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  great lengths to make sure that he was noticed. They would surge around the

  foreman, calling out their given names and attesting to their physical strength

  and willingness to work. Often they were beaten back by overseers that the

  foreman had brought along, both for his own protection from the would-be

  workers’ enthusiasm and also to have some brutal fun at the expense of these

  displaced peasants.

  Most of these ‘bosses’ had a keen eye for strength and stamina, and often

  the old or the frail would be passed over in favor of younger, fitter prospects.

  At fifteen, Lonfranco already stood in excess of six feet, and his tight,

  angular body was well muscled as a result of his labors for his father over the

  past eight years. His straight black hair was slicked back with pomade and

  despite his tortuous journey overseas, he looked as robust and fit as any man

  in the plaza.

  Jimmy Shaunaker, the big Irish foreman, must have thought so as well,

  for he had chosen the youth to join his pick and shovel brigade with a wave

  of his baton. The half-dozen men that were selected bid farewell to their less

  fortunate compatriots and were marched out of the plaza.

  Lonfranco marveled at the size of the homes as they wound their way

  through streets bustling with tradesmen, merchants, and well-to-do residents.

  Each estate was surrounded by a high wall or fence, often affording only a

  glimpse of the residence and grounds. The styles and architecture varied

  dramatically from lot to lot, Italianate beside French colonial, beside English-

  style tutor. Lush gardens and fountains could be seen in the front courtyards of

  many. Perhaps one day . . . Lonfranco thought to himself.

  Finally, the procession came to a halt in front of a large vacant lot on Calle

  Arenales. Tools were issued to the newcomers, and they were told to jump

  down into the excavated hole and take instructions from the line boss.

  Tucho Ortiz was not a man that Lonfranco would enjoy taking orders

  from, for his methods and his demeanor were as ugly as his face. The work was

  backbreaking and relentless, with only a half hour break for lunch. Each man

  was assigned an area to dig. If their progress was insufficient, Tucho’s baton,

  a larger version of Shaunaker’s, would come crashing down on his backside

  accompanied by a stream of invectives.

  Lonfranco made sure that he kept up a favorable pace, even though his

  hands were becoming swollen and blistered. He was able to make it through

  3

  JAMES McCREATH

  his first day without facing Tucho’s wrath, and to his delight, he was asked

  back for the next morning with a promise of long-term employment if he made

  it through his first week. He collected his pay and set out to find good work

  gloves and bandages with a noticeable spring in his step.

  Despite the severe condition of his hands, he completed his first week as

  a common laborer by keeping his mouth shut, his eyes and ears open, and his

  shovel constantly moving. Many of his co-workers were not as fortunate, often

  being physically expelled from the job site with harsh words or even a beating

  by Tucho and his underlings. The conditions were barely above slave labor, but

  there were always men anxious to take the place of anyone who fell into Tucho’s

  disfavor.

  They worked six days a week and rested on Sunday. Lonfranco had been

  asked by one of the married workers he had befriended to come for Sunday

  dinner, and he spent his most enjoyable evening to date in his new country at

  the small flat of Luigi Monza and his family.

  Monza had been an immigrant laborer for almost three years, since

  arriving from southern Italy. His wife worked as a seamstress, and with their

  combined income, they were able to maintain a modest lifestyle. They were a

  fountain of knowledge for young Lonfranco, outlining local customs and habits,

  as well as recommending where to get cheap food, clothing, and lodging. The

  boy had found a good friend in the older, more worldly Monza, and he began

  to feel more secure and at ease about fulfilling his father’s wishes than at any

  time since he had left Italy.

  By the start of his fourth week on the job site, his hands had become tough

  and callused, his back strong and tanned. The foundation of the mammoth

  home was being formed with concrete, and the work was proceeding at a frantic

  pace.

  Tucho was ever-present, but he never bothered Lonfranco. As a matter of

  fact, the boy became one of the crew’s most able workers, catching the eye of

  not only Shaunaker, but his peers as well.

  The home that they labored on was being built for one ‘General Figueroa

  San Marco,’ a hero of the Indian wars whose victories had opened up the rich

  agricultural hinterland known as the Pampas for settlement.

  General San Marco was by now the preeminent figure within both military

  and political circles in Buenos Aires. It was the ongoing use of his wide-ranging

  influence that allowed the current regime to stay in political power these last

  several years. Without support of a united military, no president had ever stayed

  in office more than a few months. San Marco’s enormous popularity with the

  soldiers serving under him, as well as the romanticized folklore surrounding

  his combat heroics, made him exulted by the masses.

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  RENALDO

  Figueroa San Marco, it could be said, was the most influential man in all

  of Argentina.

