The 1943 Rome epidemic, that wasn't

Isola Tiburina, location of the Fatebenefratelli hospital

The "partisan card" for Giacomo Cesaro,
father, Giuseppe, who shared this story.
Issued by the "Ministry of Occupied Italy,"
it shows the older Cesaro was a
member of the "Justice Freedom" brigade.

The story that follows appears in Pietro Borromeo's book, Il giusto che invento' il morbo di k. (Fermento Editori, 2007). Pietro is the son of Giovanni Borromeo, a protagonist in the events described. Giuseppe Cesaro, chief of the press office of ACI (the Italian AAA), and a writer, shared the story with family on April 25, a day celebrating the 1945 liberation of Italy from the German occupation.  It is reprinted here--in English translation, followed by the Italian version--with permission.

[Update 4 May 2021 - this invented disease also is known as "Syndrome K" in English, and is the subject of a new documentary of the same name, with a release date of 1 June 2021 in the US.]

During the Second World War in [occupied] Rome, there was a terrible epidemic of an unknown and dangerous illness.

Isola Tiberina with its Fatebenefratelli Hospital.

It was known as "disease of K," it had very serious symptoms, and was extremely contagious, but thanks to the intuition of three exceptional doctors (Giovanni Borromeo, Adriano Ossicini and Vittorio Sacerdoti), there was not a single fatality. All those who were sick, put in isolation in a pavilion of the Fatebenefratelli Hospital, were miraculously saved, as were the doctors and nurses, notwithstanding that the "disease of K" was extraordinarily contagious.

It all began on the 16th of October, 1943, the "black Saturday" of the Roman ghetto, when the [Nazi] SS conducted a horrendous roundup, forcing 1024 people, among them hundreds of children, to board the trains of horror headed for the death camps at Auschwitz.

Dott. Giovanni Borromeo

However, some succeeded in avoiding the Nazis and saving themselves [from the trains], seeking refuge on Tiberina Island, where the courageous doctor Borromeo, head of the hospital, decided to shelter them all--almost one hundred. It was obviously necessary to compile medical records for these special patients.  And so the three physicians, in particular Vittorio Sacerdoti (who, because he was a Jew, had already been victimized by the [1938] racial laws and was working at the hospital under a false name, protected by his supervisor, Borromeo), imagined a horrendous illness, devastating and highly contagious, the "disease of K," with the "K" referring to Kesselring, the ruthless Nazi official--or, according to other sources, Kappler, the inhuman Rome persecutor.

Those taken in--the fake sick--were put in a special ward, in isolation.

On the evening of October 16, 1943, when the Nazis arrived to search the hospital, they found the three doctors--Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti--with masks covering their faces, extremely worried about the scope of this unexpected and dangerous epidemic.  The Nazis--there was a doctor among them--demanded to see all medical records, but, when asked by Doctor Borromeo to visit the sick in person, were fearful of this terrible "disease of K" and preferred, instead, to leave. 

And so all the sheltered, pretend patients were saved from the Nazi horror.

But the story does not end there.

Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti continued to help Jews  and partisans on a daily basis. They installed a hidden radio transmitter in the basement of the hospital in order to stay in contact with other partisans and with Radio London. They declared the pretend patients deceased from the "disease of K" and procured false documents to allow them to flee, exposing themselves to great risk in a sad historical moment in which denouncements to the Germans were the order of the day and the hospital was swarming with spies.  

These three courageous physicians did not retreat before the horror and the fear, because, as Adriano Ossicini continued to assert in interviews after the war,  "One must seek to be on the side of what is right, always."  

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Durante la seconda Guerra Mondiale a Roma ci fu una terribile epidemia di una malattia sconosciuta e pericolosa. 

Si chiamava morbo di K., aveva sintomi molto gravi ed era estremamente contagiosa, ma grazie all’intuizione di tre medici eccezionali (Giovanni Borromeo, Adriano Ossicini e Vittorio Sacerdoti) non ci fu nessuna vittima. Tutti i malati, messi in isolamento in un padiglione dell’Ospedale Fatebenefratelli, si salvarono miracolosamente e così anche i medici e infermieri, nonostante il morbo di K. fosse molto contagioso.

