ers of war, helped one another survive, lost touch for
nearly fifteen years and then re-connected when both,
by magical coincidence, ended up marrying two of my
mother���s sisters.
And it was in Florence that I first met Michelangelo.
My cousin Paolo, on a quick stop-over in Florence
on his way to Ischia, gave me a book, in English, about
the man Italians for centuries respectfully called ���The Divine One.��� I read through that book in one night. The
massive scope of the work Michelangelo produced over
the course of a long life was probably lost on me during that first reading. It was the life behind the work that
caught my attention. Michelangelo���s father was often in
debt and would usually turn to his son for help out of his
financial troubles. It was a pattern my own father had already begun to establish with me and one which would
only grow in volume as I grew older. Other members of
Michelangelo���s family, either due to jealousy or simply a
need to live off the merits of another, also took financial
advantage. Again, it was a pattern I would see repeated
over and over in New York between my parents and
relatives who came knocking for money even when we
HYLAND
