tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35779699645722281182024-03-13T11:07:12.722-07:00Broadway Turk's Superblog!An online journal chronicling the exploits, life and times of Broadway Turk Superstar, lead singer and guitarist for the SPOILER, the last and greatest of the Brooklyn groups from the NYC Punk Revolution of the 70s.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-76813473694308565242017-07-12T10:17:00.003-07:002017-07-12T10:17:54.482-07:00Train Wreck at CBGB?<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We decided to take
our act downtown and secured an audition at CBGB/OMFUG (Country, Blue Grass,
Blues and Other Music For Unusual Gastronomics). A couple of years earlier,
Richard Hell talked owner Hilly Krystal into letting them perform at what was a
rundown biker bar. His band Television began appearing regularly and was soon
followed by Patti Smith and the Ramones. Soon word got out and bands were
coming out of the woodwork to play there. They had a big showcase that summer
and I was considering going down with Spoiler VI but we had enough on our
plate, as you saw, and I didn’t think much of the whole scene at the time. As
it turned out, the Village Voice began headlining the Next Big Thing and,
suddenly, we found ourselves at the end of the line.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was working to
improve our stage act because I knew, with all the work-in-progress songs and
volume problems (that would plague us throughout my NYC career), it was our
ace-in-the-hole regardless of where we played. I introduced the Smoking Skull
at Max’s, which was a skull propped on a stand into which I inserted a colored
smoke bomb that had a great effect. We played our first open mic in Bay Ridge
where I tossed my first fireball. It barely missed Alma’s head, which created
an even bigger impact. Together with my gymnastics and the dancing girls, we
made quite a spectacle wherever we went.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My parents
actually came out to our CBGB debut, the first of five appearances there. Our
first show was on the small stage, actually a platform about the size of a
wrestling ring. I was psyched up and half-cocked, and I made a bigger spectacle
of myself than at Max’s. Lou Cazucci later said that I was not only his
favorite rock singer, but the only person he’d ever played with who he had lost
sight of during the show with all my lunging about. Nevertheless, Krystal’s
bookers decided we weren’t quite ready and offered a rematch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Somewhere along
the line we lost our vision, due to a number of reasons. Louie and I were
having philosophical differences, largely because he was focusing on musical
development while my priority was the stage show. His relationship with Al was
also deteriorating, largely because Al resented Lou’s superior ability. It
would come to a head with the Ducky Boys years later when Al took over on
guitar and would not make room for Lou. Anyway, Lou was expanding his horizons
and was not only making new connections in Bay Ridge but in Manhattan as well.
Lou was looking towards the door again, but I did not suspect he would be gone
for good as a Spoiler. In the meantime, I had been researching 60’s metal and
began channeling Robert Plant, of all people. Somehow Spoiler VII morphed into
Spoiler VIII, and the Cazucci Era was soon to come to an end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Mondo Acido </i>was perhaps the first
documented proof of the level of achievement we had finally reached. We copied
it from reel-to-reel to an 8-track tape which I am sure is in safekeeping
somewhere. It featured what constitutes a lost world of Spoiler music, most
half-baked but none without promise that may yet be recovered one day. “I Wish
She Was Waiting For Me” was what Louie and I would be our first commercial hit.
Isn’t ignorance blissful! There were also the aforementioned “Barbarella” and
“Yolanda Told Me”, as well as “Monday Morning Push On”, another MOR
(*media-oriented radio) hopeful, “Smash That Child” (a song against child abuse),
and “Jamaican Vacation”, a song in which Louie structured three exotic bridges
between verses. It was no wonder that Louie and I were so starry-eyed. Ours was
a magic relationship and we were churning out quality songs at a level
unmatched until Spoiler Y2K. Looking back, it is astounding that no one ever
discovered what we were accomplishing in that small apartment. But, as you will
see, my life has been a series of tales to astonish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">John Momo was a
Bay Ridge kid who made friends with Louie and eventually became the first
‘sorcerer’s apprentice’, debuting in Spoiler VIII as our new bassist. Momo
would resurface as Johnny B. Zyklon and set his mark as the greatest Spoiler
guitarist, second only to Louie Cazucci. Yet it was the arrival of the Di Bernardo
brothers that would make the biggest impact since Sherry and Zing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Eddie Polito was
the younger of the two, a powerhouse drummer wearing a big Afro which made him
look like Dictators’ singer Handsome Dick Manitoba with glasses. After blowing
our CBGB’s showcase debut, we scheduled our rematch with Eddie on drums and Momo
on bass. I felt like I blew the show by altering my BT Superstar image, coming
off with my new Robert Plant look replete with wrist bandanas, a no-no in an
anti-hippie punk club. Yet we were all shocked when Eddie’s throne collapsed,
causing him to walk offstage in the middle of a song to get a new chair! When
his brother Frankie came around, bragging he was the one who taught Eddie to
play, we fired Eddie and hired Frankie forthwith. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Once again, Louie
once again decided to pull up stakes, but this time it was a life change that
took him out of Brooklyn on into Manhattan. Frankie next went on hiatus,
leaving me with no inkling of what to do next. That left me picking up the
pieces, which constituted three failed Spoiler projects in the space of one
year. There were plenty of candidates around but I had to find a way to make
the band hold together and keep the campaign going. As they say, crisis brings
opportunity, just as the converse often holds true. I would learn this lesson
well when Benny Rock climbed aboard. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-41532753726161259792015-05-02T07:47:00.002-07:002015-05-02T07:47:22.670-07:00Going to (Max's) Kansas City?<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">El Bolero was the
place where Alma, Mighty Vince and I had stopped for drinks after the premiere
of <i>Rollerball</i> months ago. Mighty
Vince was an acne-scarred amateur bodybuilder who had an IQ somewhere around
his chest size, and was totally infatuated by Alma. Hours after we left, a drug
deal went sideways and the club manager ended up shooting a pusher and burying
him in the basement. The cops caught up with them and it became part of
neighborhood legend. As you can imagine, it didn’t do well for business. The
place was as dead as that drug dealer for some time. I decided to drop in and
persuade the club owner, Andy, that what he needed was the Spoiler to remedy
his ailing business. He was desperate enough to try anything, and readily
agreed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Once again, we
were able to draw upon our circle of friends to put asses in seats. My parents
showed up, as did Lea and her beau, John Pineda from Scorpion Karate. We also
had quite a few people from the neighborhood who were piqued with curiosity. It
marked the debut of the Leatherettes, who appeared more exotic to some than the
rest of us did. I spiced things up during “Barbarella, Queen of Pain”, our
Reed-style BDSM song, by gnawing on my arm until the red stuff was all over the
place (I heard Manny tell Mom, “Did you see him go in his pocket?”). We played
a good show but agreed with Andy to take time to regroup before we tried it
again, this time with a new lineup. Louie cashiered Rob Monster because the
poor fellow couldn’t see the frets on the bass guitar. Luckily, reinforcements
were on the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Osborne “Zing”
Rampersad was a tall, lanky West Indian kid who was introduced to us by Abdul
Martin, a cabbie who caught our first show at El Bolero. Zing was actually