Iniziò tutto il 16 ottobre 1943, il “sabato nero” del ghetto di Roma, quando le SS fecero un orrendo rastrellamento costringendo 1024 persone, tra cui centinaia di bambini, a salire sui treni dell’orrore per andare a morire ad Auschwitz. 

Qualcuno però riuscì a evitare i nazisti e a salvarsi, cercando rifugio proprio sull’isola Tiberina dove il coraggioso dottor Borromeo, primario dell’ospedale, decise di ricoverarli tutti, quasi un centinaio. 

Ovviamente bisognava compilare una cartella clinica per questi pazienti speciali. E così i tre medici, in particolare Vittorio Sacerdoti (che in quanto ebreo era già stato vittima delle leggi razziali e lavorava sotto falso nome all’ospedale, protetto dal primario Borromeo), immaginarono una malattia orrenda, devastante e contagiosa, il Morbo di K., dove la K. indicava in realtà Kesselring, lo spietato ufficiale nazista, o secondo altre fonti, Kappler, il disumano persecutore di Roma. 

I finti ricoverati furono messi tutti in un reparto speciale, in isolamento.

La sera del 16 ottobre 1943, quando i nazisti arrivarono a perlustrare l’ospedale, trovarono i tre medici, Borromeo, Ossicini e Sacerdoti con delle mascherine sul volto, preoccupatissimi per lo scoppio di questa improvvisa e pericolosa epidemia. I nazisti allora pretesero di vedere tutte le cartelle cliniche, dato che c’era anche un medico tra loro, ma alla richiesta del dott. Borromeo di andare a visitare personalmente i malati, ebbero paura di questo terribile morbo di K. e preferirono andarsene. 

E così tutti i finti malati ricoverati in isolamento si salvarono dall’orrore nazista.

Ma la storia non finisce qui. 

Borromeo, Ossicini e Sacerdoti continuarono quotidianamente ad aiutare ebrei e partigiani. Installarono una radio ricetrasmittente clandestina negli scantinati dell’ospedale per restare in contatto con gli altri partigiani e con Radio Londra, dichiararono morti proprio per il morbo di K. i finti pazienti e procurarono loro documenti falsi per farli fuggire, esponendosi così a grandi rischi, in un triste momento storico in cui le delazioni ai tedeschi erano all’ordine del giorno e l’ospedale pullulava di spie.

Questi tre medici coraggiosi non arretrarono davanti all’orrore e alla paura perché, come non smetteva di raccontare nelle interviste dopo la guerra Adriano Ossicini: “Bisogna cercare di essere dalla parte giusta, sempre”.

(Pietro Borromeo, figlio di Giovanni Borromeo ha raccontato questa storia nel libro: Il giusto che inventò il morbo di k. Fermento Editori, 2007)

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 During the Second World War in [occupied] Rome, there was a terrible epidemic of an unknown and dangerous illness.

It was known as "disease of K," it had very serious symptoms, and was extremely contagious, but thanks to the intuition of three exceptional doctors (Giovanni Borromeo, Adriano Ossicini and Vittorio Sacerdoti), there was not a single fatality.  All those who were sick, put in isolation in a pavilion  of the Fatebenefratelli Hospital, were miraculously saved, as were the doctors and nurses, notwithstanding that the "disease of K" was extraordinarily contagious.

It all began on the 16th of October, 1943, the "black Saturday" of the Roman ghetto, when the [Nazi] SS conducted a horrendous roundup, forcing 1024 people, among them hundreds of children, to board the trains of horror headed for the death camps at Auschwitz.

However, some succeeded in avoiding the Nazis and saving themselves, seeking refuge on Tiberina Island, where the courageous doctor Borromeo, head of the hospital, decided to shelter them all--almost one hundred.  It was obviously necessary to compile a medical record for these special patients.  And so the three physicians, in partuclar Vittorio Sacerdoti (who, because he was a Jew, had already been victimized by the [1938] racial laws and was working at the hospital under a false name, protected by his supervisor, Borromeo), imagined a horrendous illness, devastating and highly contagious, the "disease of K," with the "K" referring to Kesselring, the ruthless Nazi official--or, according to other sources, Kappler, the inhuman Rome persecutor.  

