A Hero Grows in Brooklyn Page 4

  “You said you like the elevator.”

  “I’d rather have a stoop.”

  “Can’t you play stoopball over a friend’s house?”

  “Aaaa, it’s not the same as havin’ your own, Mom. It’s not the same.”

  * * * *

  It’s a few months later. Ricky pulls up in his pickup beside Steve’s new brown brick apartment building, six floors high. “Do you like your new place?” he asks Steve, who is sitting next to him.

  “It’s nice and clean, but it’s got just one step from the sidewalk to the lobby entrance, and anyway people are always coming in and out so you really can’t play there.”

  Steve flings open the truck’s door and begins to slide out, but pauses. He turns to his uncle and studies his face.

  “Something wrong Steve?”

  “It’s just, when we’re together, you never hit me.”

  “Do you want me to hit you?”

  “No. It’s just… did Nonno use to hit you?”

  “Now why would you ask that?”

  “I… I heard Dad say his dad always said, ‘A boy gotta be forced to do as he’s told, even if ya gotta whip him ten times running.’ Did Nonno use to say that? I mean, he never hits me or Pete.”

  “I don’t remember him hitting me either. But your dad, well your nonno used to get pretty angry with him about the way he would try to bully people. Nonno, he tried talking, he tried yelling, and sometimes he would blow up and… well… yeah he’d hit your dad. I think after he hit him and calmed down he’d feel guilty about it, so he would try to explain to the family why he did it. There was something in your nonno’s voice when he would say ‘ya gotta whip a kid’ that, well I don’t really think he was all that convinced of it.

  “In most ways your nonno’s the wisest man I ever met. But when it came to your dad… well… your dad wanted complete freedom and he didn’t care whose freedom he stepped on to get it. People in the family would see how your dad was acting and they’d say to your nonno, ‘You better start beating some sense into that kid or he’s gonna turn out bad’. Your nonno tried, but it got so your dad, two minutes after he got a beating, was off doing the same stuff like nothing even happened.”

  “Why weren’t you bad, like dad?”

  “With me, Steve, I somehow got enough of what I wanted without always trying to show people they better do what I say or I’ll rough them up.”

  “How’d ya do that, Uncle Ricky?”

  “Well, let’s see, um… well I’d find some friends by finding out what the kids in the neighborhood liked to do. I found that some of the stuff they liked to do, play ball, talk sports, I could dig also, and so I ended up doing the stuff we both liked to do together. Then we’d end up being buddies. Then, if one of my buddies needed something, we’d all chip in and help. If I needed some help, they’d be by my side, senz’ altro! It’s like my buddies that I got now. We call ourselves The Brooklyn Barons.”

  “The Brooklyn Barons, Uncle Ricky?”

  “Yeah. A baron is a man of great power. Like in the westerns, when they talk about a cattle baron, that’s a guy who has great power among the ranchers.

  “When I started working at the docks, I didn’t know a whole lot of guys, but I found out a few of them liked to go bowling and also they liked shooting darts at a bar. So, one day, I suggested we go on Thursday nights to do that stuff and we started going, and now we’re friends. I get enough from my friends, so I don’t feel like I gotta bully people to do stuff to get my way. Capeesh?”

  “I guess.”

  “Anyway, your nonno, he didn’t like your dad’s bullying and he tried to break him of it, but he never really got through to him.”

  “He tried to stop dad from bullying other people by hitting him? He tried to bully dad into stop being a bully?”

  “Well, I guess you can say that, but your nonno, he didn’t see it like that.”

  * * * *

  Steve takes the elevator up to his apartment on the fifth floor and knocks on the door.

  “Who is it?” cries Marie.

  “It’s me, Mom.”

  “Did you have fun with Uncle Ricky at the Statue of Liberty?” asks Marie as she opens the door to let her son in.

  “We took this ferry to get there and when the ferry began to move the statue looked pretty big, but as we got closer, she started to grow and got bigger and bigger. Then when the ferry docked on Liberty Island she was a hundred miles high. It was really somethin’ Mom!”