called Bing by his friends from the Isles, and I suspect it was because of the
Crosby-like summer hat he favored. It’s hilarious to think about how laidback
he was back then. We invited him out for a tryout on guitar and he was awful,
so we asked him if he’d like to play bass. He ran out and bought a monolithic
amp and a high-priced bass, the best gear in our entire arsenal. I had gone out
and bought a Radio Shack PA system that paled in comparison. Zing’s bass
playing wasn’t much better but you can get away with murder on bass, so we were
pretty well set with Zing in the pocket. Later on he would switch back to
guitar, which was a fatal error career-wise. When he overhauled his image into
a hardcore blood-and-guts punk rocker, however, he gained immortality as a
Spoiler icon beyond his untimely death in 2009.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sherry Smith was a
buxom blonde Jewish girl who had corresponded with me through a musicians’
classified ad. She auditioned for the band and, though she had it locked before
even tuning up, clinched the lead guitar spot by nailing Richie Blackmore’s
“Smoke on the Water” riff. Sherry and Zing came together with Bob, Al and and I
to form Spoiler VI, the strongest lineup to date. We played El Bolero twice and
also hit Los Panchos, another Puerto Rican lounge in the ‘hood. We were
starting to write new material and it seemed like we just might hit the next
level. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My neurotic,
emaciated image bit me in the butt once more as Sherry and I grew closer. She
invited me to her home one evening and we engaged in some heavy petting but
never consummated the deal with her Rottweiler watching us closely. After that,
I began coming on, as she described it, like a lovesick puppy. Jewish women
(like Debbie Cantrell) are strong maternal figures and require a dominant male
to balance their lives. A wimpy Lou Reed clone would simply not do. She told me
the deal was off, and I gave her the boot from the band, which was a shitty
thing to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The end of Spoiler
VI came at what turned out to be the last show at El Bolero. Zing had somehow
gotten the impression that I didn’t want to do shows or promote the new
material and bailed out along with Sherry. We parted amicably though I would
not see Sherry again; she stopped by months later with friends but I wasn’t
about. At any rate, musicians were still stopping by though I had grown
disillusioned and disinterested. There was a jam session almost every week
but…no vocals. I was sick over how things were going and, frankly, sick of
myself. I knew things had to change, and they did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Once again I
returned to my roots in hitting the weights and dumping my Lou Reed caricature.
Florida Championship Wrestling was blinking in and out of our UHF airwaves, and
not only Dusty Rhodes but eventually Don Jardine, the Spoiler himself, provided
inspiration for my next metamorphosis. I put back on about ten pounds of muscle
and was stylin’ and profilin’ just about the time Superstar Billy Graham not
only resurfaced in the WWF but actually took the title from Bruno Sammartino. The
‘new’ Broadway Turk Superstar was the self-styled ‘American Nightmare’ and was
going to take the new group all the way to the top.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">About that time, Chico
Rock and his family began having more of an effect on our lives. Sometime after
I had visited them along with the Merceds over the holidays, Chico decided to
take me up on my offer, coming by with his entire family to watch the band
rehearse. I was out of it as usual in those days, and only remember a large
group of stone-faced kids peering in from the kitchen to watch the maelstrom
developing in the practice room. Though it was some time before any of the kids
returned, Chico became a familiar face and began inviting us to his home more
often. Once they got to know us, the Rocks became an integral part of our
infrastructure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Luvi Rock was the third daughter and the apple
of Chico’s eye, his Rookie of the Year. She was a cute and shapely lass (as
were most of the Rock girls) and we hit it off well. We dated once but somehow
I got sidetracked after her older sister Yvonne. Not only would Yvonne play me
for a fool, but Al took the opportunity to hook up with Luvi, and theirs was
the match that lasted to this day. Luvi teamed with Alma to reform the
Leatherettes, but would eventually give place to her sister Suli, who was
destined to become one of the last of the NYC Spoiler members.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">1976 was an
idyllic time for us. The Philadelphia Flyers had kicked the crap out of the NHL
and were the new Stanley Cup champions. They rekindled my hockey spirit,
inspiring me to get Sue Swingle from work to drive me to Gramercy Park for a
new Flyers uniform. Of course, I chose Dave “The Hammer” Schultz’s Number
Eight. I hooked up with Johnny De Losa and he got me in with his new team on
Douglass Street, who had been playing against a team of older fellows from Red
Hook. I came aboard and we gave those fellows nightmares after them having run
roughshod over the kids all winter. Needless to say, I had gotten in better
shape and brought a better attitude to band practice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One of the
unforgettable people I met during this time was Joe Di Fina. He was a
bespectacled, curly-haired, swarthy Sicilian who wore a Rangers uniform and was
fairly well skating on his ankles when he first came to Columbia Park from
Douglass Street that spring. I had a practice game against him and Johnny De
Losa, two on one with open nets, and I scored <b><i>fifty</i></b> goals to their
dozen or so. Well, over the summer, things changed drastically. Joe learned to
skate and became the Douglass Street dynamo. He didn’t have a lot of
outstanding skills, but he was more tenacious than anyone I’ve ever seen,
amateur or pro. He was like the rover back in the old days; wherever the puck
went, there was Joe. I was astonished to find out he had diabetes, like the
Flyers’ Bobby Clarke. When you consider how dynamic their comparative styles
were, you have to wonder whether those insulin shots had anything to do with
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, Joe and I
went for beers one night and made plans on how we were going to take down the
Red Hook team. Particularly a fellow named Mario, a middle-aged fellow who
looked and played like a longshoreman. He was a big burly bastard who had a
hardon for Anthony Wilkie and wasn’t overly fond of me for my big mouth. I was
certain that he and I would tangle sooner or later but, outside of a missed
check he slipped from me in one game, we never crossed paths. Anyway, during
our conversation I found that Joe was a nightclub singer, and invited him to
practice one night. He did all the old crooning tunes and would have made Manny
proud. We lost touch after I quit playing, and I was saddened to hear he died
of hepatitis from a soiled needle. He was a great hockey player, a good person
and a fine singer, and the world lost him far too soon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After my hockey
days ended (for the time), we were spending lots more time at Chico’s. I recall
him buying a case of Budweiser with the Bicentennial colors on the cans. There
were fireworks on the streets, and Al and Luvi had their own fireworks going as
well. We weren’t jamming as much as I was more engrossed in hockey than music
at the time. Soon Louie got bored and headed back to Bay Ridge, and Al and
Luvi’s visits grew infrequent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Zing came back to
the fold at the same time as Louie, and we decided to give it another go as
Spoiler VII. Only Louie was realizing his street value as a musician while still
going through adolescent <i>angst</i>,
amidst which I was being lumped in with the authority figures he was openly
rebelling against. Zing, alternately, had channeled me as his new muse and had
started a band called the Devil’s Claw, which was a sort of tribute to our
Spoiler Iron Claw logo. When he came back, it was as a guitar-playing badass,
having traded his bass for a Les Paul and developing a nasty attitude.
