TOXIC V - A Little Nostalgia i

A Little Nostalgia - i

 As long as we avoided going near the parking garage on Kenmare Street the rest of the neighborhood was open to us. Usually our first stop would be at the corner of Kenmare and Mulberry Street a few doors down from the social club. Here was an old fashioned ice cream shop and Italian bakery which was managed by my Uncle Arthur and Aunt Mary. It was a small shop with an immaculately clean black and white checkered floor as pure white ceiling fans rotated slowly above our heads. There a small counter with four shiny metal stools that were fixed to the floor that seemed very high to a short kid like myself, and when I was seated upon one of the thick white cushions I would spin myself round and round upon the rotating seat in front of the spotlessly clean countertop. Opposite the counter were the silver taps of a carbonated drink and syrup dispensers which was all part a refrigerated lift-top ice cream chest which concealed the cold creamy delights of gelato and fruit flavored Italian ices. Atop a shelf above the ice chest was an assortment of colored bottles of red, blue, yellow and purple displaying flavors of wild cherry, raspberry, pineapple and grape upon the labels of the tasty syrups that were used as toppings for shaved ice snow cones. To the left of the shop, a three tier bakery display case was filled with, cannoli, éclairs’, Linder tarts, biscotti, almond cookies and sfogliatelle to name just a few of the delectable temptations that were available to the parlors customers. The intoxicating smell of buttery fumes and sugary vapors permeated the cool air as Arthur spoiled me from behind the counter giving me whatever I wanted and introducing me to a world of sweets. From sorbet ices, butter cookies, to a beverage that would become one of my favorite drinks for years to come, an egg cream. This wonderful beverage contained neither eggs nor cream; in fact it was a simple infusion of chocolate syrup, milk and seltzer and was one of the most delicious things that I have ever tasted. Even though I can make one at home I can never replicate that fresh delicious parlor perfection.

 My aunt Mary, uncle Arthur, and Flo, chit chatted for a while as I got my full of pastries, flavored ices, and egg creams before we were on our way to out next stop to see my uncle Robbie. In those early years of my life every male figure that was introduced to me was an uncle but in truth Robbie was a cousin who was overseeing the next front that we were headed to which was just a brief stroll to Mott street which was just around the corner from the ice cream parlor and bakery. Here was a very narrow newsstand, candy store, and smoke shop. Upon our arrival we were enthusiastically greeted by Robbie who was a handsome man that always had a pleasant smile and looked nothing like a mobster, his demeanor was very gentle and like all the other relatives he seemed pleased to see us. I was fascinated by the newsstand and the vast assortment of candy that was available as Mary Jane’s, Good & Plenty, Turkish Taffy, Sno-Caps, Candy Buttons, and the chewable greatness of Chuckles enticed my adolescent eyes. Then of course there were candy cigarettes, the delectable treat that made any child feel like an adult when you put one it in your mouth with realistic packaging that glamorized smoking for the kiddies. What were they thinking back then?

Flo went with Robbie to a back room of the shop to take care of family business leaving me alone for a short time to browse the magazine racks full of comic books, pulp, and tabloid magazines. Of course at such an early age I really didn’t know how to read, nevertheless, I was captured by the images on the covers that were displayed as Superman, Batman and Spiderman comics promised colorful superhero adventures, while Pulp magazines like ‘True Danger’, and ‘Man’s Story’ displayed exploitive images of beautiful woman that were, scantily clad and in peril from torturous Nazi’s. While other publications dipicted images off rocket ships, flying saucers, and robots on the covers or ‘Amazing Stories’, ’Weird Tales’ and ‘Science Fiction Quarterly’ which were filled with stories of the future yet to come. My eyes drifted from cover to cover, captivated by the artwork to entice young and old alike. I was so enamored that I overlooked periodicals aimed at woman like ‘McCall’s’,’ Vogue’ and ‘Bazaar’, and because of my ignorance and un-interest in current events I hardly looked at the cover of Life magazine, newspapers or Hollywood tabloids. Nevertheless I always enjoyed visiting the newsstand to see the ever changing covers of all the publications that were neatly organized upon the racks. When leaving Robbie would let me choose a comic or two and a handful of candy as we continued on our trek.                      

