With the official opening of its social library in the presence of Merri-bek Deputy Mayor Jay Iwasaki and numerous members and supporters, a project nurtured for more than four decades finally took form.
It’s an achievement that bears the name and vision of Leonardo Santomartino, president of the Federation and the creator and custodian of an idea pursued with patient dedication—even when not everyone fully bought in.
In his opening remarks, the deputy mayor emphasised the collective value of the accomplishment and publicly acknowledged the work involved. “It is right to recognise everyone’s commitment, but especially Leonardo’s,” he said.
“This is not just a library; it’s also a precious archive. From day one, Leonardo collected, preserved and catalogued. If someone is looking for a news item, a trace, a memory, this will be the right place to come.”
He also paid tribute to the federation’s previous president, noting that the entire community is grateful for work that spans generations.
The library is located on the first floor of the association’s premises. A short flight of stairs leads to a space that immediately stands out for its order and sheer volume of content.
On the left, a meticulous catalogue of newspapers: dozens of editions of Il Globo from the early 1980s onwards, featuring articles on patron saint celebrations, festivals, bocce tournaments and key moments in the associative life of the Lucanian community in Australia.
Further along is a section dedicated to dialects, traditional dress and the folk customs of Basilicata; opposite, shelves hold volumes recounting the stories of individual towns, their histories and authors.
Printed pages accompany visitors down the corridor: from black-and-white photographs to colour images, a sequence of snapshots capturing faces, events and fragments of a past that risked being lost.
Equally valuable are the folders listing the names of Lucanians who arrived in Australia—a painstaking reconstruction that promises to become a key resource for historical and genealogical research.
Santomartino himself recounts the origins of this body of work. “It’s beautiful because you never fully know what’s there or what you’ll find,” he said, “Even today I’m still uncovering materials.”
The project dates back to the late 1960s and early 1970s, when, as a young member of the Montemurro Social Club, he began keeping newspaper clippings for pleasure.
“I did it because I liked it,” he recalled, “I enjoyed keeping everything. I wasn’t thinking of a library, but over time I kept accumulating … 45 years of history.”
Nearly half a century of folklore, earthquake chronicles, stories of Lucanians around the world; books devoted to villages and tourism; materials brought by visiting delegations.
And then there is his project of compiling the names of Lucanians in Australia through obituary notices.
“My wife says I spend more time with the dead than with the living,” he joked, before explaining that such records are essential to reconstruct migration trajectories, often fragmented across countries and never officially documented.
The public value of the library was also highlighted by the Lucanian Federation’s Vice-President Michele Molinaro.
“It took about a year of intense work,” said Molinaro, “At first, some thought it wasn’t necessary, but meeting after meeting it became clear that this library had to be created.”
It was a shared effort with Secretary Carlo Donnoli, involving project planning, council applications and installation works.
The library will be accessible to anyone; during the federation’s opening hours, visitors need only ask to consult materials or conduct research.
The committee has officially named the space after Santomartino, overcoming his initial reluctance. “He didn’t want it, but he deserved it,” said Molinaro.
Among the shelves and display cases, the library also becomes a catalyst for memory. From yellowed pages emerge stories such as an accident on August 14, 1978, when two club buses returning from a snow trip veered off a mountain road.
“The bus rolled seven or eight times. It was stopped by a large tree—otherwise we would all have died,” recounted witnesses Connie and Raffaella Molinaro.
There were serious injuries and families deeply shaken, but no fatalities. An episode etched in collective memory is now restored to the community through documents and testimony.
Those present also recalled fragments of social life from a different era. Caterina Benella Torzillo, a member of the association, leafing through old images and articles, remembered the Miss Vigiano competitions which were popular in the 1970s and ’80s.
“I was too young to take part—I was 13—but I watched the older girls, chosen by a committee that decided who could compete,” she recalled.
It was a world governed by longstanding codes, where the hometown remained the axis of relationships: marriages almost always took place within the same community, and even a match with someone from a neighbouring town could seem ‘foreign’.
The same applied to dances, central moments of social life. “You never refused an invitation to dance—it was an unwritten rule,” Torzillo explained. “If you said no, you risked not being invited to parties anymore.”