Apparently they had already discussed what they would and would not take from me
this time around, and when stuff began hitting the fan I posted the riot act
before practice one evening, giving them immediate notice. Half the reason was
growing philosophical differences between Louie and I. The other reason, which
I left undisclosed, was that Zing’s playing sounded like shit. The biggest problem
was that I had set up a showcase gig at Max’s Kansas City, and there was no way
in hell I was going to let it slip away. I considered my alternatives, which
now seemed to hang on the Cat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Luvi and Alma
remained good friends, and she and Al but continued to visit to see how we were
getting on. He and Luvi were amused by the indictment I left at my apartment
when they stopped by that night, but was still surprised when I called him. We
had a long chat but he concluded that he was not going to pull this off without
Louie. I had no choice but to make the peace with Louie, who believed I had
concocted the whole situation in order to switch Al for Zing on rhythm guitar. It
wasn’t altogether true, though I knew it was for the better. If only Zing had
remained on bass, he may well have helped us go the distance. Unfortunately he
followed his heart instead of his head, and we all ended the worse for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Having no drummer,
we decided to talk Louie Matos into playing our Frankenstein kit for the show.
We naively assumed that Max’s, being a premier club, would pay well, and Louie
bought the deal. We rented a couple of cabs and hauled everything to Gramercy
Park for the big event. As it turned out, there were two other bands and almost
no crowd. We were pleased to go on last, which is something I strenuously avoid
these days unless it’s a big event. Anyway, we did a great job and I got to
meet with Peter Crowley, the club manager, after the show.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Crowley was a
friendly guy who liked the act but saw we needed polish as well as a bassist.
We discussed Handsome Dick Manitoba of the Dictators, who I saw as a competitor
as he also had a pro wrestler gimmick. His lead guitarist, Ross “the Boss”
Funicello, was also a ringer for Lou Cazucci, down to the haircut, style of
dress and playing style. Crowley called Manitoba a tub of lard, which was no
surprise as Dick had been involved in a lawsuit against house band front man
and transvestite Wayne County. Manitoba was heckling County one night during a
show and Wayne hauled off on him with a mic stand, breaking his collarbone.
Broke Dick had no choice but to sue for medical expenses. Anyway, Crowley
wished us well and paid me off with a whopping ten bucks. I was forced to pocket
it to cover some of the cab expense. Explaining it all to Louie Matos must have
come as one of the shocks of his life. Needless to say, it was his first and last
appearance as a Spoiler.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued.</i>..)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-50218354893031429502015-04-25T09:59:00.002-07:002015-04-25T09:59:57.038-07:00Albino Alligators?<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Oswaldo “Bob” Barbosa was a Puerto Rican albino who Alma had met at the IHB. He sported a big blonde Afro, wore metal glasses like Al’s, and was an intellectual type who turned us on to his favorite pastimes: chess and drugs. Although he was sorely lacking in training on a traditional set (his mastery of the timbales finally manifested itself with the New York Pimps), he was our first drummer and drifted in and out of the lineup on a regular basis. He struck up a relationship with Sonia Martinez and they got married shortly thereafter. They remained the First Couple of the Spoiler Empire until they broke up in ’78. Bob was very congenial but was notoriously stingy and went out of circulation shortly after their sons, Jentry and Andre, were born. When I saw the price of diapers when Benny Rock’s daughter was born, it was easy to understand why. Nevertheless, Bob and I hit it off from the beginning, and I considered him a close personal friend until his untimely death on October 26, 2010 at the age of 57.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Many of our new acquaintances happened to be albinos. It’s a rare condition resulting from miscegenation. Mary Vasquez came back in and joined Alma and Sonia in our new dancing group, the Leatherettes. Bob’s sister Lily eventually came in with us much later as part of the Ducky Boys. There was also Ritchie, a strapping fellow who actually bought a car though he was disqualified from holding a license because of his visual impairment common to albinos. At any rate, our infrastructure was growing and it gave us enough confidence to continue our quest for rock stardom.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Spoiler II was more of a bonding experience than anything. Bob got an apartment in Red Hook on the block where Sonia lived, and it became a new hangout for us. Bob and Al grew very close, though Bob and Sonia recruited Alma and me as maid of honor and best man. Bob was the one who institutionalized chess with us. I had played with Israel a while back, and Al was also familiar with the game. We taught Alma to play and, as my practice dummy, she grew to be a powerful player in time that embarrassed quite a few fellows. Years later, with the Ducky Boys, it was common to come by after practice and see as many as four games in progress in a room full of beer and marijuana smoke.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Our biggest score was at Bob’s sister Lily’s birthday party. They got me off my butt and down to the Barbosas, where the entire clan was there for the occasion. The family was as astonished as those attending our first gig. I was swirling the mic at that show and popped Lily in the head. Nevertheless, they found us quite entertaining and it gave me the encouragement I needed to get back in the swing of things.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Psychologically, I was in dire straits. It took me a couple of decades to sort it all out. Here we have an ex-jock, badly out of shape with thinning hair, an untrained voice and no songwriting experience, creating a history of substance abuse. My parents were undoubtedly shocked at what was going on, and it was reflected in their own alcohol abuse. Of course, I can’t take full credit for this, but I’m sure I did have a lot to do with enabling them. I was also in desperate need of social approval though it seemed I was doing my utmost to alienate people. If Lou Reed was being chronicled as being the biggest bastard in rock, I was determined to be the underground’s top son of a bitch. This wasn’t the best way to make friends and influence people, and it would cost us dearly down the line. Fortunately the inner circle stuck with me through thick and thin, bless them all.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Louie eventually returned to the fold and we decided that we were now Spoiler III. I was hitting a personal low, most likely than not being because I was channeling a man whose own career was spiraling towards self-destruction. Lou Reed had turned into a unisexual speed freak that was becoming an underground laughing stock, as was I. The impact was never as deeply as felt as when I summoned the courage to make a play for Debbie Cantrell.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Debbie was a lovely JAP (*Jewish American Princess) who was part of Lily Snyder’s personal harem of female clerks at ISO. Lily was a bad-tempered drunk who took her husband’s death out on every male person in her environment. My opinion was that she may have well sent the poor soul to an early grave. At any rate, Debbie was well-insulated by Lily and Sharon Mauss, a hirsute Jewess who also ruled the roost among the office hens. I still didn’t have the confidence to move in and make my play, and it wasn’t until she came by and ribbed me about Judy one day that I thought I had a better chance than a snowball in hell with her.