     After a few other unmemorable visits, the last place we would end up at before heading home would be the Church of the Most Precious Blood. Although I don't consider myself a religious person, I remember this place quite vividly. The small chapel and administrative building was pushed back within the shadows of two larger buildings because of the small courtyard which led to entryway from Mulberry Street. The courtyard had a cobblestone pathway and a few large trees whose growth packed the square practically concealing the building from the street. There were a few aged cement benches along each side of the cobble path and a dried out vine covered fountain, which was weather beaten and worn, a relic from the late eighteen hundreds. It was obvious that this place had a lot of history behind it, but at my juvenile age it went unappreciated. Nevertheless it was behind the doors of the chapel that fascinated me as the dark chamber was set alight by hundreds of candles. Being that this wasn’t a big place there were just about six rows of pews, some of which were occupied by other people that were deeply involved in a moment of worship. Despite the fact that I was a somewhat rambunctious kid I knew that I was in a place that demanded respect as Flo told me to “Sit still and say your prayers”. I was seated in one of the pews as she once again disappeared into another room for a short time.

     I didn’t know it at the time but the significance of this chapel was a place of worship dedicated to the honor San Gennaro the patron saint of Naples whose annual eleven day celebration is commemorated by Italian Americans every September. The ‘Feast’ of San Gennaro is now known in the united states, if not the world over for its festive atmosphere, religious processions, and variety of Italian dishes, but In my day the feast was a tradition that was segregated to Little Italy. It was here in this small building, behind closed doors from where I sat that this yearly custom was organized. For many years I thought Flo brought me here as a way of exposing me to religion, but eventually found out that this location like many others was also used as a front by the 'family', and her visits were to help assist dear ole' dad with collecting kickback money for the mob. Nevertheless I still remember that little church and of course the Feast of which its corrupt religious organizers presented to the community and general public.

TOXIC VI - The Italian Connection

- Little Italy -

 

     In my youth ‘Little Italy’ was much larger than it is today now that Chinatown has absorbed most the Italian neighborhood. In the 60’s Little Italy started on Mulberry Street, extending south to Canal Street, north to Bleecker Street, west to Lafayette Street and east to the Bowery where it then bordered Chinatown. As you would expect, the heritage and culture of this community was predominantly Italian as many of the first immigrants seemed to have brought every facet of the home country to New York City with them. Italian traditions, regional dialects, religious festivals and of course delicious recipes were passed down to future generations of Italian Americans that were born here. This is where Flo would take me to visit the relatives on my father’s side of the family. We would walk along the narrow cobblestone streets and beneath fire escapes of turn-of-the-century tenements as I took in the sights, sounds and smells of Italian cuisine and culture which emanated from the surrounding restaurants, shops and people that lived within Little Italy’s limits. Despite the fact that by blood I am Puerto Rican, it was here in Little Italy that my Italian heritage began. Specifically in a little restaurant and lounge located Kenmare Street which was a private social club for wise guys.

     In those days organized crime had a very prominent presence in Little Italy, a presence that went back as far as the early 1900's. Since then many powerful members of Costa Nostra have operated in the neighborhood. At the time the controlling benefactor was the Genovese family. Although the 'Godfather' Vito Genovese was imprisoned in 1959 he was still the head honcho in charge of organized crime of the Italian American community. Despite his absence there were many other smaller crews which were affiliated with Genovese that operated from within the neighborhood, and one of those groups included the family that I was adopted into. Although I don't really know the full extent of my families’ involvement in the criminal organization, I do know that they were involved in illegal gambling and racketeering and that the illegal gambling hall was located across the street from the social club within the basement of a parking garage which still stands today. The garage itself is a three story building between Mulberry and Mott streets and was a forbidden place to Flo and I, as an unspoken rule for us to never even set foot on the north side of the Street was adhered to whenever we were on an outing to visit with my father during his working hours doing whatever it was that he did.



