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.