  General San Marco would often visit the sight of his new home to make

  inspections and update or change architectural plans. There were no beatings

  or dressing downs when he was on the job site. Tucho and Shaunaker were on

  their best subservient behavior.

  If the general was pleased with the progress, he would sometimes

  speak directly to the assembled workers, thanking them and giving them

  encouragement.

  He is a man of regal bearing, Lonfranco thought.

  Perhaps fifty years of age, the general was not an overly tall man, rather

  more bowlegged in posture from too many years of cavalry service. He was

  barrel-chested and powerfully built, however, with a large, hawk-like nose,

  piercing eyes, and a shock of full, grey hair.

  More than anything, it was his voice that inspired respect. One could just

  imagine the booming baritone imploring his troop to ‘push on, push on to

  glory!’ in the face of overwhelming enemy odds. His talks always left the men

  with uplifted spirits. Even Tucho would be in a good mood for a few hours after

  the general’s departure.

  On the few occasions that work had fallen behind schedule due to excessive

  rains or the unavailability of certain material, the general would quietly walk

  off the sight. He would simply say to Shaunaker that he was sure that the

  foreman would have the building timetable back on track soon.

  This mild reprimand was translated into escalated proddings and beatings

  by Tucho’s bullies. They would drive the men incessantly, often late into the

  night. There was some talk among the workers of revolt on these occasions, but

  each man needed this work, and no one was willing to actua
lly put his job on

  the line.

  It was during one of Tucho’s foul moods that Luigi Monza accidentally

  overturned a wheelbarrow of cement when its front wheel became bogged

  down in the mud. Tucho was there in an instant, flailing away at Monza with

  his baton while screaming insults and kicking the legs out from under the

  startled, apologetic Italian. The cruel man’s gang now joined in, and Monza

  was picked up and passed from bully to bully, pelted, beaten, and insulted.

  Lonfranco’s blood was boiling. There was a ringing in his ears that he had

  never experienced before, and he stood, shaking with rage.

  Unable to control himself, the youth lunged at Tucho, knocking him into

  the wheelbarrow and stumbling on into the mud. As the line boss tried to

  regain his balance and composure, three well-placed punches to the face sent

  the Argentine reeling backwards again, this time covered in his own blood.

  39

  JAMES McCREATH

  Lonfranco turned to face the other tormentors. As they came at him one

  by one, he was able to dispatch each, in turn, into the muck. His co-workers

  cheered him on heartily, but offered no assistance. Even Monza was too stunned

  to come to Lonfranco’s aid.

  Tucho, now brandishing a knife as well as his ever-present baton, had

  maneuvered behind the boy and was about to strike a telling blow to his head

  when a pistol shot exploded a few feet away. The combatants stopped dead in

  their tracks.

  There on a scaffold propped against cement blocks stood General Figueroa

  San Marco. He motioned for Tucho to drop the knife, but the overseer was

  so incensed at the loss of face he had suffered that he hesitated momentarily,

  gesturing at Lonfranco to continue their dance of death.

  A second shot struck the gleaming blade just inches above the handle,

  carrying it out of the Tucho’s grasp. San Marco ordered the bully and his

  followers off of his property at once, for he had witnessed the entire episode.

  Loud cheers from the workers greeted this news, and they ran to congratulate

  Lonfranco. They were silenced by the general’s booming voice.

  “Be still, you men! You there, the fighter. Come up here. I want to have a

  word with you.” Lonfranco was now filled with dread, fearing the same fate as

  Tucho. Slowly he made his way to the scaffold.

  “Hurry up, boy, I don’t bite. Not unless I’m hungry, and luckily for you,

  I’ve just had my lunch.”

  Finally, the worker stood only a few feet from the general, and he launched

  into a course of humble apologies.

  “Be quiet, young man! Is it your habit to always think with your fists, or

  do you have a brain in that handsome head of yours?”

  Lonfranco stood there dumbfounded, unable to answer.

  “That was a fine bit of work you just did there, trying to help your friend

  and all, but it would seem that you have left me without a line boss to finish

  my home. What do you expect me to do now?”

  Lonfranco found his tongue instantly.

  “The men will work better with that ogre gone, Señor General. We do

  not have to be beaten and insulted to work hard. It is for every one of us a

  great honor to work on the general’s residence, and we will prove to you that

  Tucho and his likes will not be missed. Besides, Señor General, those men were

  stealing supplies from you. Back in Livorno where I come from, I used to help

  the dock foremen count cargo containers as they came off the ships. When I

  started to work here, I noticed that every morning there was less material on the

  site than the evening before. So I started to count stacks of lumber and cement

  blocks. I am very good with numbers, Señor General. Tucho and his men were

  thieves, as well as tyrants. They will not be missed here, believe me.”

