by Pier Francesco Grasselli
Maurizio Raggio, a man whose fame has become legend, whose adventurous life has been the subject of inferences, slander, envy and backbiting… but also of esteem, admiration, wonder, respect and approval.
The partner of Countess Francesca Agusta, a close friend of Bettino Craxi and of the international jet-set elite, a tireless playboy, Maurizio Raggio’s life has been like a novel, that is for sure, one by Harold Robbins, the kind he likes, halfway between a spy story and an adventure novel.
And an adventurous life it was, one of those reckless lives that give no respite. Thrown into the world of politics, international intrigues and high finance at a very young age, Maurizio Raggio soon proved to be an unrelenting man, perfectly capable of standing up to the “sharks” he met through Bettino Craxi and with whom he had the opportunity to interact: politicians, military officers, Italian intelligence officers such as Francesco Pazienza (very flattering were the words on his account written by the Italian 007 in his first book The Disobedient), prominent businessmen such as Gianni Agnelli and Al-Marzouq, the Agusta family, Jallud, Gaddafi’s right-hand man and head of the Libyan intelligence services, just to mention a few “unwieldy” names. Not to mention the women: Margaux Hemingway, supermodel and granddaughter of the famous writer, Nerine Kidd, second place in the Miss Universe beauty pageant and the unforgettable Francesca, who stole his heart at twenty-seven and by whose side he stood for more than ten years.
Newspapers have written all sorts of articles about him, often slandering him basing their conjectures on assumptions not always free of personal antipathies.
The fact remains that this man is known and respected, more than in his own country, worldwide. Maurizio Raggio is undoubtedly a multifaceted personality, a capable, pragmatic man, accustomed to making decisions quickly, rational and yet with a great sensitivity, with a remarkable talent for business and, moreover, endowed with unique intuition. Bettino Craxi saw these qualities as well. He was a personal friend of the Raggio family and especially of Maurizio’s father. At the end of the 1980s, he took “Mau” with him, initiating him into politics, in addition to being a close adviser and friend. Craxi employed him as the most valuable of his collaborators by entrusting him with highly secret assignments, showing that he placed the utmost trust in this still very young boy.
Maurizio Raggio was one of the key men in the transition from the First to the Second Republic. Contested, controversial, envied, feared and revered, Raggio played a pivotal role in the stormy events of those years, amid interference from overseas, the storm of “Mani Pulite” and the countless sad events that accompanied the overturning of Italian political leadership. Today he is a successful entrepreneur, president and CEO of the Pasto Grande Lithium Consortium (22,000 hectares of lithium deposit in Peru). He has two sons (the eldest of whom, Aronne, is well-known among younger generations for the success of his hit songs such as “Give me your love” – his stage name is Vibes Are Contagious) and a charming partner, Indira, who lives both in Miami and Portofino and enjoys fishing.
We caught up with him and interviewed him, to learn more about this extraordinary protagonist of the Italian history of the last forty years.
What were Portofino and La Gritta like in the “booming years” and in the years to follow?
My father opened La Gritta in 1954. It was one of the first American-bars in Italy, popular among prominent people from all corners of the world, who spent their evenings sitting on whiskey boxes because there were not even chairs in those days.
In the 1970s and 1980s Portofino was an Italian and world hub. La Gritta was always full, every night, even out of season, and my father was always busy. People would go to a restaurant for dinner and skip coffee to get to La Gritta in time. There were famous people every night: Paolo Villaggio, Ornella Vanoni, Ava Gardner and Liz Taylor. At midnight my father could not take it anymore. “Mi vagu,” he would say, “I am going” in Genoese. Then he would go off to sleep, and leave Gian, the barman, and a few waiters to run the place until closing time. Not that there was a set time. La Gritta would close when all the customers left. And sometimes they would not leave until the morning light.
I would help out as much as I could, including getting up at an ungodly hour. Often I would come back home at six in the morning. Anf at ten o’clock my father would pull me out of bed, drag me to the club, and set me down to do accounting.
“What a strange way to work!” I thought. At La Gritta, half the people had a tab…. They would pay everything off at the end of the year. Millions worth of bills. Some Hollywood actors would really over-tip. One night Rex Harrison left the waiters a million Lira in tips.
