He was the father of Italian television. He was a son of Sicily. Pippo Baudo chose to be buried not in Rome, but in Militello in Val di Catania — the Sicilian village where he was born. Same day, same hour, same square: two funerals. The first: TV crews, giant screens, national broadcasts, advertising trucks bearing his image. The second: silent queues under the sun, hands cooling at a fountain, one last message in the shade, the touch of a coffin passing by. In Sicily, respect is not a formality. It is an act of love. The show is over, but he lives forever in the hearts of his people.
