Profound thoughts in a light-hearted soul, that was Franco. You could see it in his face, because even his features matched: a large, high forehead, a compact face that would break into a slight but sincere smile at the slightest thing, eyes that sparkled behind his glasses. He was like that even at Pigafetta High School in Vicenza, a year ahead of us in '53. We would bump into each other during break time and, amid the flood of nonsense, jokes and silly pranks, he stood out because he was smart. He was the prototype not of a good student, but of a boy who had something extra: I never thought of Franco as a nerd, far from it: he was sociable, witty, and sharp in the unwitting contests of intelligence. You found yourself listening to him naturally: you were silent and he spoke, making Giuseppe Faggin's beautiful lessons even more digestible.