Italy is made up of 20 regions: Veneto and Tuscany and Sicily, to name a few.

There used to be one more, right here on James Street North.

"Pastry shops, tailors, every business was Italian," says Frank Mainolfi. "Now there's just me."

Come Saturday afternoon, he's gone too. He'll power down the coffee machine and lock the door at Bar Michelangelo, a humble enterprise that's been part of James North for nearly 60 years.

It opened on the west side of the street in 1957. A few decades later it moved straight across to 246 James North, right beside Christ's Church Cathedral, and kept right on celebrating a sacrament of its own — with dark, potent espresso.

In the early days, the sports bar went through several hands. But 43 years ago, Frank bought the business and never left. He had no experience, but was motivated.

"Back then, bosses were really pushy," he says.

Better to work for yourself.

Plus he knew his soccer, and used to play. It mattered that the man behind the counter was wise on matters of the Beautiful Game.

It has been a long and successful run for a guy who hated this city at first sight.

Frank, 66, grew up in an agricultural town outside Naples, the youngest of seven.

His oldest sister Angela left for Canada. One by one, his brothers and sisters followed, until Frank was the only one left at home. He was 14 and not doing much.

His big sister declared he should be here. He arrived on May 16, 1964 and was miserable.

"It was cold," he says. "I was walking around and I didn't understand one word. I cried for three weeks."

School didn't last long. At 15, Frank was lugging cotton at the Glendale Spinning Mills. Next stop, the Coppley Noyes & Randall garment factory.

"I pressed pants, I pressed jackets, I pressed everything," he says.

In 1973, already married to Lucia Carbone and kids coming fast, Frank bought the Bar Michelangelo for $10,500. Not the building, just the business, complete with an inventory of ceramic gifts, records, Italian toiletries. And one genuine oil portrait of revered Italian artist Michelangelo, painted by Hamilton's Nicolino Rizzi — whose day job was painting houses.

Decor doesn't matter much in this business. There are no Michelangelo prints on the walls here. It's team shots of past Italian World Cup winners that customers want to see.

The product, of course, must be right and Frank knows much about that.

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"Coffee goes by the weather," he says. "If it's humid, you grind a little bit bigger."

There are 22 chairs, six tables. On this day, the one by the window is occupied by several regulars, all born in Italy. Luciano Di Loreto came at 17, worked at Stelco 36 years.

"We get good coffee at Frank's and talk about politics and sports," he says. "It's food for the soul … We want Frank to run another little spot for 40 more years."

"Do you hate me that much?" asks Frank.

All these years, it's been seven days a week. And a few years ago, Frank's brother Gennaro died. He was eight years older, a barber on Barton. And he would come in and do the late shift.

"He was like a father to me, somebody I could go to," Frank says, eyes growing moist. "After he died, I'm not the same person."

And the street has changed.

"Everything's different," he says. "All these art stores and restaurants and beautiful people moving in. Lots of young people."

Frank's landlord said he needed the space to expand his restaurant next door, a chicken place called Charred. So that helped Frank make up his mind.

He has no idea what comes next. He does know he won't be sitting around drinking Tim Hortons coffee.

"I don't like to say it, but it's terrible."