Once a truck arrived in Portofino chock-full of bottles of J&B for La Gritta – directly from Scotland. Apparently, the driver had no idea he was getting into a cul-de-sac. The truck was so large that other cars could not get through. I remember the traffic wardens went ballistic trying to unjam traffic.
Another time, a policeman knocked on the door of my house and asked for my father. “I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Raggio, but there is a long line of empty Dom Pérignon bottles going from your place all along the stairs going up to the carriage road,” he said. “Forgive me, but it really is an insult to poverty… They should be removed from there as soon as possible.”
Let us talk about women. Can you tell us about your liaison with Margaux Hemingway?
It was in July, if I remember correctly, and that weekend Margaux Hemingway was at La Gritta. Margaux was a top model, granddaughter of the famous writer. There never was a shortage of beautiful women in Portofino, however I had never seen such a perfect girl. Her hair was golden blond, and so were her eyebrows; the face of a fairytale princess. When I was introduced to her, I was amazed.
Unfortunately Margaux had a relationship with Terence Ford, Harrison’s brother. The two invited me to sit with them and I was delighted. We teamed up and spent the evening pleasantly. Around one o’clock, Margaux and Terrence left.
On Monday morning I was awakened by a phone call.
“There is someone looking for you, Maurizio,” said Gian, La Gritta’s barman.
“Who?”
“I will hand her the phone.”
“Okay.”
“Hello, Maurizio.”
I immediately recognized the voice of Margaux Hemingway.
“Come to La Gritta and let us have breakfast together!” she told me.
“Okay,” I replied. “Order a cappuccino for me too.”
Shortly after, Margaux and I were sitting at one of the tables, chatting. It had been a nice surprise and I could feel a sort of complicity between us, but as far as I knew she was there with Terrence.
Half an hour passed. Nobody showed up.
“And where is Terrence?” I decided to ask her.
“He is back in London.”
“Why?”
“I sent him away.”
Hey there. “And why?” I asked, pleasantly surprised.
“To be alone with you” replied Margaux candidly. “Are you not happy?”
Hemingway’s granddaughter was a girl who knew what she wanted. Definitely.
“Do you want to go swimming?” I suggested.
“Certainly!”
In a heartbeat, we boarded the Boston and set sail, heading for the Cala degli Inglesi. The sequel is private.
And then?
She remained in Portofino for about ten days. We went out by boat in the day and on motorbikes in the evening. One evening I even organized a dinner in her honor with about fifty friends.
When did you meet Bettino Craxi?
I was just a boy. At the time, politics moved regularly to Portofino and the calata was frequented by politicians and members of the government. Bettino was a friend of my father, who turned fifty that day. They would have celebrated at La Gritta, of course. Craxi was in Portofino with the honorable Bensi, one of the fathers of the Constitution, along with De Gasperi. Bensi was also a friend of our family.
Bettino was intrigued by me, he said that he thought I was a clever boy and that one day he would put me to the test. My father intended to send me to London, to the Les Ambassadeurs club, to learn his trade. Craxi had already figured out that I was not fit for that plan, that I needed something more, let us say, dynamic.
Then the collaboration began…
Yes, around the mid-80s. In Milan, in Piazza del Duomo, at number 19, on the opposite side of the square from the cathedral, there was a red armored door. And a plaque: “CENTRO EUROPEO PER GLI STUDI DELLE RELAZIONI UMANE” (EUROPEAN CENTER FOR THE STUDIES OF HUMAN RELATIONS). On the fourth floor of the building there was Bettino Craxi’s office. Not the headquarters of the socialist party, his personal office. I never asked Bettino the reason for that unusual denomination. He would have considered it a childish, trivial question. And Bettino did not like banalities. After all, politics is made up of relationships, and relationships are not necessarily built exclusively between individuals, but also between more or less extensive groups of individuals. Agreements and disagreements between parties, governments, states, everything always starts from human relationships.
I met Enza Tommaselli, Craxi’s secretary, she was always very busy. She was a stocky woman, practical and efficient, with a homely style and sober taste. On Mondays, dozens of people would always be waiting in the various waiting rooms. Cardinals, bank presidents, politicians or industrialists, leading figures in the economic world and so on. In fact, Bettino would receive on Mondays. These important people came to ask him for favours, recommendation letters, loans. They were certainly not people used to waiting in the hall, and yet they waited there for a long time, at times for hours… and no one ever complained.
