Latina. We know about these events in part because a French essayist of the time, Michel de Montaigne, wrote about the men who were eventually tortured and assassinated for their crimes in the Castel Sant’Angelo. (For a good overview, read Gary Ferguson here, and for a scholarly version, read Giuseppe Marcocci’s article here).

As I reflect on our current state of affairs, both in the United States and abroad, and the uncertainty we face regarding political situations that can at best be described as surreal, I find myself also thinking about the past – 1960, and 1578 – and in light of my mother’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis, about remembering the past. I am so grateful that these precious letters were saved, that my mother wrote it all down in a memoir, and grateful too that Michel de Montaigne recorded an important story from Renaissance times that should be known and understood as an important piece of human history. I feel honored to know the filmmakers that will bring this story to the screen to enhance our appreciation and understanding of it.

I will end with another piece of Silvio’s letter to Paolo and Antonio. It so perfectly captures my father’s wisdom, that he was sharing with me  (and my mother of course) before I was even born:

We have hard times ahead: we have to solve many problems from within and without. We feel confident we can lick them, although we are quite aware that it’s not going to be easy. But that’s the beauty of it: only what you have to struggle for gives you the satisfaction of accomplishment. The worth of a dollar, a toy or a praise can only be measured in terms of the effort you have put in to obtain it. And what better than struggling knowing that your beloved is at your side, there to share joys and sorrows, worry and success?