Seven months dead. Mummified. So some workers sent to a found it apartment in Corso Trieste in Novaragranted on loan for use. Pier Attilio Trivulzio he was 83 years old. Profession: journalist. In trouble for years. Alone. Completely, seeing how he’s gone, with no one caring more than him. Yet he had been married, he had a son who had emigrated to England for years to work as a set designer in the film industry.
To those who attended him in paddock of the Monza racetrack, a place of action beloved by Trivulzio, told of a companion, accountant profession, who lived near Parma. Faded relationships, finished. As well as those with old workmates. The last one to try to maintain contact was Marco Pirolawith whom he shared the experience of The Hexagonbi-weekly newspaper published in Monza and Brianzaclosed in 2012: «Pier Attilio, known as Pat, had called me in 2020when we were in isolation due to a pandemic. He asked for a hand to recharge the phone. I have since searched for it in vain. He didn’t answer calls or emails. I asked around, I tried to get some news from other colleagues. Nothing. Until the owners of the house where she lived sent someone to do some work ».
Thus, a deep sorrow comes upon me thinking of the condition in which Trivulzio must have spent the last years of his life, nothing to do with the character he showed on the track, in doing his job. A hard and pure guy, at the cost of exaggerating with jealousy for some news, with the pretension of going to the end even when it wasn’t the case. A good reporter, with high-intensity collaborations for Espresso, Panorama, La Notte, Il Giorno, Bergamo Oggi, Il Cittadino di Monza and for the Ansa agency before landing at the Esagono.
The latest collaborations; those are also dated, for an active site linked to the activity of some social centers in Lombardy. Nothing that could save him from progressive poverty, from total isolation. a «exuberant reporter» as Pirola defines him, gifted with stubbornness in finding a trace. Of him, encountered for years between the Parabolica and the curves of Lesmo, we remember an almost spasmodic desire in the search for a hidden detail, a secret to reveal. But also a sort of chronic independence, deeply rooted, something that transformed him into a maverick, taken to flaunting his freedom. With consequent prices to pay in terms of economic stability and ambition. Career: nah. Medals sewn into the lining of his jacket, rather, which he proudly told about. Above all if the speech ended up on the years of lead when he – he said – due to an investigation into the Red Brigades, he was forced to hide for months.
A man on a permanent journey between the light of gratification and the shadow of frustration, in a permanent struggle with something that perhaps was inside his knotted soul. In an old photo from the late 1960s, he walks in the pits together with former F1 world champion Jack Brabham. The image is full of vitality, it belongs to a remote time. His heart aches thinking about the end of “Pat” Trivulzio, died in August and abandoned in a room. Empty and silent like many existences close to us yet invisible.