Giovanni and Elizabeth Gianotti emerge in the earliest record of this family’s historical brood. Giovanni was born December 31, 1859, in Turin, Italy, in the northwestern part of the country. Turin claims fame, among other accolades, as home of the famous Shroud of Turin, once thought to be the burial cloth of Jesus, depicting the negative image of a crucified body impressed into its fabric (though radio-carbon dating to the Middle Ages proved it a forgery). Giovanni was the second-born son of parents about whom we know absolutely nothing for sure.

Turin’s historical and political prominence before World War II bodes well for pulling back the historical cobwebs to uncover my storied (I use that term loosely) family history. The earliest records show that Rome established this area as a colony of the empire around 28 BC and named it Augusta Taurinorum (the Latin from which the name Turin comes). This was near in time to the ascendancy of the first Roman Emperor, Augustus Caesar. I may be name-dropping, but my great-grandfather is thereby connected to the greatest of the Roman emperors! Maybe even a direct descendant. Well, so I’d like to think.

In the Middle Ages of Europe, after the Roman Empire disintegrated, Turin remained prominent, located on a major east-west travel route and protected by an arc of a mountain range (part of the Alps) to the north. But the city was militarily conquered repeatedly by warring factions, such as the Lombards and the Franks (ever heard of Charlemagne in history class?). By the 1700s, Turin had become the capital of the European kingdom until Napoleon’s French Empire took Turin from 1802 until 1814. From that point, Turin was part of the struggle to unify all of what we today call Italy, eventually becoming its capital until 1865. My great-grandfather Giovanni was six years old and living in Turin at that time!

Reader, stay with me now—Italy’s capital was moved from Turin to Florence in 1865 and then to Rome in 1870 after the Roman Catholic papal forces conquered and took control over all of Italy. This move stripped Turin of its political prominence, after a long history as one of the most prominent cities in Europe. Giovanni would have been at least eleven years old at this time. So how does all this play into my family line, you say? Good question.

It was common in European countries for the eldest son to be the primary heir of the family possessions. The second son, destined for a much smaller share of the inheritance, would often make his mark on the world by joining the clergy. And such was the usual family expectation. (This tidbit comes directly from my Grandfather Jack, who is Giovanni’s son.)

Given Jack’s temperament and don’t-tell-me-what-to-do attitude, we can venture a guess based on reasoning backwards: the tree from which the apple falls is much like the apple. So we surmise that just like his son, Giovanni wasn’t going to be forced into anything he didn’t want, and thus he rejected the priesthood. Keep in mind, this story was told me by his son Jack (my grandfather), who did not always think favorably of the Catholic church—once, when he was serving at mass as an altar boy, the priest hit him over the head with a book for the misdemeanor of dropping the censer; as a result, Jack refused to ever again be an altar boy!

So Giovanni, with no hope of much inheritance from his father and knowing the shame he would bring on the family for rejecting the priesthood, bolted from Turin to find his fortunes in the new world of America, away from the political-military upheaval thrust on the people by the church. The family back home had to live with the talk of the town of having a son who abandoned his family, disgraced their faith, and went chasing after the wild dreams of fortune in another place. This must have been a dark secret that, like all families, they probably tried to hide from those outside the clan.

I suspect all families have dark secrets. Most people probably have their failings or faults, things of which they are ashamed. We really don’t know what people are like inwardly; the outward things we see or surmise may be completely different from who they really are. My great-grandfather Giovanni may be completely other than what I have written above; memories conveyed to me may be inaccurate. My filling in the blanks, though fun to consider, could be dead wrong. It makes me think of what God says in His Word:

“The Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7)