  40

  RENALDO

  “Well, Mister Shaunaker, what do you think? Should we give them a

  chance to see if they can do it their way?” the general queried. “It’s your neck

  on the line as well!”

  “The boy is a good worker to be sure, General, and the other men all like

  him,” Shaunaker confirmed. “Why don’t we let him be the line boss for a few

  days and see what happens. In any event, it will take me some time to round

  up another group of overseers.”

  “Very well. You have five days, young man. Let’s see if you and the others

  can pull things together and stay on schedule. I will be back for your report at

  that time, but from now on, my visits will be unannounced and spontaneous.

  Things seem to be much more revealing that way.”

  With that, he abruptly turned about-face and was gone. The men stood in

  silence, the image of the general in his crisp military uniform, polished knee-

  high boots, and ostrich-plumed kepi etched in their minds.

  Shaunaker addressed them all, indicating that he would go along with the

  plan only if he could see progress. The men were more than glad to be rid of

  Tucho and his gang, and a new spirit was born on the job site that afternoon.

  Lonfranco continued to do his share of the physical work, but he also

  encouraged and reassured the others in their toil. Not wanting to see the return

  of the likes of Tucho, each man seemed to find new enthusiasm and pride in

  his work. When General San Marco appeared on the site five days later, he was

  full of praise for Shaunaker and his ‘lads.’ He specifically asked about the young

  prize fighter whom he had promoted on his last visit.

  “The boy seems to have a handle on things,” the big Irishman assured

  the general. “The men are working harder than ever, probably out of fear of

  Tucho’s return. Nevertheless, all is running smoothly, so I see no need to make

  a change. By the way, the boy was right about the stealing. I was about to

  make a report to you myself when the topic came up unexpectedly that day. I

  have placed an armed night guard on the site. There will be no further theft,

  General.”

  “Good, I will save some money not having to pay the likes of that rabble

  to steal from me. Get the boy. I want to talk to him.”

  Lonfranco had awaited the general’s arrival with trepidation. If things

  were not to San Marco’s liking, he felt sure that the burden would rest on his

  shoulders, and it would cost him his job.

  “So what do they call you, young man?” the general inquired of the boy.

  “Lonfranco Guissepe De Seta, Señor General.”

  “Shaunaker says that the men are working better than ever before, but do

  they not resent you for being so young? You have the face of an angel, but the

  body of prize fighter.”

  41

  JAMES McCREATH

  “They fear the return of the line bosses more than anything else, Señor

  General, and I think they are willing to accept any leader that does not use a

  baton on them for inspiration.”

  “You were the only one willing to stand up for your friend. You are a man

  of action, they saw that. Where do you come from? Is your family with you?”

  “Livorno, Italy, Señor General. My family is all still there. They do plan to

  join me in Argentina as soon as possible though, within the year, I hope.”

  �
�Well, Lonfranco Guissepe De Seta, you have a way of attracting attention

  to yourself, it seems. You have caught my eye now, and I would hate to have you

  disappoint me. There will be no more line bosses for the time being, but both

  Shaunaker and I will be watching you! And my wife will be watching me, so

  make all possible haste to finish this damned house. She is extremely anxious

  to move here, and she is driving me crazy! So off you go, and keep your men

  working smoothly. Prove that you can do this for me, Lonfranco Guissepe De

  Seta.”

  The boy’s feet hardly seemed to touch the ground as he walked back to

  the site where his co-workers waited for the news.

  “No more Tucho!” he said with a broad grin as the men broke out into

  spontaneous celebration. “But it is up to us to keep it that way. We will be

  watched all the time, and every man must pull his weight. Does anyone have a

  problem with that?” Silence was all that could be heard in the cluster of men.

  “Good, now let’s show them what we can do!”

  Over the next few months, the Casa San Marco took shape in record time.

  Other contractors from all over the city came not only to inspect the beautiful

  structure, but also to see for themselves the unheard of process of building

  without strong-armed line bosses.

  When most of the physical labor had been completed on the exterior, the

  majority of the workers were released in favor of skilled interior craftsmen. The

  general continued to employ Lonfranco as Shaunaker’s assistant as a reward for

  his diligence in completing his tasks so efficiently. San Marco would frequently

  seek out the boy and ask him personally for his appraisal of various situations.

  Their relationship grew to be somewhat like uncle and nephew, for the

  general had conceived four daughters but no sons. He would say to Lonfranco

  that he wished for just one son to carry on the family name and provide him

  with some manly companionship around his home.

  “Surely you must get all the male company you want in the military?”

  Lonfranco had questioned.

  “It is true that I am surrounded by men every day, but they are not my

  blood. They are not family. Unfortunately, my wife cannot have another child.

  I have fought my wars, and now it is time for me to enjoy the fruits of my labor

  with the ones I love. But as much as I love my wife and daughters, I can’t teach