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I overheard office gossip to the extent that Debbie was dating a married man, something that I may or may not have been able to talk her out of. At any rate, when he ditched her, she had a nervous breakdown and never came back to ISO. Fortunately for me, I had her address on a Christmas card list (no such thing as privacy issues in 1975!), so I sent word that I wanted to visit. I was overjoyed when she invited me over!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Talk about shooting yourself in the foot. I brought over a bottle of Sangria, dressed in one of my Lou Reed costumes, and anyone in a solid state of mind would have realized that this was not going to get me to first base. We had a kitchen-and-garden conversation on the front porch that lasted about fifteen minutes before she said goodbye. I was deeply depressed throughout the holidays, and what I nearly got out of it a rock opera. “The Ballad of Debbie Dimples” was influenced by both Reed’s Berlin as well as a novel I wrote, “Angie and the Jets”, inspired by…yep, you guessed it. Neither were bad pieces of work, but didn’t have the kind of polish required from a psych-twisted twenty-two year old. They slipped through the cracks, but you never know what the future holds. As for Debbie, well, she’s history, and I hope she got the breaks I always thought she deserved. She was one lovely girl.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I remained at Insurance Services Office throughout this time, and the repercussions of my evolution were being felt at my workplace. A black fellow named Oscar Madden came on the scene. He was 6’4” with 18” arms, the biggest I had personally seen at the time (I’d pump mine up to 19” first in SA then again in KC). He was an ex-football player, a bully and loudmouth who lifted weights. He began hanging with Jerome and I, but eventually started getting pushy and even popped me on the arm one time. BT Superstar would have not stood for it, but Dizon slunk off as a lone wolf.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I began smoking dope regular at work and it was beginning to show, but I cared less. Eventually Oscar quit the company and Jerome and I regrouped, though things were no longer the same. Instead of going straight to lunch with him, I’d go off to smoke, then meet him later. Funny thing, Oscar and I kept in touch, and he would come by the house to lift weights once in a while. Once he came by when I was away and began flirting with Alma, who kept house when I was out so we could stay open for the band members. My Mom was in the hallway tidying and she was getting upset as the overture continued. Suddenly there was a cry and she rushed to investigate. As it turned out, both women had to haul a 225-pound barbell off Oscar’s chest as he’d gotten stuck. I never saw him again after that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I’m not sure what the logic was, but after Louie left again we became Spoiler IV. I think it was a case of us being so irate over Lou’s disappearing acts that we decided to wipe the slate clean each time. Only there was such a discrepancy between what we sounded like with and without him, there wasn’t much of a choice but to let him back in. Especially because he had a new riff or instrumental each time he showed up. He was constantly jamming around and picked up every trick he could learn, and that kid was an extremely fast learner. Sherry Smith, one of his successors, was convinced that he slept with his guitar.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I think part of the reason why I had become such a screw-up was because of the fact that the band was going nowhere, and at that point I had put all my eggs in that one basket (where they would remain until the end of the Ducky Boys). By channeling myself into Lou Reed, maybe it was a way to keep Broadway Turk Superstar from taking the blame for failure. It would eventually take Superstar to get the ship back on course, but the Turk would have to be completely reinvented, and this poor Dizon bastard was hardly in shape to get that done at the time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, I was still writing songs, some of which would make the lineup a couple of years later, like “Satan”, and some that would resurface decades later, like “Office Man”. Actually I was in an extremely prolific period but couldn’t get a whole lot going due to Al’s limitations. Still, we churned out almost two sets of new songs but there wasn’t enough musical proficiency to make them work. Bob’s arrhythmic drumming style wasn’t helping matters either. We needed Lou’s lead playing ability, and when he came scratching at the door again, well, it was it was a case of the breadwinner back at the widow’s house.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">When Louie resurfaced, we decided to call it Spoiler V. I suppose Spoiler IV had become too much of a running joke. This was another transitional period during which Louie and Al were sharpening their claws on one another and eventually forming a good guitar team overall. They would sit in the practice room and smoke dope, then Lou would entreat Al to play some double leads with him. I told them I had written a song called “War of the Worlds” that could use a motif where the lead guitars would be like two enemy fleets meeting on outer space. They jumped all over it but, at that point in time, it was more like the Spanish Armada coming across Huckleberry Finn’s raft. To his credit, Al would have given him a far better run for his money in three years’ time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Robert Echevarria was another visually-challenged albino kid who drifted into Alma’s IHB network. He was a real grungy fellow who would remind me a lot of a pudgy Johnny Rotten, replete with matted hair, pasty skin, worn clothing, body odor and green teeth. He showed up just in time for Louie to reappear at the Surrealistic Death, and got recruited as the new Spoiler bassist for Spoiler V. This was the first full band we had since the Verdict, and, as the Lord would have it, a gig opportunity came along at El Bolero.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span><br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-54779526750476026962015-02-22T10:27:00.000-08:002015-02-22T10:27:02.679-08:00Chasing The Dream?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">By the end of ’73 everything
suddenly began grinding to a halt. Jerome quit drinking, which somewhat
curtailed our fellowship (and should’ve told us how shallow our relationship was).
Since our crew had disintegrated, Alma and I remained afloat on a sea of
alcohol wondering where we would drift to next. I threw in with the Jehovah’s
Witnesses and they came pretty close to inculcating me, but it seems that the
Holy Ghost kept me from making a full commitment. My personal appearance was
beginning to reflect my inner turmoil, and I distinctly recall the poor soul
who accompanied the Merceds to the home of their new friends, the Rocks, on
Christmas Eve of 1973. I still had long hair and a beard, wearing one of the
Jurczaks’ woolen collegiate sweater, my faded purple flowered shirt, the
Merceds’ gray patterned bellbottoms, and my worn black-and-silver platform
boots. What a mess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Chico Rock was as
bizarre a figure as I was at the time. I had no inkling that he would
eventually become one of the most cherished friends of my lifetime. He was
slightly over five feet tall and had a strong Filipino accent. As it turned
out, he was a veteran of three wars (WWII, Korea and Vietnam) with the Rangers
and the Green Berets, and earned three Bronze Stars and a Purple Heart cluster.
He had a steel plate in his head, multiple bullet scars and a big chunk of
shrapnel damage to his calf muscle. What really ruined his life, though, was a
gang attack on his way home from law school. They nearly killed him, and it
made him question the value of what he had risked his life for all those years.