The parking garage 2009

     As for the social club, it was not a fancy place, it was more of a bar and lounge that had a couple of booths and a few tables scattered about the room. There was a small menu that offered simple Italian dishes on it since it did have a kitchen and a cook which was usually one of my uncles. It was obviously not a place that was frequented by the public. In fact it was very exclusive to my family and members of ‘The family' that had business with my uncle Johnny. My uncle Johnny was quite a character, to everybody else he was known as Johnny 'Balls,' and he was the go to guy to ask for favors or take care of 'family' business within the local territory. Being a 'made-man' he was an imposing figure whom was well respected and often feared by other wise guys, and wherever he went whether coming or going my father and my uncle Dominick were always by his side. Thanks to infantile ignorance and being totally unaware of his reputation I idolized my uncle Johnny who was a large balding, burly man that wore pair of thick black framed eyeglasses and was always glad to see me as he lifted me up in his big arms in greeting. His very presence demanded respect but despite his repute he was very devoted to his immediate family and to me he was like a second father. In fact I was drawn to my uncle more so than I was to the man who adopted me. Even to this day I think about Uncle Johnny who mysteriously disappeared in the early nineteen eighties.

     So it came to be that my father and my uncles were a bunch of hoods, and you would think that the social club was a dark place where men in dark suits planned to rub out other mobsters, plotted extravagant heist or risky narcotic negotiations but in truth it was nothing like that, at least not from what I was exposed too. Not to say that those things never happened, but to me it was like visiting a second home filled with love and laughter. Just like the movie ’Goodfellas’ social joviality and flaunting money was a common occurrence in a room that smelled of tomato sauce, garlic, cigarette smoke and alcohol as the music of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and other Italian American vocalist seemed always be playing on the continuous loop of the reel to reel player that sat atop the counter behind the bar. As one would expect with an Italian family despite the marginal menu, food was always plentiful with Italian specialties that were prepared by my Aunts Annette and Lucy during our improvised visits which ended up becoming more like bi-monthly holiday gatherings’.

Uncle Johnnys Social Club - 2009
a lot of family history occured  behind that door

     Although these family get-togethers’ at the club were a few weeks apart, there were other times that I was willingly dragged around Little Italy to see my relatives. I was unaware of it the time but these occasional calls that Flo was making around the neighborhood were not so much social as they were business for the family. She was actually collecting kickback money from other establishments. These fronts were owned and controlled by my uncle Johnny, and managed by other immediate family members, and despite the fact that they were at different locations, they were still fairly close to the family social club which was basically headquarters for the ‘family’. But the fact that it was other relations that were managing these facilities made our visits quite pleasant and fun as I found these treks to be wondrous as my senses were filled with the sights sounds and smells of the neighborhood.

TOXIC III - Extended Family and the City

1965 - Manhattan

          The first few years of my life were still pretty memorable although there is much that has slipped between the cracks. But some of the things that I do recall from these very early years were permanently imprinted in my psyche. I started to become self-aware about the age of five and like most children with a fresh and empty brain I soaked in my experiences like a sponge. Television became a major part of my life as I was fortunate enough to experience its golden age but at such a young age my interest was in cartoons like Underdog, Looney Tunes and Spiderman or live action kid shows like Wonderama, Bozo the Clown, and Romper Room. It was these shows that would keep my attention in the living room of my grandmother’s home as I sat in a huge blue lounge chair usually with a big box of breakfast cereal in my hands as I scooped out handful after handful of Sugar Pops, or Froot Loops stuffing my face the delicious treats. The adults would be in the kitchen chatting away as I was entertained by the images on the black and white television tube. I can still smell the electric scent emanating from the glass enclosed vacuum tubes within the televisions console.

          We spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s home even though we had moved across the river from Manhattan to Williamsburg Brooklyn where our new home was located in a terraced apartment on the 14th floor high above Boerum Street. These visits to my grandmother’s house were quite frequent even though we lived a short distance away. I assume now that one of the reasons we went there so much was the fact that her household was full of children and that I would be occupied by the other adolescents even though they were older that I. This way Flo was able to step away from her motherly duties. So when I was not glued to the television I was in the company of my aunts and uncles that would accept me into their adolescent circle. My step mother came from a large family thanks to dear old grannie whom had been married several times in the past and so my aunts and uncles had different male lineages.