  “I see Uncle Ricky took you for a haircut during your outing,” says Marie. “You really needed one.” Then she runs her fingers through the back of Steve’s hair and pulls the back straight to see if it was cut evenly. “It looks like the barber did a nice job.”

  “Yeah,” says Steve. “And when he was cutting it, Uncle Ricky got a shoeshine from this colored guy. There was somethin’ ‘bout him I liked, somethin’ ‘bout his smile. And I watched real careful how he did the shoes. I bet I could shine some shoes and make some money like that. I bet I could.”

  CHAPTER 9

  When Seth Low Junior High’s dismissal bell rings at three o’clock on this bright fall 1963 afternoon, most students are thrilled, but none more so than thirteen year old Steve Marino. “They got ya sitting too long,” Steve complains to his friend, Nick Charo, as they bound down the exit’s steps.

  “You ain’t kidding!” replies Nick.

  “I told Jack and Eddie we’d meet them at the park after we changed our clothes,” says Steve, as he and Nick head up Bay Parkway toward 82nd Street where they both live.

  The Parkway is a wide thoroughfare with two lanes of heavy traffic in each direction. On both sides, brick apartment buildings stand six stories high. Some have light beige bricks, some, a dark red, and a few are multicolored. Upon the top of their entranceway, several have fancy names like Pershing Arms, or Belvedere Court.

  As the boys begin to pass the Jewish Community Center on their right Steve looks over to it and then turns to his friend. “Listen, Nick. At lunch, why don’t you lay off Benny? You start in on him, I’m sitting there, I like him, and it puts me in the middle.”

  Nick looks over to the Jewish Community House. “You’re just worried because if I get Benny pissed at us he won’t invite us to the ‘J’ to shoot hoops this winter.”

  “That ain’t it. Besides, it gets dark early in the winter. The center's got a nice indoor gym, there’s some damn good players that hang out there… what Benny do ta you ya gotta go piss him off?”

  “Nothing. I just like goofin’ on him. If it’ll make ya happy, for Christ's sake, I’ll lay off of him.”

  The next block, Nick looks down a side street and notices Saint Mary’s, a girls’ Catholic school, has just let out. “They got some pretty sweet babes over there,” he says.

  “My mom went there,” Steve responds.

  Nick had been all set to make a few lewd comments about the Catholic girls, but somehow, after Steve’s comment, he’s no longer in the mood.

  The boys come to a red light. They are about to dash across the street but a ‘57 aqua-blue and white Dodge with large fins comes barreling through the intersection, followed by a huge black Buick with shiny silver side vents, a yellow Checker cab, a white Volkswagen Beetle, and a stream of other frantic vehicles.

  As the boys wait impatiently, a couple of the Saint Mary’s girls, Joanne and Teresa, arrive on the scene wearing their school uniform—a white blouse with the school’s name patch, a predominantly blue-green plaid skirt, white bobby socks pulled up to their knees, and black shoes with buckles.

  “You coming to the church dance Friday night, Nick?” Joanne wants to know.

  “Maybe,” answers Nick as he notices Teresa looking at Steve. “Teresa, this here is Steve Marino.”

  “Steve Marino,” she says, “that’s a good Italian Catholic name. How come we never see you at church?”

  “I go sometimes,
but over in Bay Ridge where my grandparents live,” says Steve.

  “Well ya don’t have to belong to our church to come to the dance if Nick brings you,” says Teresa smiling at Steve. “Why don’t you come with him? It’ll be lots of fun.”

  “I’m not sure I know how to dance,” says Steve a bit embarrassed.

  “Oh don’t be silly,” says Teresa. “We can teach you to do the Twist in three minutes.” And then, with a twinkle in her eye, she continues, “I’ll be glad to personally teach you to slow dance.”

  “Hmmmmmmm,” says Steve.

  The girls head north while the boys continue down Bay Parkway.

  “They’re cute,” says Steve.

  A couple of blocks further the boys again have to wait for a red light.

  “Let me go!” yells some guy from a quarter block away.

  Steve, looking over toward the yelling, sees it’s Mordy Goldman from his health class. Da Bear, this big heavy bully from school, has Mordy in a headlock.

  Steve starts toward Mordy.

  “Where ya going, Steve?” Nick wants to know.

