Word: moro
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Throughout his 32-year political career and his longer (33 years) marriage. Moro's private life was carefully separated from his work. "In public life, you can consider my husband a bachelor or a widower." Signora Moro once answered a request for an interview. "My children belong to me and not to the party...
...Giordano, 29. a pediatrician reputedly as meditative and complex as her father, came home again to await word. Anna, although seven months pregnant, at one point evaded reporters, walked a quarter of a mile to a bus stop, then rode for three miles to retrieve from a telephone booth Moro's final letter to his family. The oldest daughter, Maria Fida Bonini, 32. a newspaper reporter (against her father's wishes), came often from her apartment near by. The family answered Moro's notes with a published "Caro Papà " letter that said poignantly...
That was a particular tribute, considering the children's largely matriarchal upbringing. Strong-willed "Noretta" Moro not only kept her household carefully separated from politics, she also handled its finances, paid the bills, made the decisions, even picked the guests - there were not many - invited to dine at Via del Forte Trionfale...
...same forcefulness set the tone of the vigil. Signora Moro turned over the cleaning and cooking on which she prided herself to Emma Amicone. Giovanni's fiancee, and concentrated on working for her husband's freedom. Nearly nightly she telephoned party leaders, demanding that they agree to a negotiated release. When the Red Brigades in a communiqué criticized Moro's political career and personal life, she reacted by furiously smashing a vase of flowers...
...other times did Mrs. Moro's reserve desert her. On the morning of her husband's kidnaping, she rushed to the ambush spot, knelt by the bodies of his murdered guards and prayed. "They were such good boys," she sobbed, calling each by name. But last week, alongside the wooden table at Rome's Institute of Forensic Medicine on which her husband's body lay, thoughtfully showered with fresh carnations, she was composed. She stood dry-eyed, clutching Agnese's hand, while tears streamed down her daughter's cheeks...