Chico was as much a rebel as I was, and in time we ignited a kindred spirit
within us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> I
was in a total state of flux in ’74. I started hanging out with Jerome again on
Friday nights and getting drunk with Alma on weekends, but nothing else seemed
to be happening. I quit Scorpion Karate and was teaching a class I usurped from
some wannabe karate teacher at Strong Place Baptist Church. I came in drunk one
night and found grown-up Hector Garcia and Pete Matos in class. We had a fine
session but, unfortunately, at class end, our customary free fight turned into
a brawl between me and Pete. I nearly broke his rib to get the best of him, and
I still regret it to this day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Needless
to say, I was drifting in a sea of angst with nowhere to go. The Alice Cooper
Band had broken up, as had the New York Dolls, and American pop culture was in
as bad a state as I was. Movies like <i>Godfather
II</i> and <i>Lenny</i> were reminders of
how crappy things were. I wasn’t sure of who I was or where I was headed. Yet,
God was still watching, and, once again, He allowed my life to be saved by rock
and roll.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Louie Cazucci was
barely thirteen when Chi Chi Guzman brought him around that Fall of ‘74. He was
a tall lanky kid with a pasty face and two of the biggest hands on a kid we’d
ever seen (reminding me some time later of the immortal Russian composer
Rachmaninoff). He was a guitarist in Bay Ridge who had put out the word that he
was looking for a wild man to front his new rock band. Louie came from a
dysfunctional family, his Mom a psych patient who had moved in with a hardcore
NYPD self-defense instructor named Dick Freeman. Dick gave Louie a tough time
and we all saw signs of mental trauma but, back then, people minded their own
business in such matters. Unfortunately, Louie saw me as a father figure and I
handled it very badly with my own psych problems, resulting in him lumping me
in with the rest of the abusive authority figures in his life. Just as with
Jeremy Lara over thirty years later, the Lord gave me a great chance to change
a younger person’s life and I failed. Sorry Lord, sorry Louie, sorry Jeremy…sorry-ass
Turk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When he
propositioned me to sing for him, I jumped into it like a dying man at a desert
oasis. Louie brought in Stu Shapiro, a mollycoddled Jewish kid on his block who
played bass. Louie had a 30-watt Ampeg and a Frankenstein guitar (made from
parts of dead axes, much like our drum sets of days to come). Stu had a quality
bass and amp, so it was my turn to ante. I ran out and bought a mic and a 10-watt
amp at a downtown variety store, then made a call to Johnny De Losa, who in
turn called his friend Al.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Al Catraz was a
dorky Cuban kid who was a classmate of Johnny De Losa’s. He wore metal-framed
glasses and flashed a beaver-toothed grin, his frizzy brown mane badly in need
of a haircut. Like myself, he bore little resemblance to the underground punk
rock star he would become five years later. His earliest guitar influences were
BB King and Eric Clapton (who would be two of my own thirty years later), and
his claim to fame was having played onstage at Bishop Loughlin during a student
festival. Over time, there was a competition between Al and Louie that never
was resolved. The Spoiler atmosphere was always a problem as well in that it
was both musical and macho. One had to be both talented and tough to build
status, and sometimes, as in that case of Zing, attitude could be better than
aptitude. Al finally achieved his status, but it was as a Ducky Boy five years
later. What he did have at the time was a 100-watt amp and a Les Paul guitar,
which gave him permanent resident status as a Spoiler.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As always, my
delusions of grandeur would know no limits. Dreams of stardom filled my head
and I invited Baron Sanders along with my parents down for an open session,
which greatly impressed them considering there was no inkling that such a thing
as a band would have ever existed beforehand. I wasted no time in heading out
to our old drinking spot, the Verdict, and talked the manager into letting us
play at their Christmas party. That turned out to be the biggest train wreck in
my life at the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We got there and
enthusiastically set up, with all our parents (except Al’s, who didn’t drink)
en route for the second set. What I failed to notice at the outset was that the
place was actually a cop bar with plenty of off-duty detectives in attendance.
Naturally, being the naïve oaf I was at the time, I went into my Lou Reed act
straight out of <i>Rock and Roll Animal</i>
(still my fave guitar album of all time) and, of course, “Heroin”, with the
mock shoot-up and all. Only I had accumulated the actual works to make it more
realistic. In this day and age, the cops would have probably taken me down for possession
of drug paraphernalia, but back then, we simply had our plug pulled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, when
our folks got there, Mary, the manager, had no choice but to let us resume.
Yours truly, being as pigheaded as Day One, decided to start the show from
scratch (which, to my credit, I would never do again). This time, it was
outraged parents who yanked us off, first Stu Shapiro then Johnny De Losa.
Having no bassist was a non-issue; no drummer was something neither Lou, Al or
I anticipated. With Broadway Turk Superstar in hibernation, the neophyte Dizon
character broke into tears, folded his tent and slunk off into the night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Louie’s mom Ruth
was there, and I recall her being quite the card at the show. As I mentioned,
she had a hard life but refused to surrender, like the rest of us. She was an
attractive woman and, believe it or not, we had a liking for each other. It
never went anywhere since, for one, I wasn’t as confident with the ladies as I
pretended to be until much later in life. Secondly, if Dick Freeman had caught
on, he might’ve made life far more complicated for me than it already was. Still,
we were always on great terms and we had our share of intimate conversations. I
will always have a soft spot in my heart and fond memories of that lovely and
lively woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">At any rate, I
fired Stu and Johnny, after which Louie went AWOL, leaving Al, Alma and I wondering
what to do next. Alma stepped up to the plate, as she would so many times over
the years, and brought in some connections from her school days as well as her
time at the IHB (Industrial House for the Blind, which catered to the visually-impaired).
All at once, we found ourselves surrounded by a cast of new and unusual
recruits.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued.</i>..)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-30472397538427228742015-01-21T17:14:00.000-08:002015-01-21T17:14:03.184-08:00Judy In Disguise?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Brushing myself
off from that skirmish, I set out on a spiritual quest for truth, comparing
different doctrines and even breaking bread (or shredded coconut) with the Hare
Krishnas on Kane Street to learn more about the different manifestations of God
across the earth. I even listened to some post-Beatles music from its
ex-members to pick up something from their own spiritual quests. All I found
was the alchemy of the Devil as he creates gold from garbage, to which it soon
returns. I could still not find a Church home, but knew that as long as I
stayed loyal to Christ as a soldier of God, everything would work together to
His glory. In time, it most certainly did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After that
unforgettable summer of ‘73, I made a commitment to Scorpion Karate which laid
the foundation for future events to come. Lea was dating one of the instructors
at the club, John Pineda, who invited me by to work out a few times. With the
lull in the action within the clique, I decided to give it a decent go this
time. I saw myself as the John Saxon character in <i>Enter the Dragon</i>, even though the self-styled Creator,<i> </i>Alfonso Rivera, nicknamed me the
Wrestler. I took to wearing my judo <i>gi</i>
from Loughlin which was far more durable than my new karate jacket and much
warmer throughout the Brooklyn winter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My previous karate
experience was entirely visual, coming from the kung-fu movies that were all the
rage at the time. I remember throwing a kick at Mingo one time and he dumped me
right on my ass! I also had a sparring match with one of the kids at the club
shortly after joining, and he pulled up short of kicking my teeth down my
throat. I had a long way to go, but I was a quick learner and made up ground in
a short time. It got to the point where I was roughing up everyone in the club
up to brown belt level. After I got jobbed out of a first-place trophy at a
local tournament, I lost interest and began running classes of my own in my
backyard and up at Strong Place Church. I got a yellow belt out of it, but
would not progress until earning two brown belts over three decades later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The clique was
still styling and profiling in the ‘hood, and I was drifting away from my
athletic pursuits once again until I found a good reason to keep myself in good
shape. It came in the form of a beautiful blonde who would keep my rep as a
ladies’ man (in the footsteps of my dad and Granddad before me) alive and well
for time to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Judy Emmick was a
lovely blonde from Connecticut whose ideal romance with the high-school soccer
star was wrecked along with his car in a driving accident. Our chit-chat during
business calls from ISO to Hartford Insurance led to personal mail that
resulted in a couple of weekend trysts between us. People were astonished that
I had been able to set up such a deal over the phone with such a beautiful
woman, and, sadly enough, so was I. It was another sad example of me not
believing in myself; elsewise, there would have been plenty more where she came
from. I seemed to have been so afraid of failing in the forest that I did not
focus on the individual trees. At any rate, Judy and I had a memorable time
together before I bitterly realized that our ships would never continue in the
same direction. She came from a different world, and her family and friends in
Hartford would never accept a karate-fighting wiseguy wannabe, which is where I
was at that point of time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately I
was still caught between a rock and a hard place trying to reinvent myself. I
continued to draw inspiration from the underworld bullies that captured my
imagination (along with that of dozens of other would-be tough guys in the ‘hood),
as well as the movie board-breakers who were all the rage in that day. Since I
wasn’t about to risk my future carrying a gun around in NYC, I relied on a big
007 blade along with my martial arts tactics. Of course, none of this would
help me realize any of my life ambitions, but I clung to what I had
nonetheless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Around this time I
was studying my reflection in a subway train window and I was shocked to see
signs of male pattern baldness. For someone with my fragile ego and sense of
esthetics, it was a tragic situation, but suicide was not an option. It took
Neysa Flores to help me deal with it thirty years later, but until then I spent
my entire adult life violently protecting and defending my ‘condition’. In
turn, it was all about Vitalis hair spray in public, BT’s Spitfire cap and
Superstar’s black mask under the spotlight. If only a Neysa had come along and
got me to shave it all off. Well, pride goeth before a fall, and only the Lord
knows how many times I’ve fallen on bad hair days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Looking back, it
seems as if cutting my ties to Judy and coming to grips with my receding
hairline brought me to a low point in time. Mind you, I had no serious plans
for Judy, but having her out of the picture brought my romantic prospects back
to ground zero. I was also faced with the possibility that I might not be as
attractive or able to seek out partners as lovely as her (or better) in future.
