The last two centuries have seen numerous accounts of emigration from Tuscany by those who, in search of a better life style, or escaping hostile political situations or just simply.  In pursuit of the spirit of adventure, have decided to abandon their native country to do just this.  I have had the pleasure of listening to one of them, Foster Gabriel Mori, in the recounting of his long life. 

The memories of the elderly are a patrimony which can help us to learn their past through narration and projection; a past which represents a unique and invaluable historical memory for each and every one of us. 

Before telling his story I would like to spend two words on the importance of listening, which has been a part of us even before birth, with our mothers' heartbeats and her voice; and, after birth, listening to noises from the environment and later, towards one year, to arrive at discovering our own noises and words. 
But after listening for a long while, it happens, unfortunately, that we learn to talk a lot more and to listen less. 
And it is in this era where we are often found to say "I don't have time", that listening becomes a luxury, probably the only thing we should not deprive ourselves of.

Foster is a youngster, 86 years old, born in Washington state, son of immigrants originally from the province of Pistoia who went to America at the end of the First World War. 
Foster's childhood was a much suffered one due to his delicate constitution, so much so that at the age of 14 his father decided to send him to Italy to stay with relatives in order to receive better treatment, but his condition worsened and he became gravely ill. 

He was given only 6 months to live. The doctors ignored the cause of his illness and the only thing they could advise was to combat his physical weakness with a reconstituent based on eggs (a difficult undertaking, seeing that at the time - we are in 1937 - Italy was breaking away from Ethiopia, Mussolini was in power and eggs were extremely scarce!). 

But the fragile boy with the foreign accent survived and began to go from village to village with his Bianchi bike, thereby earning himself the nick-name "small little American". 

On his return to America he passed his matriculation and voluntarily signed on with the Marines; from Washington he went first to San Diego (California), then Phoenix (Arizona) and from there to Tucson where he obtained his degree in law and became a solicitor (a 58 year career, still active!). 

Around the middle of the 1950s he was nominated Honorary Consul to Italy for Arizona and held this office for 27 years. 

"It was not just an honour, but a privilege to represent the Italian Republic for all those years and nothing makes me happier than to know that I helped so many people with my same origins", clearly moved by what he was telling me.

Biography of Foster G. Mori

My name is Foster Gabriel Mori. I was born in the state of Washington in the United States of America in April of 1923.
My father was Umberto Mori and my mother was Libera Mori Innocenti (maiden name). My father first came to the Unites States shortly after the First World War, at the request and insistence of a brother that had come to America before the war, and was working in a saw mill in Western Washington.
My father came from Italy to the United States and traveled all the way across the United States to Western Washington, where he went to work in a saw mill. Although he did not have a high education, after working in the saw mill we was promoted to Chief Millwright. He had the responsibility of maintaining  the operation and running of the entire saw mill, which was a large one that produced more than 170,000 board feet of lumber per day.

Although my father had not become very well acquainted with my mother in Italy, he used to see her at the market place. He wrote to her and inquired if she would like to get married and she accepted.
She had a brother who lived in Chicago and who was in Italy to check up on the family to see how they were doing after the war, and he escorted her from Italy to Washington where she and my father were married.
My father was born and raised in Pieve a Nievole, Province of Pistoia, Tuscany. My mother had been born and raised in Montecatini Terme, Province of Pistoia, Tuscany. 


My mother and father being immigrants, did not know how  to speak, read or write English. When I was born, and later was born, there was a problem with filing a Birth Certificate.
They were assisted by a neighbor whose family were immigrants from England. My mother said she wanted to name me "Vasco", the neighbor lady strongly objected, insisting that I should have an American name, and that is how I became Foster, which happened to be the name to be the name of her favorite composer, Steven Foster. When my brother was born, the same thing happened. My mother said she wanted to name him "Dino", and the neighbor lady instead named him Donald.
It, however, was not a problem to my mom and dad because immediately they called me "Fosco", and the called my brother "Dano".

We spoke Italian within the family. At the age of 5 until 15 years I was very sick child and was a shut-in. My mother subscribed to an Italian newspaper that was printed in San Francisco. For lack of something to do as a shut-in, I would read her newspaper. At the age of 14 years, our family, doctor told my mother and father that I had 6 month to live. My father, who knew that they were practicing medicine in Italy long before there was in United States, made arrangements for me to go to Italy. I traveled by myself from Tacoma, Washington to Chicago, where I met up with  my Uncle (my mother's brother), who with his family, was returning again to Italy to check up on other family members. We crossed the Ocean in a ship called Conte of Savoia.

I lived in Italy from May until October, sometimes with my father's family relatives and sometimes with my mother's family relatives. In August, I became very, very ill, where I was bed-ridden and no one thought that I would ever be able to get back to the Unites States.
A girl my age by the name of Rosita was living in an apartment below where I was staying. She became worried and ran into a small town called Borgo Buggiano, and she brought back a young doctor named Dr. Cavallo.
He immediately said that he did not know the reason for my illness, but he knew that I was not strong enough to fight it, and he began giving me massive shots of Calcium and put me on a strict diet. He said, for example, I was to have one egg yolk with Marsala every day.

