Hit it Big With Smaller Stories

I was recently asked if I wanted to investigate an 88-year-old woman's teapot collection for a Sunday column I write for The Boston Globe. It wasn't as sexy as some of my other stories, such as interviewing Sharon Stone, going foxhunting with 20 horses and 15 hounds, or spending the day with funeral directors to unearth why they got into the business (no pun intended). What I discovered upon entering octogenarian Ethel Frattaroli's home prompted me to question whether this was national news: 5,000 teapots that took over three floors and two hallways. And it was.

This wasn't the first time I've been pleasantly rewarded by additional investigation. I recently went to interview an 18-year-old college freshman who makes documentaries spotlighting social injustice.

We settled into a Starbucks 10 miles outside of Boston, and I began by asking, “So, did you grow up [here] in Watertown, Massachusetts?”

“No, I grew up in Sierra Leone, Africa,” he answered.

With a bit of gentle prodding, he proceeded to share the mesmerizing story of his family's escape from the brutal civil war (think: recent Leonardo DiCaprio film Blood Diamond).

What normally was a 30-minute drive to the nearest airport took them two days. "During the process we drove over dead bodies, amputated legs, people shredded to pieces, and vultures tearing away at human flesh," said Jacob. "I still have nightmares about it."

Even with an escort of Nigerian soldiers, the family was stopped numerous times. They went through so many interrogations, Jacob feared they wouldn't live. "Men with machetes were known to ask, 'Do you like short sleeves or long sleeves?' before they would cut off a hand or an entire arm," Jacob said. The family lost all they had paying bribes to corrupt officials. They eventually flew to neighboring Guinea. Three months later, they immigrated to Massachusetts.

Had I scoffed at spending the morning with the college filmmaker, I would have missed out on a passionate and rewarding story that got published last month in The Boston Globe.

On another occasion, I went to cover a story about a Boston architect donating his services to build a library in Afghanistan, a nice, feel-good philanthropic piece. What I learned was that Najim Azadzoi now 51, had left his war-torn home by foot -- walking 10 hours a day for a week until he reached Pakistan.

When he arrived there, he sought out other professionals -- instead of entering a refugee camp -- and met up with a group of engineers; four of them were friends who had left before him.

''I would secretly write letters to friends I had in the United States," said Najim Azadzoi. ''I'd also sent an application to MIT in hopes of someday entering their graduate program," an accomplishment he achieved.

Back to the teapots

While I stood mouth agape among a sea of porcelain, clay and tin, my mind raced. The collection was certainly expansive, but just how unusual was this?

I contacted Gary Sohmers, who has appeared for more than a decade as a collectibles appraiser on PBS's Antiques Roadshow to query the find. His response: “It could be the largest known collection.”

I took my next question across the Atlantic and rang London's “Guinness World Records” headquarters. I learned that the teapot-crazy Massachusetts mother of seven had eclipsed the standing record. It was held by a woman in Kent, England, who owed 3,950 teapots when last counted in September 2004, according to records manager Kim Lacey.

Ethel Frattaroli converted her attic into a teapot shrine 20 years ago. Three shelves hugged the walls of the entire room. Not an inch was spared among the teapots, coffee pots, and chocolate pots -- the latter was all the rage in 17th-century Spain, well before Swiss Miss entered the hot-beverage picture.

The collection ranged from traditional English teapots to novelty pieces: Lucille Ball bursting from a TV-shaped teapot, ballroom dancers whose outstretched arms create a spout, and Scrooge lending his arm to serve as a handle.

"They're her pride and joy," said Frattaroli's youngest daughter.

Had I not gone to see the granny, I would have missed out on that one, too. So, I urge you, try not to let your ego get in the way of what might very well be a great clip, or at least memorable afternoon.

Susan Chaityn Lebovits is a Boston-based writer. Her work has appeared in a number of national magazines including Shape, Self, and Reader's Digest. She currently writes a weekly column in the Boston Globe West and is a correspondent for the Boston Globe Living/Arts section. She can be reached at Lebovits AT globe DOT com