My hair did quite a bit to enhance my looks, and even in my forties I was still
what the women considered ruggedly handsome. You could not have sold that
notion to a kid in his early twenties, however, and I did not see my situation
getting better any time soon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">With nothing but
ISO and a martial arts degree in my immediate future, there was no doubt that I
had to make something happen. Nonetheless, it seemed as if prospects were
vanishing faster than looming on the horizon, and I knew I would have to make
something happened soon if I were to amount to anything more than a senior rate
clerk in the Special Rating Unit. 1973 was flashing before my eyes, and it
looked like things were going to hell in a handbasket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Little did I know
that my hopes would soon be on the Rocks, as you shall see.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-84768533522942673982015-01-09T17:33:00.002-08:002015-01-09T17:33:24.818-08:00The Truth Shall Set You Free?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Going back to the
Summer of ’72, it was an idyllic time with the Cat Pack, which was Georgie, Alma,
Mingo and Jerome Browne, along with assorted guest stars which included future
Leatherettes Sonia Martinez and Mary Vasquez, as well as Ramon Merced and
Marvin “Mad Dog” Brown. The reason I call it the Cat Pack is because we spent
most of our time lazing about bars and lounges, spending lots of money to be
pampered by bartenders and barflies. We had lots of good times, but there was
one more member that truly made it a summer to
remember.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Around that time, Alma’s
aunt came up from Puerto Rico, and for a time she was my main squeeze. Carmen
was a widow who happened to be the youngest sister of Nery, Mingo and the rest
of the Alindato clan. She must’ve been in her late thirties when she came to
visit the Merceds, and it was a summer I would never forget. She was another
woman with the lovely face and hourglass figure I kept coming across, but she
was reluctant to get involved with such a younger guy (they would’ve called her
a cougar by today’s standards). She made my blood race but, as a young dumbass,
I didn’t know how to handle the situation. We messed around with one another
but I blew every opportunity until she returned to PR, never to return. Over a
decade later she was bitten by a poisonous insect and had her arm amputated,
after which she died of a broken heart. It was a terrible tragedy and I only
hope she was right with the Lord when she left us. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We caroused
everywhere, from Flatbush Avenue (Jerome’s turf) to Hobnails in Bay Ridge
(where Sue Swingle from ISO hung out), Brooklyn Heights to Red Hook, and Wall
Street to Greenwich Village. We spent money like no tomorrow and closed
countless bars after 4 AM. We still had Mary Vasquez, a cute albino girl who
would later (along with Alma and Sonia) become one of the original
Leatherettes, and Marvin “Mad Dog” Brown, a lowbrow Jewish fellow who was one
of the supervisors at ISO. He had an exaggerated duckfooted walk, perpetually
toked his cherry pipe, and had a knack for tossing off outrageous one-line
insults and remarks as quick as I did. All in all, we were quite the motley
crew, and sadly enough, it was all too good to last.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After Carmen left
for Puerto Rico, Georgie discovered marijuana and slowly began drifting towards
that kind of crowd. He started missing work and quit helping with the bills,
and after one hiatus he returned days later to find his bags neatly packed for
him. We remained friends but eventually he went back to PR and was never seen
again. The rest of us remained weekend warriors but we weren’t as far and
widespread as we had been with Georgie and his jalopy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately I
would see the same psychological scarring that Kenny displayed a couple of
years later when we crossed paths. Georgie was remote and had little allegiance
to anyone or anything. He probably was as close to me as anyone else he knew,
and I think that said a lot. I did everything I could to help him fit in, but
sometimes those neuroses are so ingrained over time that nothing makes a dent.
He put up a wall and would let no one in, plain and simple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He left on a real
sour note when I found that he and the boyfriend of the previous occupant of my
apartment broke into the top floor apartment rented by Carlos and Tita
Franchesci. They were an attractive couple who I really liked, though Carlos
had a rep for running around on Tita. She was a sexy redhead built like a brick
outhouse. He had made a few remarks about her putting on too much weight, but
for the life of me I never saw a problem. I fantasized about her for years but
never did more than interrupt her pre-shower time by bringing up her mail when
she came home from work. Plus, I liked Carlos a lot, and it really pissed me
off when I found out what Georgie did. Still, I always thought of Georgie as a
brother and forever will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was around that
time that I came to a major religious crossroads in my life that would leave
its scars but eventually lead to one of the most profound spiritual epiphanies
of my life. I began studying with a Jehovah’s Witness named Carlos (yep,
another one), and he was one of the meekest men I’ve ever met though ablaze
with fervor for the sect. Alma began studying with us and he brought us in
about as deep as one can go without making a commitment. He was painstaking in
his research, as was the entire Watchtower organization, whose world
headquarters is in Brooklyn Heights alongside Suicide Hill. That was our name
for a very steep downhill block along Hicks Street leading to a highway
underpass, which the only most reckless cyclists would dare to attempt. At any
rate, we were deep in Witness territory and barely managed to escape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">They were the ones
who first exposed the Roman Church to me as the prophetic Babylon of the
Apocalypse. They saw themselves as the One True Church, and even considered all
Protestant religions as Christendom. They explained how all the Christian
holidays had pagan connections as designed by the Vatican, and painstakingly
proved it so that Alma and I stopped celebrating them entirely. It wasn’t until
my first marriage, over twenty years later, before I celebrated another
Christmas. We were sinking in as if in quicksand, and the only thing that kept
us from being submerged was my absolute faith in Jesus Christ as Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">You see, the
Witnesses believe in Jesus as ‘a’ son of God as opposed to THE Son of God. They
are strict monotheists who recognize no doctrine proving a Blessed Trinity.