My uncles Steven and Albert were her last two sons from her recent marriage to they’re father Bernie. Uncle Frank and my Aunts Delores and Dorothy whom were twin sisters were the children from her second marriage and the oldest generation was Flo and her sisters, Aunts Diana and Helen whom were the offspring of her first marriage. My two older aunts had families of their own and we would not see them as often as we saw the rest of the family. They would visit occasionally but mostly we would only see them during special occasions. Nevertheless it was my two uncles’ that were in their early pubescent teens that were the most influential to me. Especially my uncle Albert who was a young intellectual obsessed with monster movies and science fiction novels an obsession that he passed on to me and one that I still have to this day. My uncle Steven was the more spirited of the two and had lots of games and toys that he liked to share with me, occupying my time with such classic as  Rock’Em Sock’Em Robots, Tonka trucks, and of course G..I. Joe, except in those days they were actual dolls with bendable joints that were twelve inches tall instead of the immobile four inch plastic molds of today. On the other hand my uncle Frankie who a few years older than both Albert and Steven wasn’t around very often for our visits. He probably was tired being around a bunch of children and was most likely hanging out with friends his own age. The twin girls were about two years older than my uncles and as far as twin sisters go their personalities were very much the opposite from one another. Dorothy had a quiet nurturing and sweet nature whereby Delores was more rambunctious and rebellious which she would often display later on in life but at the time their company was very welcome to a boy that was very often alone with just his step parents.

Not that being alone with Flo at home in our 'deluxe apartment in the sky' was a bad thing because Flo kept my young mind occupied with comics, coloring and puzzle books, matchbox cars and plastic army men. The apartment had two bedrooms, so I had a room of my own and being blessed with some artistic talent Flo had painted large murals on my walls, one was of humpty dumpty and the other was batman which was my new favorite television series. Adolph wasn't home during the day because he went to work doing whatever it was that he did and he would be home like clockwork around 6pm, with a fresh loaf of Italian bread in hand to go with whatever Flo had made for dinner. But then there were the nights when he would bring home 'Chinks' which was the way he referred to Chinese food and I remember the wonderful smells of lobster Cantonese, shrimp fried rich, and wonton soup emanating from the bag of take-out containers. Food was a big part of my upbringing especially being around Adolf’s side of the family which was also pretty large. How many people were actual relatives or just close gangland associates I still question to this day. However it wasn't just our visits to the relatives where the food was bountiful because the one thing about living in 'The City’ is that cuisine from all over the world could be found due to the diverse mixture of cultures all living within a few miles of each other. Of course at the time I wasn't an expert in fine dining but because of the people I was surrounded by I had a sampling of all types of interesting delicacies which in time gave me very distinctive taste. Nevertheless in those early years whether in the company of relatives or at home food was always present and in abundance just as it is today.

I was becoming a cultured little fella not only by relatives and food but by New York City itself. As Flo’s living doll I was dragged all over the five boroughs and being that everything was so new to me every place we went seemed to fill me with wonder. I had gotten a firsthand tour of Manhattan oblivious to the fact that I had been born in the greatest city in the world but in the 60's it wasn't the shining, capitalistic, touristy mecca that is today. Instead it was gritty, dark, and dirty a but to me it was just as exciting as any amusement park. The streets were narrow between brownstone, granite and brick buildings adorned with fire escapes and cloths drying on lines stretched across alley ways while garbage cans would sit out upon the sidewalks. In the summer months air conditioning was not very common so apartment window would be held open by large fan units to cool down the apartments and the tenants that occupied them. The streets were bustling with delivery trucks, yellow taxi cabs, dark green police cars and the occasional ambulance as blaring horns, sirens and the chatter of pedestrians filled the air an electrifying energy. This was New York and I was becoming a part of it as I was taken to another new place every day, or so it seemed.