Those taken in--the fake sick--were put in a special war, in isolation. 

On the evening of October 16, 1943, when the Nazis arrived to search the hospital, they found the three doctors--Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti--with masks covering their faces, preoccupied by the scope of this unexpected and dangerous epidemic.  The Nazis--there was a doctor among demanded to see all medical records, but, when asked by Doctor Borromeo to visit the sick in person, were fearful of this terrible "disease of K" and preferred, instead, to leave. 

And so all the sheltered, fake patients were saved from the Nazi horror.

But the story does not end there.

Borromeo, Ossicini and Sacerdoti continued to help Jews  and partisans on a daily basis.  They installed a hidden radio transmitter in the basement of the hospital in order to stay in contact with other partisans and with Radio London.  They declared the pretend patients deceased from the "disease of K" and procured false documents to allow them to flee, exposing themselves to great risk in a sad historical moment in which the accusations of the Germans were the order of the day and the hospital swarming with spies.  

These three courageous physicians did not retreat before the horror and the fear because, as Adriano Ossicini reccalled in an interview after the war,  "One must seek to be on the side of what is right, always."  

"Here lived...": commemorating Italian Jews who died in the Holocaust

in Pigneto

If you look down once in a while in Rome, you may find a small brass plaque beginning "Qui abitava"or "Here lived," with a name, date and other information in Italian.  Like the one above:

Here lived
Fernando
Nuccetelli,
born 1903
arrested for his politics
January 4, 1944
deported
Concentration Camp Mautausen
died April 23, 1944

Here lived Silvia Sermoneta, born 1897, arrested Oct. 10, 1943,
deported, Auschwitz, assassinated July 15, 1944, on via Salaria

Almost 100 of these "stolpersteine" (iin German) or "stumbling blocks" ("pietri d'inciampo" in Italian) are on the streets of Rome, and over 40,000 in 10 countries in Europe and Russia.  The project of German artist Gunter Demnig, they commemorate Jews, Roma, and others, like Nuccetelli, a political prisoner, who died in the Holocaust.

More than 1000 Jews were deported from Rome to the camps late in World War II, as Nuccetelli's plaque reveals. Of the 2000 Italian Jews deported, only 102 survived.



The 4-inch (10 cm) cube stolpersteine is laid flush with the sidewalk, usually in front of the last known residence of the victim.  In Rome, this often  means the stolpersteine replaces a sanpietrino, or cobblestone-like block of the sidewalk and is noticeable not so much for its shape, but the shiny brass. They were laid in Rome in 2010 and 2011, in many of the city's municipalities, including many in the city's old Jewish ghetto.



Relatives of one who escaped the round-up, on via Arenula

We stopped this year in front of two on via Arenula along largo di Torre Argentina, while walking on the street with friends visiting Rome for the first time from the United States. As we were trying to explain the stones, a relative of those who died came out of the building.  He had lost his aunts, uncles and all his cousins, he told us.

Scandalously, 3 of the stones were stolen in Rome in 2012.

Dianne

Here lived Laudadio di Nepi, born 1882, arrested Oct. 16, 1943,
deported, Auschwitz, died during transport; also on via Salaria,
at the same address as Silvia Sermoneta

RST Top 40. #3: Via Tasso



The poet Tasso in a mental institution in Ferrara.
Painting by Eugene Delacroix. 

For knowledgeable Romans, via Tasso has two meanings--two, that is, besides the obvious: an unimposing street that runs northwest for 5 blocks from behind the Scala Santa in front of San Giovanni in Laterano.  One of the other meanings, of which we were made aware only recently, by way of Goethe's many references, is the brilliant, influential 16th-century poet Torquato Tasso.  Born in Sorrento, Tasso spent his most productive (and most frustrating) years in Ferrara, where he wrote the lyrical epic Gerusalemme Liberata (1574) and, two years later, was incarcerated in a mental institution, perhaps for conduct that was only intemperate.  He died in Rome in 1595,  a few days before he was to receive from the Pope the "crown of laurels" as the king of poets.