Their Douay-like Bible spells the Holy Ghost in small letters, denying there is
such a Person, seeing Him only as God’s ‘active force’. This was causing major discord
in my soul, and Carlos decided to write out a ten-page discourse showing how,
chapter and verse, Jesus was not God and there was no Holy Ghost person.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was the Holy
Ghost Himself who refused to let that happen. He yanked my heart strings so
violently that I felt as if I was denying God Almighty, which, in fact, I would
have been. Try as he might, Carlos could not dissuade me from believing in the
Deity of Christ, and I told him so before we finally parted ways. When I made
my declaration, I was overcome by a wave of Holy Ghost power that fully assured
me I had made the right choice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was no
coincidence that the Witnesses were at the pinnacle of their influence around
the world. They had some hardcore ministers who were at the top of their game,
taking the planet by storm, and their sect was growing by leaps and bounds. My
suspicion was that many more Christians besides myself were being taken to the
arena worldwide, and the Holy Ghost acted mightily to cut through the darkness
with the Sword of Truth, which is the Word of God. They began peaking by the
end of the decade, and by the time I rededicated myself to the ministry in the
90’s, they were just another sect of eccentrics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One thing I can
pass on to Christians struggling with their faith: the Truth will always
prevail in making itself known. Believers should never avoid debate, discourse
or false doctrine in asserting the veracity of the Word of God. Regardless of
how impeachable evidence appears to the contrary, the Truth will always win
out. The fact of the matter is that the Bible (in its most authentic King James
version) is absolute Truth, and if one part of it is false, then the entire
document collapses. This is why so many books were edited out of the Scripture
when the Holy Ghost directed the compilation under King James. Scholars from
around the world were brought together to research and compare every Hebrew,
Aramaic and Greek document known to man in order to piece together the unbroken
and perfect Word of God. It is the complete Old Testament of the Hebrews,
preserved over six thousand years, together with the New Testament of the
Gospels, the Epistles of Paul and the writings of the Apostles. It is a perfect
Book with no inconsistencies, and any and all that contradict it have been long
since discarded. With such a weapon in one’s arsenal, how can one ever fail in
battle against the dark side?</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-91251718974148311862014-12-25T21:08:00.005-08:002014-12-25T21:15:30.280-08:00The Better Half?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I took a couple of
plane trips around this time, the first to visit my Grandpa in 1972 and then to
visit my Aunt Marge in 1973. Visiting Teodulfo Dizon was quite an experience. He
was still a strict, disciplined man though the years had mellowed him quite a
bit. Matter of fact, I found him to resemble the Koreans I would meet three
decades later in their characteristic inscrutability. Though he had left the
Orient over sixty years ago, he still maintained its ways and style, as if
clinging to the environment in which he was born and raised. It was also due to
the military tradition in which he was steeped, from his childhood as a
military brat to his time in American bases from San Pedro to Fort Sam Houston.
Though he was a slender man weighing about 135, he was hard as a rock and had
never missed a day of work in over fifty years. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It
was a whirlwind week for me and I wish I had the maturity to have savored more
time with him. I went out a few times with my cousin Linda, who had played
roller derby in a local team before retiring due to a knee injury. She took me
to a downtown gay bar (which were the height of fashion in the glitter rock
era) and we drank it up with some of the best-known drag queens in town. I met
my cousin Johnny, who Grandpa warned me about, but we hit it off and went out
for an evening of pool and had a great time. I also went carousing with my
cousin Lupe, who invited me to an after-work party that Friday and then to some
local downtown spots. I would have never dreamed that I would relocate to San
Antonio a decade later, and that Johnny, Lupe and I would become as the Three
Musketeers as I built my new infrastructure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Grandpa would
eventually write down his memoirs in a short essay, which would become the
foundation for my semi-biographical novel, </span><i style="font-size: x-large; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Generations
</i><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">(as yet unpublished). He told me quite a bit about his life in San Pedro
and confided in me in a manner that would have made the Four Brothers jealous.
I wish I would have realized at the time that he was pouring his heart out to
me in hoping I would be the keeper of his memory, which I certainly hope I am. I
remember him cooking a delightful shrimp and rice entrée for dinner one
evening, and can’t remember him serving up anything I didn’t like. That was a
big difference from my first visit to SA as a weeun, as he and Mom got into a
row over him trying to make me eat my first bowl of oatmeal!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I also found out
he was a big wrestling fan. Unfortunately, he naturally cheered for the
babyfaces, while I was overjoyed to see the Golden Greek, John Tolos on the
tube as he tore up some jobber in short order. I imagine what he would have
thought in watching his grandson as Broadway Turk Superstar using everything
from chairs to ashtrays on opponents in the Texas Wrestling Association almost
two decades later. Actually, he never saw one of Manny’s fights, most likely
because he wouldn’t have been able to bear it. Grandma Stella, on the other
hand, went to most of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His big thing was
still poker, and on my last night he brought me to his friend’s home for their
big weekly game. Linda and her friends had planned a big sendoff for me but
there was no way I could refuse Grandpa. It was a penny-ante game and I got
thoroughly shellacked. I’m a pretty good poker player, but in those games, they
were calling almost a dozen wild cards per hand which reduced it to a game of
chance rather than skill. This took away my bluffing game, which both Grandpa
and our revered family friend Baron Sanders disdained. Grandpa never bluffed;
Manny called Baron on a bluff one time and Baron’s face grew beet-red with
embarrassment! At any rate, Broadway Turk wouldn’t make much of an impact as a
poker player on that particular sojourn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I found out just
how ornery he was on the ride to the airport. We stopped off at a department
store and I saw a hat similar to his fedora and wanted to buy it for him. He
declined, but I insisted, and I was going to pick it out when he caught my
wrist in his version of the Iron Claw. It was either twist free or relinquish,
and my Grandpa won out. I should have mailed him one afterward, but, that’s a
stupid kid for you. At any rate, it was one of the most cherished visits of my
life. I wish the one a couple of years later with Manny had been more pleasant,
but that was when worlds collided and the generation gap appeared as an
earthquake in our relationship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">That next year I
visited my Aunt Marge, and my relationship with the Sanders clan was on the
decline soon afterwards though I wouldn’t realize it until years later. She
considered herself the leader of the clan though my cousin Brooks’ wife Gloria
confided in me that she feared her older sister Brooks (no misprint, quite a
popular family name). She was initially pleased as punch to meet me again after
over a decade, and I hit it off famously with her husband Vernon. I also got on
well with Brooks and his family, and we were scheduled for a family
get-together at his property on Lake Dallas. He had made his fortune in the
construction business and was the clan’s only legitimate millionaire before
going bankrupt in the 90’s. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Manny nearly
gagged when I turned down a proposal from Brooks to join his firm as a
representative with his South American field office during a visit with us at
the Waldorf-Astoria a couple of years earlier. Of course, my head was full of
fantasies of NHL or wrestling stardom, and I thought the world was an oyster
before me. What I never understood was why Manny didn’t jump in as quickly as
he did with the writing school rep a couple of years before that. He could have
told Brooks that we needed time to reconsider, and even shipped my ass out with
parental authority. Well, that was Manny for you. Brooks never reached out
again, even when I was desperate for help with Mom at my side and my Year Zero
EP in hand during our reunion visit in 1979. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My fatal error
came one afternoon after a long talk the previous evening in which I told her
of recent family hassles due to my mother’s drinking problem. We planned lunch
at a nearby Italian restaurant, leaving me to my lonesome as she went to have
her hair done. I sucked up a half-case while listening to the Velvet
Underground on her room-to-room stereo, writing a ballad called “Patti” about
kidnapped newspaper heiress Patti Hearst (which had long since been misplaced
and forgotten). When she finally got back I could barely read it back to her.