One of the places I remember the most was Johns Bargain Store it was a local five and dime specializing in appliances and to most people just an average store to purchase in home gadgets like toasters, televisions and a variety of goods. We would visit it often and to me it was just as exciting as a funhouse as isle after isle filled my eyes with new shiny treasures but it was entering the toy department that I always anticipated as cheap plastic water guns, toy cars, board games and models enticed me with the promise of fun times ahead. Of course I always ended up with some new toy in hand but what I looked forward to the most was when we would exit the store and head over the small concession outside where they sold popcorn, cotton candy, hot dogs and the most delicious sweet corn on the cob that I had ever tasted. It was saturated in thick layer of butter and the smell alone would make my mouth water. To this day I don’t think I have ever had corn again that had a flavor comparable to the way it had tasted or the way it was prepared as it was at that concession. I would make a mess out of myself which isn’t too different from today but I looked forward to getting one every time we shopped at my favorite store. As was the routine for a short time I would eat my buttery treat on our way to visit step father at his place of so called work in little Italy in the back seat of a large checker Marathon yellow cab which were fairly new vehicles in those days. The back passenger seat was huge especially to a little guy like myself but I enjoyed being in the big yellow vehicle as we were driven down canal street and into ‘Llittle Italy’.

TOXIC II - An Imperfect Couple

From the Streets of New York

     Life was not always the chaotic mess that is had become later on. In fact my earlier years were quite pleasant and full of very enjoyable memories of my aunts, uncles and cousins of which there were many. In 1961 I was an orphan selected by my stepparents at the tender age of 9 months old from the Catholic home bureau located in Manhattan New York. Therefore I was not related to any of my relatives by blood which is something that I would be thankful for as I grew older. My foster parents were Florence and Gondolfo Verra, otherwise known as Flo and Adolf whose first attempt at having a child failed due to a miscarriage which was why I came into their lives. At the time they were living with my grandmother Helen Campbell on my stepmother’s side of the family in a tenement building located on Delancey Street in the lower east side of New York City.

          The lower east side of Manhattan was an ethnically diverse and tough section of New York City. Irish, Italians, Poles, Ukrainians, and other ethnic groups resided within this poor lower-class workers neighborhood. Living in the heart of this cultural community Flo’s side of the family was a mixture of various nationalities which was predominantly Polish and German while my stepfather’s side of the family was Sicilian Italian which were scattered and living in historic Little Italy. They both were street hardened being raised and surviving on the streets of the city. Flo ran away from home for a time and hung out with a group of delinquent girls and managed to get herself into all kinds of trouble. Eventually she was caught by the police and sentenced to spend time at the Women’s house of Detention on Welfare Island now known as Roosevelt Island. A stint at Welfare Island was the fate of many a poor woman who got convicted of crimes against public order including intoxication, disorderly conduct, vagrancy, "violating Public Health law," etc. In Flo’s case it was disorderly conduct. Those that were sent to Welfare Island were amongst the worst of the troublesome and were labeled as "crazed, contagious, or criminal."

     The history of my stepfathers’ upbringing is more of a mystery to me since he and I had a falling out early in my youth, not that we were ever close to begin with. However from what I’ve been told Adolf also grew up on the rough and tumble streets of Little Italy working his way up through the ranks of the ‘family’ as a soldier that had some associations with the very predominant crime family. I didn’t know what his function in the family was but many years later I was told that he was a ‘mechanic’, otherwise known as a hit man. Whether this is true or not I’ll never truly know. However on my birth certificate which I have obtained after 50 years it shows that Adolf stated his occupation as a ‘mechanic’ and from what I can remember he did not work on any type of machinery. Nevertheless whatever his reputation was, it is evident that my father and my relatives were involved with the mob. I never realized until many years later why I had so many uncles that never looked alike as they were all part of the same crew, a family that I would be initiated into when the time was right. Fortunately as life went on I was distanced from the crime aspect of the family and since my actual bloodline was not truly Italian I would not have been a candidate to become a mob associate. I always think that if life was different and I had gotten involved in a life of crime I would either be dead or in prison by now.

