Ivrea had been a settlement since the fifth century B.C., and under the Roman Republic it went by the name of Eporedia. But it came into greater prominence during the Renaissance, when it fell under the sway of the Turin-based House of Savoy. A sterling example of this past lingers in the convent of San Bernardino, with its excellent frescoes of the life of Christ completed around 1490 by the minor Italian artist Giovanni Martino Spanzotti. It was to this convent that Camillo Olivetti, born and raised in the surrounding Alpine foothills that are visible from nearly anywhere in the town, moved his family when he established his typewriter company in a still-standing brick building. If you stand in front of the tan stucco of San Bernardino, you stare directly at the once-modern exteriors of Olivetti, whose glass exteriors were meant to exude the future and reflect the past.

In contemporary Ivrea, however, it is hard to imagine the bustle of the recent past. A former employee, Enrico Capellaro, who had started in manufacturing in the 1950s before working his way up to management, described his daily routine as fairly relaxed: Renowned Italian actors like Vittorio Gassman and comedians came through at lunchtime. New books and magazines could be consulted at the 30,000-volume library (which was open to all Ivreans). A Pullman bus would drive through town at midday, carrying workers home for lunch, if they wanted. The Social Services Building, built of sandy concrete and organized entirely around repeating hexagonal shapes, from spindly columns to large rooms, was across from the main factory buildings and was where the company offered health care to its workers.

For a time, Ivrea was likely the most progressive and successful company town in the world, representing a new and short-lived kind of corporate idealism.

Two major additions to the red brick building, built between 1939 and 1949, look like perfect representations of a moment in architectural thought: The first is a long, low-slung block threaded with ribbon windows; the second, known as Ico Centrale, is a fully glazed, curtain-walled facade, shielded from the light by Corbusier-style brises-soleil. A third building, also covered with a slick glass-skinned facade, now houses a nursing school. The others are empty, filled with the detritus of companies past, having only recently been acquired by a developer who is attempting to secure contracts for new firms while preserving the buildings. These are glorious, light-filled spaces, unsung monuments to the rationalist, functionalist architecture that dominated progressive thinking in the midcentury. On the southern side of Ico Centrale, a perpendicular bend causes two portions of the building to face and reflect each other — the implicit idea being that employees on either side would have the opportunity to see each other in their daily work, and, even more implicitly, that the company was open and transparent to itself and the world.

Olivetti also built housing and hotels, two of which are the most strange and wonderful buildings in any city. The West Residential Center, popularly known as the Talponia, is a crescent-shaped block built into a hillside. Its roof is paved and walkable, its facade entirely glass, articulated into rectangles by dark gray metal framing. Originally intended for short business stays, it projects a spirit of efficiency, with modular furniture and bedrooms separated only by curtains. The Hotel La Serra, outside the main center, was built in the 1970s and betrays the influence of postmodernism. Composed of an irregular series of stacked, graduated floors, it is meant to look like a typewriter, but from the inside, the rooms feel like the tightly constructed cabin of a ship, with oval porthole-like windows and a secret armoire holding a vanity mirror, whose curved doors open perfectly into the concave surrounding space.

It makes sense that Olivetti would be a symbol of historic pride. As a principal player in the 20th-century “miracle,” when Italy climbed out of the depths of fascism and the catastrophe of World War II to become the eighth largest economy in the world, it is essential to Italian identity. The nostalgia for this time in Ivrea can be intense. Stefano Sertoli, the recently elected mayor, mentioned how often he came across people with an incredibly precise recall for eras and moments in company history. Some 1,900 residents of the city are recipients of the spille d’oro, or “gold pins,” which represent 25 years of continuous service to the company. The legacy of Olivetti is, he said, “un patrimonio pazzesco” — an insanely rich heritage.