Friday 5th December, 2014
Camerino is my family name.
Choosing a name for the bakery was hard. Ideas were
bounced around but none stuck. In the end, Camerino
just felt right. My decision was made on a gut feeling.
Negotiations for the lease on the bakery space went on for
a year with no hint of when they would conclude. I carried on with work and
life but was on high alert. When the lease was agreed I would have just 4 weeks
to fit out the shop before the rent clock would start ticking. Any moment could
be go-time.
My grandfather, Enzo Camerino, is a survivor of Auschwitz.
He and his family were taken from their home in Rome on the 16th
October 1943. You c
Before the Jews were taken form Rome, a part of the
Camerino family converted from Judaism to Roman Catholicism to protect
themselves. This side of the family, Enzo’s uncles, were coffee roasters, and
famous ones at that. 3 brothers in business together made Cafffe Camerino, the coffee with 3 F’s (3 “fratelli” or brothers).
These Camerino’s were saved from persecution.
Enzo was a great speaker in front of an audience but
less talkative with me. Last year was the 70th anniversary of his
deportation to Auschwitz. Enzo lives in Montreal, in an assisted home for elderly
people. Imagine my surprise when I came across a photo on Facebook of my
grandfather shaking hands with the Pope. My grandfather and the Pope on
Facebook. It was bizarre on so many levels.
I rang my mother immediately; “Is Nonno in Italy?”
“No, you know he can’t go to Italy. He has dialysis
three times a week. He couldn’t go.”
“Well I’m staring at a picture of him with Pope
Francis.”
“It must be Photoshopped. How could he go without us
knowing?”
“Can you call the home and check that he’s there?”
“Okay”
(2 minutes pass. The phone rings)
“Your grandfather is in Rome.”
This year I was ready for it. My father, sister and I
invited ourselves to Rome for the 16th October commemoration and Enzo
was invited to meet his pal Pope Francis again. My flights were booked. Then my
lease was agreed and I got the keys to my bakery on the 1st October.
The starting gun had shot. I could have stayed in Dublin to keep to the
construction schedule. I decided to go Rome with my family regardless.
There is a Holocaust history preservation group in Rome
that knows Enzo very well by now. Enzo is one of two remaining survivors of
that transportation on the 16th October 1943, but the only one of
sound mind. He is the only survivor able to recount his experience for them to record.
On this trip we all went together, my family and I, to watch Enzo give them a
video recorded interview specifically about his escape from Auschwitz and his
return to Italy. I never knew that it was his name, Camerino, that convinced a
passing truck carrying coffee beans, to bring him back to Rome.
Back in the 70s Cafffe
Camerino had a few coffee shops in Rome with some pretty cool branding. The
business was sold a few years ago and while Cafffe
Camerino still exists, it isn’t operated with the love and soul it once
had. When I was back in Rome in October I met some Camerino’s I hadn’t met in
years and some I’d never met. The Camerino’s were beyond excited, even moved,
at the impending opening of a Camerino,
run by a Camerino in Dublin – as if the name was being reclaimed by the family.
Camerino connected me to the
Italian side of my family, with whom I had little in common other than our
name. Now our name in business was something we could talk about. I was getting
well wishes and gifts, and even parcels of cherished old and rare branded
merchandise from the good old days of Cafffe
Camerino.
On Sunday, my family threw an early birthday party for
Enzo. My sister rang me to include me in the action. Enzo took the phone and we
spoke. I thanked him for the money he sent me for Camerino. It was well spent on coffee beans. He asked if everything
was good and if I was good. Yes and yes. He told me that he was happy for me
and that he was happy. Camerino had
been open for one month.
Tuesday was his 86th birthday and Tuesday was
the day he passed away.
