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.