I collaborated with Bettino carrying out special assignments. After the first successful operations, Craxi had begun to assign me to sensitive tasks. He sent me as his representative to important meetings and everything suggested that he not only felt affection toward me but also esteem and trust. Bettino was not the type of man who would take a twenty-seven-year-old guy with him just because he was a friend of his father.
I remember once… It was 1987, early February. I arrived in Piazza Duomo before noon, Craxi’s office was inexplicably deserted. It was very strange, there were usually dozens of people waiting.
“Good morning, Enza,” I said closing the door behind me. “What is going on today? How come there is no one here?”
“I know as much as you, Maurizio. I just arrived. The president did not let me make appointments today.”
Suddenly we heard Bettino’s invectives.
“YOU MUST TELL GIANNI THAT YOU HAVE BURST MY BALLS!” thundered Craxi from behind his office door. “WHEN YOU MAKE MONEY, YOU INVEST ABROAD… AND WHEN THINGS GO BAD, YOU ASK FOR THE STATE SUBSIDIES!”
A little later the door opened. Cesare Romiti came out: the FIAT’s managing director looked worn out, his gaze downcast. He walked away with his tail between his legs.
I entered and cheerfully greeted Bettino.
“Did he make you angry?” I asked.
“Sure,” said Craxi, in a gloomy mood. “When things go badly they cry and, when they have the money, instead of investing in Italian companies and helping the country, they take it abroad.”
“I have always said that you are the only patriot left in Italy, Bettino,” I told him.
Craxi looked at me, smiling. “I am a Garibaldian, you know that” he said, now cheered up.
Do you want to tell me about your first meeting with Francesca Agusta?
It was the twentieth of June, a Friday, around noon. I remember walking bare-chested along the pier, my shirt thrown over my right shoulder, pleased because the day before I had come third in the regional karate championships in Genoa.
Suddenly I heard the rumble of helicopter blades. Shading my eyes, I looked up and saw a blue and silver Agusta A109 piercing the clear blue sky towards Villa Altachiara. I watched as the helicopter lowered and landed near the Agusta residence.
That evening I was at La Gritta playing backgammon with a friend. At one point I looked up from the board and saw her. A very tall, elegant woman, with wavy red hair, of a shocking beauty. She must have been wearing ten million diamonds counting earrings, jewel sets and bracelets.
I watched her as she went to say hello to my mother, they were friends. Then I recognized her. She was Francesca Agusta, wife of Count Corrado Agusta, the helicopter tycoon. She was about forty, and I was twenty-seven. She had recently separated from the count.
Did you also know Gianni Agnelli?
Gianni was a friend of Francesca. I remember a funny episode… It was 1992, the year of the Colombiadi, on Easter Sunday. Francesca and I were sleeping at Villa Altachiara. Suddenly the phone rang. The butler answered the switchboard and transferred the call to the bedroom. “Avvocato Agnelli is on the line,” he said to the Countess as soon as she raised the receiver to her ear. Francesca glanced sleepily at the dial of the gold watch placed next to the telephone: it was 6.30 in the morning. “Tell him he cannot bother people at six-thirty in the morning,” she said, and hung up.
We woke up at 7.30 anyway. Francesca picked up the receiver. “Call Agnelli,” she ordered the butler. A few moments later we heard the servant’s voice. “Casa Agnelli is online.” “Put it through,” Francesca said. “Franceschina, how are you?” uttered Gianni Agnelli with his notorious soft R. “You are quite a pain in the ass, you know” she retorted. “I know,” Agnelli said. «Please forgive me if I called you that early. I wanted to ask you if I could park my small helicopter at your house.” “Of course you can.” “Magnificent!” exclaimed Gianni, in a good mood. “You and Maurizio are invited to lunch on the F100!”
“Agnelli came from Turin, from Villa Perosa. He had just launched a sailboat, the Stealth, which was a particular blue. “Congratulations, it is a beautiful blue,” I told him when he showed it to me. «It is Midnight blue» answered Gianni. He also had a tuxedo of that color… and I had the same one, with a band collar. Only Gianni Agnelli and I had that tuxedo.
Your life certainly resembles a novel…and there is a rumor that you and an italian writer who lives above La Gritta are writing one inspired by your life…should we expect a best-seller containing shocking revelations?
(Maurizio smiles) Who knows…
#portofino #people #maurizioraggio #jetset #italy #portrait #legend