  Steve continues to head toward Mordy.

  “This ain’t none of our business,” says Nick who, reluctantly, is trailing behind Steve.

  “Mordy’s in my health class,” says Steve to Nick as they get a bit closer to Mordy and Da Bear.

  “Shit, Steve, what does that have to do with anything?” Nick asks.

  “Hey, Bear,” says Steve, “what ya doin’?”

  “This ain’t got nuttin’ to do with you, Steve,” growls Da Bear.

  “Come on, let him go.” Steve implores.

  “Ya want me ta let him go,” Da Bear says suddenly sounding polite. “I’ll let him go.” And then Da Bear, with his huge arm still around Mordy’s neck, spins around, dragging Mordy, in a full circle and flings him toward the cement sidewalk. Mordy’s books go flying in all directions, and his chin comes less than an inch from scraping against the sidewalk as he manages to get the palms of his hands out in front of him just in time so all that gets scraped up are his hands and knees. The pants he’s wearing, by his left knee, are torn, and his knee is oozing blood.

  Steve runs over to Mordy, “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Mordy answers, his voice a bit shaky.

  Steve begins to gather up Mordy’s books.

  Nick eyes Da Bear, while he too begins to help with the books.

  “This ain’t none of your business Steve,” growls Da Bear once again.

  With Mordy’s books all picked-up, Steve helps Mordy up.

  Da Bear, a good four inches taller than Steve and probably fifty pounds heavier, takes a violent step toward Steve.

  Steve braces himself. Although he’s only an eighth grader and Da Bear is in ninth, Steve has filled out pretty nicely since we first met him as a scrawny five year old playing stoopball. He’s still a bit on the thin side, but his broad shoulders and above average height, categorizes him as one of the bigger kids at Seth Low.

  Da Bear takes another step forward while glaring at Steve. Then he eyes Nick who is not much shorter than Steve and built like a tank. With a nasty smirk, Da Bear halts. A few tense seconds pass, and then… and then… Da Bear decides to turn away. But after he takes a few steps, he turns and says, “I get you alone Steve, you’re chopped meat.” Then he continues off down the block.

  “Marone!” Steve cries as soon as Da Bear is out of sight.

  “I thought we were dead for sure,” says Nick.

  The two friends quietly walk Mordy the block and a half to his apartment building. They go into the large dark lobby and as they reach the elevator, Steve presses the call button.

  “You okay, Mordy?” Steve asks.

  “Yeah,” says Mordy. “Man, I hope I didn’t get you in trouble.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” says Steve smiling.

  When the elevator comes, Steve and Nick hand back Mordy’s books.

  “Thanks,” says Mordy. “Thanks a lot, guys.”

  Steve and Nick nod good-bye and then exit the building, squinting as they re-enter the brilliant daylight.

  “We could have been at the park by now,” Nick complains.

  “Yeah,” says Steve.

  “Ya think Mordy would have helped you out, Steve, if you were in a headlock?”

  “I wouldn’t want to count on Mordy being much help in that kind of situation. He ain’t got the muscles. But… but I’m betting he’s a bit more likely to help me out with other stuff after today.”

  Nick looks over to Steve and sees he’s lost in deep thought.

  Three more blocks down Bay Parkway, Steve and Nick turn left on 82nd Street. Suddenly Steve comes to an abrupt halt. He sees his couch on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building. His Uncle Ricky’s midnight blue pick-up truck is double parked by the building’s entranceway.

  “Jesus, not again,” cries Steve.

  “Ya gonna move?” asks Nick.

  Tears come to Steve’s eyes.

  Mike and Ricky come out of the apartment building’s entranceway lugging the kitchen table. Steve’s six year old brother, Pete, following close behind, is carrying a kitchen chair.

  “Jesus Dad, why do we have to move again?” Steve asks.

  “Get upstairs and help your mother pack some stuff,” Mike orders.

  “Why do we have to move again?” Steve asks again, now tears streaming down his face.

  Mike slaps Steve hard, while screaming, “Ya think I got time now for a momma’s boy! Get upstairs with your mom NOW!!”

