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Authors: Norman Lewis
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displeasing still to Mussolini, with the visions of imperial grandeur and conquest forming in his mind, was the island’s unpatriotic performance in time of war. Once again, at the beginning of the 1914–18 war, the Mafia had succeeded in spreading the old rumour that conscripts called up and sent to Italy for training were habitually castrated as soon as they got there. Means of evading service had been made available to those who could afford it, and throughout the war years the island swarmed with deserters who were at once protected and exploited by the Mafia.
Mussolini’s anti-Mafia campaign was finally set off by an incident which took place when he visited Sicily in 1924. Having driven through the streets of Palermo, where it was easy enough to stage-manage the display of noisy enthusiasm he had grown accustomed to expect, the Duce suddenly, and to the embarrassment of his retinue, asked to be shown a smaller town in the vicinity. It seemed that at some stage Mussolini had picked up a pamphlet produced for the tourist industry which warmly recommended a visit to Piana dei Greci. This somewhat wretched little township was peopled by the descendants of Albanian refugees from the Turks, who had been given shelter in Sicily, and tourists were often taken there and treated to a programme of folklore by girls dressed in an antiquated Albanian style. It was the only town in Sicily – or in Italy, for that matter – to have a Greek Orthodox Church, with an officiating ‘Pope’ with a long beard, and high, black hat.
There were two drawbacks to the satisfaction of Mussolini’s whim for a Balkan entertainment. The first, and more important, was the security risk involved. By mustering every policeman in Palermo and placing them back to back with loaded rifles at intervals of ten yards all along the Via Maqueda, it had been possible to guarantee the Duce’s safety during his flying visit to the capital. But Piana dei Greci, exotic folk-costumes apart, had a reputation with the police as a hive of peasant unrest and for its participation in an insurrectional movement in the ‘nineties. The second difficulty arose from the fact that the mayor, Don Ciccio Cuccia, who would officially welcome the Head of the Government, was a Mafia potentate, and one who was notorious for an inflamed sense of his own importance. It was seen that only the most delicate handling of this encounter, should it take place, could prevent an ugly clash of personalities.
Don Ciccio Cuccia, a malevolent frog of a man, was famous for the fantastic exploits in which he was involved by his all-devouring ego, and his traditional Mafia passion for ‘winning respect’. The Duce’s visit to Piana dei Greci had been preceded a few years before by one by King Vittorio Emanuele. At a certain moment the King – who is said to have been in a thoroughly bad mood, bored by the Albanian dancing, and even distressed by the wild music of the pipes – found himself being led into the church, which was decorated and lit up and redolent of incense for some unfamiliar Greek Orthodox ceremony just about to begin. His Majesty tried to back out, but was artfully separated from his retinue and manoeuvred towards the font. Here, in spite of his protests, he soon found himself holding a bawling infant, with Don Ciccio at his side, and within a few moments had become godfather to Don Ciccio’s son.
The prestige gained by this confidence trick played on the King – which had been followed automatically by the arrival of the cross of a Cavalier of the Crown of Italy – may have tempted Ciccio Cuccia to risk some sort of self-publicising exploit with Mussolini. On reaching Piana dei Greci, the Duce’s chief of police, who was not at all happy about the security arrangements, suggested that Mussolini should ride in Don Ciccio’s car for his tour of the town. The Duce took his seat at the Mayor’sside and his motorcycle escort lined up on both sides of the car. At this
Mussolini’s anti-Mafia campaign was finally set off by an incident which took place when he visited Sicily in 1924. Having driven through the streets of Palermo, where it was easy enough to stage-manage the display of noisy enthusiasm he had grown accustomed to expect, the Duce suddenly, and to the embarrassment of his retinue, asked to be shown a smaller town in the vicinity. It seemed that at some stage Mussolini had picked up a pamphlet produced for the tourist industry which warmly recommended a visit to Piana dei Greci. This somewhat wretched little township was peopled by the descendants of Albanian refugees from the Turks, who had been given shelter in Sicily, and tourists were often taken there and treated to a programme of folklore by girls dressed in an antiquated Albanian style. It was the only town in Sicily – or in Italy, for that matter – to have a Greek Orthodox Church, with an officiating ‘Pope’ with a long beard, and high, black hat.
There were two drawbacks to the satisfaction of Mussolini’s whim for a Balkan entertainment. The first, and more important, was the security risk involved. By mustering every policeman in Palermo and placing them back to back with loaded rifles at intervals of ten yards all along the Via Maqueda, it had been possible to guarantee the Duce’s safety during his flying visit to the capital. But Piana dei Greci, exotic folk-costumes apart, had a reputation with the police as a hive of peasant unrest and for its participation in an insurrectional movement in the ‘nineties. The second difficulty arose from the fact that the mayor, Don Ciccio Cuccia, who would officially welcome the Head of the Government, was a Mafia potentate, and one who was notorious for an inflamed sense of his own importance. It was seen that only the most delicate handling of this encounter, should it take place, could prevent an ugly clash of personalities.
Don Ciccio Cuccia, a malevolent frog of a man, was famous for the fantastic exploits in which he was involved by his all-devouring ego, and his traditional Mafia passion for ‘winning respect’. The Duce’s visit to Piana dei Greci had been preceded a few years before by one by King Vittorio Emanuele. At a certain moment the King – who is said to have been in a thoroughly bad mood, bored by the Albanian dancing, and even distressed by the wild music of the pipes – found himself being led into the church, which was decorated and lit up and redolent of incense for some unfamiliar Greek Orthodox ceremony just about to begin. His Majesty tried to back out, but was artfully separated from his retinue and manoeuvred towards the font. Here, in spite of his protests, he soon found himself holding a bawling infant, with Don Ciccio at his side, and within a few moments had become godfather to Don Ciccio’s son.
The prestige gained by this confidence trick played on the King – which had been followed automatically by the arrival of the cross of a Cavalier of the Crown of Italy – may have tempted Ciccio Cuccia to risk some sort of self-publicising exploit with Mussolini. On reaching Piana dei Greci, the Duce’s chief of police, who was not at all happy about the security arrangements, suggested that Mussolini should ride in Don Ciccio’s car for his tour of the town. The Duce took his seat at the Mayor’sside and his motorcycle escort lined up on both sides of the car. At this
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