Monday, April 20, 2009

Daddy Part I

Please see April 17

My family lived in the same house for the first fifteen years of my life. When I was born, it was a large Victorian piece of art, which housed four families; the Fanellies on the first floor, my family and the Russos on the second floor and my grandparents on the third floor.My grandfather died when I was seven and Grandma became the escape haven when Mom went on a rampage.Dad was an electrician, commuted to New York City, and arrived at our train station about 5:30 every night by which time I had come home from school, taken off my uniform, put on what we called dungarees and a polo shirt and walked the three blocks down to the station to pick him up and walk him home.

It used to be a beautiful neighborhood. There was that empty lot where the dogs and we kids played. Now, for years it was filled with stuff: first with loads of metal then loads of cement blocks with wires. It was there, years before, that my friend Napoleon, the first black boy in the neighborhood, and I, first saw what the other had. “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

The great realization was that I had seen one before, but much smaller. Mary Pecorino’s baby brother had one. I had figured it out. I was content. However, Napoleon was ecstatic! (Napoleon was so grateful for our exchange that he told me that he would never forget me. I figured I’d return the favor.)

While waiting for Daddy I would go to the all-in-one shop. It was owned by Mr. Russo’s son who still lived on the second floor next to us with his mourning black-clad, forever-ailing mother whom Mom said had killed her husband by wearing him down through her complaining.Ernie (Ernesto) who, though quiet and polite, possessed a good business sense and a little creativity. Daddy said, “That can take you a long way.”

When his father died, Ernie bought the building next to their family candy store and made a kind of grocery, ice cream parlor, smoke shop, and poker beer lounge out of it. In those days, kids didn’t have to show proof of anything except with whom they came. We kids played in the street, caught lightning bugs and lit firecrackers while alternately standing behind our father’s chairs making faces until being yelled at by the men across the table.

Before Daddy walked down the two flights of the subway station, it was called the ‘El’ for elevated, I had invariably managed to coerce a piece of candy out of Ernie with the promise that he would not tell my parents. He took that promise to his grave when he got hit by a church door, it was a Catholic Church, their doors are big, and dropped dead of a brain aneurism leaving poor Mrs. Russo totally alone.She wore black for the last sixty years of her life having buried her husband, both of my grandparents, my father and her son and others too numerous to count.

When Daddy got off the train, he would take me into Ernie’s store and buy me a candy bar. Then we would walk through the door into the other store and sometimes buy a loaf of bread and generally a bottle of beer. I had a stash of candy at home. Always wanted to have a little in reserve.On Friday nights, the family would sometimes go down to Ernie’s who now had established a habit of sending out for pizza for the guys who were playing cards and drinking beer: what was called a brewski.When instructed I would go to Ernie and say, “My Dad wants a brewski please.” Then I would plunk 25 cents on the bar.

I was known as Daddy’s pet. It was a myth. Daddy was a drinker, always had a ciggy in his mouth, and he had a reputation as a singing poker player.He was gentle most of the time. He was known for spontaneously breaking out in song, Way Marie, Way Marie, which means Oh! Marie and Let Me Call You Sweetheart. Sometimes he disappeared for hours at a time. I never knew where he went and once with my persistent questioning my mother said, “Some things are best left unsaid.” In my house, it meant that you never asked that question again.My mother could get pretty crazy. She and Dad didn’t talk much.

One day when I got to Ernie’s, there were cops all over the place. I was real upset and envisioned myself dramatically trying to push through the crowd like an hysterical woman in the movies crying, “Let me through, let me through, that’s my husband in there!” However, I couldn’t get to Ernie but I knew that it was just a robbery and he was ok because I heard one cop say to another, “Russo, yea you know, Russo, he’s the owner. The Captain came in. He’s talking to him now.” So I relaxed and waited with everybody else. However, I think that I was a little disappointed that I wasn’t married to Ernie.

I heard the rumble of Daddy’s train. Suddenly, there was the realization that I wasn’t getting candy from anyone today!Then I went ballistic, that’s a term we used in the fifties. Because, as the Captain emerged, he spotted my father coming down the train stairs and waved. They walked toward each other; Daddy bent his head while the Captain whispered in his ear and then walked away. Dad lit a ciggy, his hand covering his match from the slight breeze. Then he caught my eye.Remembering Mom’s adage that, “Some things are best left unsaid,” I kept my mouth shut. I was ten and would have to wait until I was thirteen to find out what that conversation was about.

Part II tomorrow.