  “JESUS DAD!” Steve hollers holding his face. He notices Nick, Pete, and his uncle looking at him. “JESUS DAD!!”

  “Basta!” screams Mike, spittle shooting out from his mouth, spraying over Steve.

  A hard glare comes to Steve’s eyes.

  “Basta!” Mike screams again and this time he reaches back with his right fist.

  Steve, against his will, finds himself twisting his body while covering his face with his arms. In bed at night, he had rehearsed standing up to his dad many times. He would imagine his dad hitting him and he would, in his mind, just stand there and glare back. And now his dad had reached back once again with his fist and once again Steve finds himself backing down.

  At this same moment, Ricky, finds that his own hands have balled into fists, and he screams out, “Piano, Mike!”

  Mike shakes his fist menacingly, screams again, “Basta!” Then he turns away from Steve and goes over to load a box of dishes onto the truck.

  Disgusted with himself, Steve heads upstairs.

  As Mike comes near, Ricky whispers to him, “Ya hit that boy in front of me again, we’re gonna have some trouble.”

  “You better shut your trap,” Mike flares. “This ain’t none of your gad damn business.”

  “He’s my nephew,” says Ricky. “I’m asking ya to cut that crap out.”

  * * * *

  When all the packing is done for the first load, Steve’s mom and dad drive over to their new apartment together in the family’s 1960 red Impala. Steve, little Pete, and their Uncle Ricky drive over in the pick-up truck.

  “We’re already to Ocean Parkway,” says Steve. “How far we going?”

  “Avenue U and East 12th Street,” answers Ricky.

  “Marone!” cries Steve. “That means we gotta go to another school!”

  “Another school?” says little Pete. “I just made friends wit’ da kids in my class.”

  “You’ll make new friends,” replies Ricky.

  “I don’t understand this,” says Steve. “Whenever we moved before we stayed in Bensonhurst. Why we moving clear over to Avenue U?”

  “Well, ya know,” answers Ricky, “each time you had to move before, well it was ‘cause your parents couldn’t pay the rent. One time your dad went to prison. A couple of other times your dad lost some money gambling. Then there was the longshoreman strike. Anyway, well
, I guess all the landlords in Bensonhurst got the word out that it ain’t such a good idea to rent an apartment to the Marinos. And, well, I guess your parents had to find an apartment where no one knows them.”

  “Is it nice, Uncle Ricky?” Pete asks.

  “It’s gonna take some fixing up before you could actually say it’s nice. But it’s only two blocks from the train station, and both your parents are gonna be using the subway after tomorrow.

  “What about Dad’s car?” Steve asks.

  “Tomorrow he’s gotta give it up to a loan shark. Listen, boys. For a while you better stay clear of doing anything that might upset your dad. He’s in a pretty bad way.”

  The Impala and pick-up arrive on Avenue U—a basic Brooklyn shopping street with parking meters and, on both sides, a long strip of connected two story brick buildings with shops on the ground floors and apartments a flight above. Their apartment’s entrance is a beat-up doorway between the Avenue U Deli and a Buster Brown shoe store.

  Steve goes up the flight of stairs to see the apartment for the first time. Dirty yellow paint is peeling off the ceilings and scraps lay all about the torn up linoleum floor. In the kitchen you can see there must have recently been a bad leak because on the wall behind the sink are ugly water stains. A nasty musty smell is oozing out of every creepy corner. There’s one bedroom—their last apartment had two.

  * * * *

  After the first unloading of Ricky’s truck and Mike’s car, the family goes back to the old apartment to load up again. Most of the neighbors are home from work now and several peek into the hallway to see what’s going on. The young couple that has been living next door, noticing what’s happening, wishes the family well.

  When the second unloading is completed, it’s getting pretty late for supper. Ricky takes the family into the downstairs deli and buys everyone some hotdogs, potato knishes, and sodas.

  “Alright, we better get going,” says Mike.

  “Thanks for dinner, Uncle Ricky,” says Steve as he begins to get up from the table. “Boy, I sure was hungry.”

  “You’re welcome, Steve.”

  Marie looks up at Ricky, smiles, and pats his back.

  Pete runs over to a gum machine in the front of the deli. “Dad… Dad, could I get one.”