This was almost impossible, since in 1937 Italy was just getting over the Ethiopian War, Mussolini was in power, and eggs were hard to find. But, Rosita, my little friend, when she would hear a chicken cackle, she would go steal an egg for me.
The doctor's treatment began to show results, so that by October I was strong enough to return home, where my mother continued the same treatment. 

While in Italy, I purchased a used Bianchi bicycle which I used to entertain myself going from town to town on their market day. I became known in the region as "Piccolo Americanino".
Of course, in those five months that I lived in Italy I was exposed to the Italian language and Italians writings, and I have never forgotten them.
Some of the people would ask me to come by their place in the evening, and we would crawl under a blanket to listen to an English radio station, so that I could then translate to them what was going on the world outside of Italy. I'm glad that Mussolini never found out.

After returning home to western Washington, I continued to improve, so that I was able to graduate from high school.
While the Second World War was going on, I wanted to go into the armed services. Since I didn't want to go into the Army or Navy where I might be shooting at Italians, I volunteered to serve in the United States Marine Corps, so that I would be restricted to the war with Japan. After serving in the Marines for two and one-half years, I received an Honorable Discharge. 

After leaving the Marines, I returned to my home in Washington.

I decided that I did not like the Washington weather any more, since after coming home, it rained for 19 consecutive days. Having experienced the weather in San Diego, California where I took my Marine Corps training, I left Washington and went to San Diego. 


In San Diego, since the war was winding down, I was not able to find work. One day, I met a young lady who was working as a waitress while she was going college and whose parents lived in Grendale, Arizona, a suburb more of less of Phoenix. At her invitation, I traveled with her by train across the desert, arrived in Phoenix, Arizona, stayed with her family for a day, then I discovered I had an Uncle living in Phoenix.  


My uncle offered me bed and room in exchange for helping him out in his little "Italian Grocery" store. I worked in the store stocking shelves, working at that cash register, waiting on customers, while at the same time I enrolled in college, which at that time was called Arizona State College.

I found that by going to school early in the morning I had enough time to sell real estate, sell insurance, and after a while, I even built a house. I built the house so that I could bring my mother and dad to Phoenix from Washington, and I gave them the house before I went down to Tucson to attend the University of Arizona School of Law, from which I graduated with a Doctor's degree in law.
In addiction to being admitted to the State Bar of Arizona, I also took the California Bar exam and was admitted to the State bar of California, which would allow me to also practice law in California. Eventually, I developed a law practice that had me representing clients both in Arizona and California. 


I became aware that there were a lot of people of Italians descent in Arizona as well as California.
During the war, there was a Prisoner of War camp in the outskirts of Phoenix. Since the Italians had no desire to escape, they were permitted to freely go into the city, and of course they made friends, and by the time they were expatriated back to Italy, they left behind descendents, and in some cases wives.
There was already a community of Italians in Arizona prior to the war because of the Roosevelt Dam, a large conservation dam, which I am told is one of the largest masonry work was done by Italian masons from Italy.

They also left their "impression". This resulted in people needing Italian documents to be translated to English and vice versa, as well as assistance and advice in matters resulting from immigration between the two countries, or such as when someone died, or for conducting business activities.
For example, when General Electric bought the Olivetti computer business from Italy, all those documents had to be translated from Italian to English and certified.
In addiction, some years later under the Nato Plan, Italian flyers were brought to Luke Field which was near Phoenix for training of fighter aircraft. They also required help, and unfortunately, when one of them didn't survive, I had the task of determining their next of kin and arranging for the transportation of the corpse to Italy, which required red tape, since the body required a visa and there had to be acceptance of that body in Italy, not only by the family but also by the cemetery for interment.       

The Italian Consul General in Los Angeles first wanted to appoint me a Consul in 1951, but in those days it would have required me to register as a foreign agent with the United States State Department, and I declined.

The Italians were not the only ones that needed representation between the United States and their country of origin. France also had that need and so did Norway. Both Norway and France in 1951 did have Consuls. They contacted me and we formed the Arizona Consular Corps, and I did all the legal work of putting together the association. In later years, we incorporated as a non-profit corporation.

Today, I am the only surviving original members, and the Consular Corps has now grown to 29 members representing countries all over the world. 
Though my work in representing Italy, Prime Minister Fanfani asked to come to Rome one year together some other consuls from other countries such as Argentina, Brazil, etc.
For me, to represent the Republic of Italy for so many years, is not just a honor, it has been a privilege. It was pay back, and nothing makes me happier than to know that I helped many people of Italian descent over the years.

I steel do, because even now I am Consul Emeritus for the Republic of  Italy, and since I've been the only Italian Consul that can read, write and speak Italian, I continue doing that when the need arises.

Among my accomplishments, I have worked with the Italian Trade Commission to bring Italian products into Arizona. Also, I have practiced law for 58 years, and I am still practicing. I am very proud of my credentials and very proud not only to have been of Italian origin, but a Toscano.


During my life, I have visited Italy 15 times. Two of my three children speak Italian. My deceased first wife's family was also from Tuscany. My present wife, although not of Italian descent, has been "picking up the language", and shares my love for everything of Italian culture.