Miscellaneous, in Italian

When James graduated from high school, his father gave him a choice:

"Would you like to go to college, or to Europe?"

James picked Europe. In those days—the 1920s—a lengthy journey punctuated by stays in a succession of European cities was called The Grand Tour, and it was deemed just as much of an education as attending college classes, with good reason. Young men and women from well-off families, after spending six months or more interfacing with cultures strange to them, and figuring out how to travel about and feed themselves while struggling with foreign languages, were better equipped to assume their places as business and social leaders. As an additional benefit, most of them acquired a deep and lasting appreciation for the amenities of American life.

James had a wonderful time on the Continent, and his favorite country by far was Italy. He settled in Naples the longest. He found a small hotel on a relatively quiet side street and would sally forth each day to see the sights, or to visit favorites again. He lingered by fountains, refreshed himself in caffe and trattorie, and looked at buildings and the contents of museums until his eyes nearly fell out.

No one knows for sure, but we junior members of the family suspect that at the very least, James indulged in lots of flirting with any women he happened to meet. He would not have had any trouble attracting their attention: on the cusp of his 20s, James was blessed with devastating Italianate good looks. The confidence they afforded resulted in a reputation so notorious that when he began to court my mother-in-law, she at first refused to accept a ride from him, no matter how far she had to walk. He would pull up alongside her in his roadster—the top down, blue velvet upholstery beckoning—and idle along, matching her walking speed.

"Where are you going, Marian?"

"To the store," she'd reply, eyes resolutely in front.

"I'm going there myself! Hop in—I'll give you a lift."

"No, thank you."

We're not sure how long the seige went on, but it lasted long enough to give James a sense of mission. For her part, Marian was determined not to join the crowd of floozies that skinny-dipping, globetrotting playboy had already cast aside.

But back to Naples. James was there during the summer, long before the era of universal air-conditioning—a luxury truly universal only in the United States even today. After a full day of walking about the streets and clambering through ruins, James would return to his hotel to find his legs covered with heat rash. The only trousers he had were wool flannel. Although he was only wearing the white ones at that time of year, they wouldn't "breathe" enough to compensate for the heat of a southern Italian summer.

To ease the itching, James needed to bathe every day, so each afternoon when he returned to the hotel, he would ring for a bath to be run. It was, you see, an European hotel. Each room did not have a bathroom, or even a W.C. The guests had to share one with other guests on their floor. As for bathtubs, the entire hotel held only one.

This routine continued for several weeks until James decided it was time to move on. He informed the hotel staff that he would need his bill, and proceeded to pack. When he arrived at the desk and was handed his bill, it was four times greater than he had expected. Added to the charge for his room, which he had calculated at the beginning of his stay as well within his means, was a long list of items mysteriously labelled "Miscellaneo."

"Excuse me," James called to the desk clerk when he had reassembled his wits, "I do not understand all these charges on my bill!"

"Which charges, signore?"

"All these charges that say 'Miscellaneo.'," James explained, running his finger down the column, each accompanied by a substantial number of lire.

"Ah, the 'Miscellaneo'!" cried the clerk in sudden comprehension. "'Miscellaneo.' is the bath, signore."

James was aghast.

"You charged me for each bath?"

"But of course, signore. You Americans are very fond of the bathing, but this is very costly for the hotel. Do you understand, signore?"

James understood that he had made a mistake. He had assumed that he did not need to ask if a bath would result in an additional charge. Asking about something that one would take for granted in an American hotel simply had never occurred to him!

He paid the bill with almost all the money he had. It was time to go home.

When he reached New York City, he had not eaten for over twenty-four hours. Since he had no cash for a taxi, he carried his luggage and walked from the dock to the bus station and arranged to be carried home to Ada, Michigan. His father's store was the flag stop for the bus line, so he was able to book passage C.O.D., so to speak. The manager of the New York terminal knew James' father would make up the fare on his son's arrival.

James didn't feel that he'd learned enough from a single Grand Tour. When his father repeated the offer he'd made him after high-school graduation, James again passed up a chance to enroll in college in favor of a trip to Europe. In all, he made three Grand Tours.