The other meaning of via Tasso is starkly different: the Nazis' political torture prison.  The official name is the Historical Museum of the Liberation--it's open and you can visit-- but what happened here at via Tasso 145 was hardly liberating.  Between September 1943, when the Germans occupied Rome, and June 1944, when the city was liberated by allied armies, the prison on via Tasso--now often called simply "via Tasso"--was the scene of torture, abuse, and death for hundreds of prisoners, among them Jews, partisans, and the innocent.  Late in March, 1944, all the prisoners housed at via Tasso were removed and summarily executed at the Fosse Ardeatine, caves just outside the city.

Via Tasso is a haunting place to visit.  Many of the rooms of the prison now hold exhibits and documents, some of which we have translated from the Italian in Rome the Second Time.  But some of the cells are still there, and there, especially, one can see--and feel--the anguish of those held here.  A reader of a February 5 post on the Fosse Ardeatine sent us these lines (the translation is the reader's, too), scratched by a prisoner into the wall of his cell, returning us to the man Tasso, to his experience as a prisoner, and to the relationship of poetry to the human spirit.

L'anima a Dio
La vita al re
Il cuore alla donna
L'onore per me

My soul to God
My life to the king
My heart to my wife
My honour to myself


Bill

Priebke Vergogna: A Reminder that the Nazis were in Rome

We know Dianne took this photograph, in Monti, on June 19, 2007. But we could probably have come close to that date by looking carefully at its content. Much is standard: a shop's metal shutter; a concert poster; one of the ubiquitous yellow advertisements for an apartment for rent; a no-parking sign (sosta vietata); and the usual excess of bad graffiti on almost everything, including the smooth marble.

The white sign is what's distinctive. It reads:

Priebke
Vergogna!
Gli Italiani
Non Dimenticano
Le
Fosse Ardeatine

Priebke
Shame!
The Italians
Don't Forget
the
Fosse Ardeatine

An old friend with whom we've shared Rome and who values our efforts in Rome the Second Time, nonetheless has expressed her irritation at the amount of attention we devote to the Nazis and the Germans in Rome. She's Jewish, and likely she's just tired of being reminded of what happened to Europe's Jews, including those who lived in Italy and Rome.

We appreciate and understand that sentiment, if it is, indeed, what she feels. But the white sheet of paper posted on the wall in Dianne's photo tells us that for many Romans these issues, and the distant past that produced them, are very much alive.

Priebe is Erich Priebke.
Born in Germany in 1913, Waffen SS Captain Priebke participated in the killings of 335 Italian civilians (including 75 Jews) at the Fosse (Caves) Ardeatine in 1944 (below right). Priebke later admitted to keeping the list of those who were to be executed, and of personally killing two people with a machine pistol. He may also have had a role in the deportation of 6,000 to 7,000 Jews from Italy to Auschwitz. But he thought the Fosse Ardeatine killings, personally ordered by Hitler, to be justifiable retaliation for the deadly bombing of a German troop column in via Rasella (we describe these events in more detail in Rome the Second Time).

Priebke was scheduled to be tried in the postwar era, but managed to flee to Argentina, where he lived as a free man for 50 years. After giving an interview to ABC's Sam Donaldson in 1994 in which he described the victims as "terrorists,"
Priebke was extradited to Italy, where before an Italian court he pleaded not guilty and again justified his actions. The judges ruled that the time limit for prosecuting the case had expired, and Priebke was released. On court appeal, Priebke was tried again in 1997, found guilty, sentenced to life in prison and, because of his age, put under house arrest in Rome.

Why, in June 2007, were Romans again concerned about Priebke? Because, on June 12 the court authorized him to leave his home in order to use his considerable skills as a multi-lingual translator in the office of his lawyer. After a day of protests led by the Italian Jewish community, a magistrate revoked the new work permit.

Dianne took the photo a week later.

Bill