     Of course at the age of only 9 months old I was pretty oblivious to my circumstance as I became the newest edition to the family name. I was a bandage for a child lost, a false son to satisfy the selfish needs of a couple that desired to be parents. So I was welcome with open arms and for a time treated as a prince. Like a toy doll I paraded around it in cute outfits and doted upon by all the relatives who showered me affection. It was a superficially happy time for the couple that was reaching for some normalcy in their otherwise chaotic lives as the concept of having a child would bring them closer together and for a few years it did until the novelty of parenthood began to wear off.

      So I was handed over to an unstable couple that presented themselves as normal, moral and devout by the Catholic home bureau and for a time they attempted to live life by these standards. However as the saying goes a Zebra can’t change it stripes, the true nature of my make believe parents would eventually unveil itself. This revelation was not immediately recognized; in fact it has taken many years for me to come to terms with the way I was raised and to get to the roots of all that has transpired to shape the person that I am today.

TOXIC - I - Facing the Past

Copyright Pending

  

2010 - Eltingville, Staten Island

      I arrived at the house where I was raised at 4pm on warm humid summer day in August; standing in front of the white screen door getting ready to ring the doorbell to announce my surprise visit after 24 years. I took in a deep breath as I mustered up the courage to continue with my actions. I was self-aware of my emotions both filled with trepidation and anticipation to face the woman that lived here for over thirty years, my stepmother, Florence. I could feel the sweat dripping down my back not so much from the humidity of the summer heat but from my nerves as I pressed my finger to the ancient worn out doorbell.

     I could hear the muffled ding dong of the bell beyond the door and then the instant yap, yap, yap of a small dog responding to the notification of my presence. There was no sound of anybody approaching as of yet so I turned around to scan the block that I grew up on so many years ago. Retford Avenue was a strip of cookie cutter duplex homes on both the east and west sides of the street. The redundancy of each home was separated by the individuality expressed by the owners landscaping or contemporary renovations made to these old homes. I found it ironic that as a young man this street seemed so much larger than it had appeared to me now, for that matter the entire borough of Staten Island seemed so much smaller than I had remembered it.

      The last time that I had stepped foot behind the front door of this home in Eltingville Staten Island was over 20 years ago just a few months prior to my exodus from New York City to Phoenix Arizona. This was the house that I lived in for twelve years along with my two step-brothers and three cousins that were residing with us because of the irresponsibility of their radical mother. A woman that was never prepared to raise children of her own and in turn dumped them off to the care of the demon woman that lived in this very house.

       I rang the doorbell a second time to the continued barking of the dog beyond as I now assumed that no one was home. Being that this was an impromptu visit I did consider the fact that this may have been a wasted trip which would have been too bad since my travels to New York were every few years apart. The fact that I had the courage to be at this door at this very moment was something that I could not guarantee that I would do again. So I decided to stick it out and wait around until someone would show up at the door which would have been either my step brother John or the demon herself. I also considered the fact that Flo may have been home but not recognizing me since my physical appearance had changed dramatically after twenty plus years, she may have chosen to ignore my presence until I left. For that matter she may have recognized me and still decide to ignore my presence. 

      Nevertheless I had come this far and was determined to once again come face to face with the woman that had emotionally and mentally scarred me for many years. A woman whose irresponsible actions as a step parent to me and a biological parent to my step brothers John and Frankie refused to accept any accountability for the emotional wreckage that she left behind on her path in life. Whether she was aware of it or not the debris of damaged lives and broken family ties were the result of a cold and selfish heart that found comfort in the chaos that she invited into her life, and ultimately our lives. In this home and the house before were reminders of physical violence, mental anguish and profound humiliation instigated by my stepmother a woman that I can only describe as soulless. So today on this journey of self-reclamation I was on the verge of confronting the one person that I have feared, reviled, and begrudged to hopefully shatter the walls that besieged my bitter heart and bottled-up emotions.

      I really wasn’t sure what I wanted to accomplish with this visit if anything, but here I was determined to face my past no matter what the outcome of my visit would be. So I decided to wait it out until someone arrived at the house as I decided to take a stroll along the south shore beachhead and gather up more memories of the past.