She probably thought me quite the hypocrite, but should have seen the
underlying problems. Yet I think it was more of a question of trying to stuff
the skeletons back into the family closet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The problem with
the <i>nouveau riche</i> is that they think
their crap don’t stink when, actually, what they fear and despise most about
others is what they see deep inside themselves. That holds true for most people
as I found through my psychiatric studies. This is why they marginalized my
Uncle Vernon, a fine man who overcame his drinking problem. They kept him
forever in the background at our reunions, and I spent most of my time there with
him. Not the best way to score brownies with the Sanders clan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Payback time came
in 1985 at the Hyatts’ wedding which was hosted at the Abbotts’ home in Fort
Worth. I drove up with Debbie Von and we saw my parents emerging from a vehicle
in front of the house just as they arrived from the airport. As it turned out,
Mom was three sheets to the wind, Manny chalking it up to her fear of flying.
This, of course, I discredited as a crock of shit as Mom had been an amateur
pilot who had earned her wings in flight school back in the 40’s. She ranted
and raved throughout the short evening as I did my best to refrain from
laughing my ass off as Aunt Marge somehow maintained her composure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There were a
couple more reunions after that, a last hurrah at Lake Dallas in 1979 and a
mini-reunion at the Hyatts in Cloudcroft in 1992. I was definitely the black
sheep at Lake Dallas though they seemed more comfortable with the stylish
wiseguy in the business suit in Cloudcroft. I drove up to Fort Worth with Bobby
Bulldozer for Uncle Vernon’s funeral in 1992 a couple of months before the
Hyatt reunion, and would have shown for Aunt Marge’s funeral a few years later
if Lea Shithead had taken the time to notify me. We were on the outs by then
after a spat between Duane and me at my first wedding in 1995, but I think it
was more of a case of her wanting to sabotage my connection with the Sanders
clan worse than it already was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Money was always a
case of sour grapes with her. She was never a hoarder or a tightwad, but she
always loved being around those who had money, and wasn’t overly happy when her
peers had more than she did. That was the main reason she stayed close to
Brooks Abbott. His wife Gloria was a lovely woman and a great person but was
highly suspicious of males in the clan, some of whom had come on to her more
than a couple of times. Their son Clay was a great little kid but I suspect he
went the way of Thumper Hyatt as he matured. I know that Brooks worshipped the
kid and most likely brought him into the business, which bankrupted a few years
later. Geez, I wonder why. At any rate, Brooks even had the Shitheads out to
his resort home in Lake Tahoe a few times before he went under. I’ll bet they
didn’t do much visiting after he lost everything.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-65374440317891185912014-12-19T16:05:00.000-08:002014-12-19T16:05:07.707-08:00The Surrealistic Death?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There was quite a
cast of characters during my time at ISO. The Special Rating Unit was run by
George Burkitt, a widower who had a rep for total distraction around the
holidays (which was when he lost his wife). Ironically, he was a part-time
hockey coach and tried to bring his rah-rah philosophy to work, which failed
miserably among the motley crew that staffed his office. Fred Federer was his
blue-collar supervisor who was also driven to distraction by Jerome and I, his juvenile
delinquents. Most of the problem came after noon, when we returned from our liquid
lunches. Lily Snyder was another widower and alcoholic who ran the Special
Multi-Peril unit as her personal fiefdom. Her assistant, Sue Swingle, was a
cute girl with a killer body whose boyfriend, John Ventrell, was a bigger
asshole than Jerome and I. When he finally quit, everybody hoped to hook up
with Sue but she aspired to do better after Ventrell, with Lily as Cerberus
guarding her gates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I could not
mention this interlude in my life without giving due thanks to Captain Crunch,
Lorrie Macoline. She thought of herself as a surrogate mother to me and Jerome,
though more often than not she played the flunky. She came out drinking with us
more than a few times, and sometimes we would bring along her would-be suitor,
Phil Hellgott. Phil was an unkempt Jewish guy who had a terrible body odor that
he claimed was caused by a skin disorder. We thought hygiene had a lot to do
with it and teased him unmercifully for it, though he was a pretty good ribber
himself. Another guy who hung with us at coffee break but never made the rounds
was Nick Piccininni. He had a lot of charisma and had two particularly lovely
Italian sisters coming by his desk on a regular basis though he was just
recently married. Nick, Jerome and I would exchange vicious race-oriented ribs
on a daily basis which were absolutely hilarious back then, but would have got
us fired in this politically correct day and age.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One of those
aforementioned sisters, Lillian, was a lovely girl with an incredible figure.
She had long black hair and pale skin that made her look like a beautiful
vampire. One of our pals, Florence Erdman, said she had Mick Jagger lips that
made her look like a fish, though I disagreed. Florence was a widow who I think
had an eye for me. She had great legs along with the face of a bulldog.
Nevertheless, she decided to set me up with Lillian at the office Christmas
party after a few drinks. I found myself riveted in my seat as she walked over
without even looking back, and introduced Lillian to…the Invisible Man!
Florence ribbed me soundly after that one, and I kicked myself over and over
for that monumental screw-up. Chalk up another one to my insecurity and mortal
terror of rejection, something that would follow me all the way until I reached
Missouri at the end of my game of life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Lorrie, as it
turned out, was a spinster living with her parents who actually tossed almost
every one of her paychecks directly into her savings account. She brown-bagged
her lunch and dressed off the rack, and we could see her talking to herself
when something pissed her off. She was quite a character, but she changed our
lives considerably when she started giving us small loans which we never had to
pay back. She took us out to some of the best restaurants for lunch now and
again. Though it cost a pretty penny, I know she was in her glory going to
places she would have never set foot in, with a couple of wiseguys who ensured
the most obsequious service. Eventually she cut Jerome out of the deal but
continued helping me out, which improved my quality of life immensely. I never
really got to thank her for all the handouts, but I know that the Lord must
have blessed her life tremendously for her selfless giving to His blissfully
naive soldier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was extremely
fortunate in having been able to exert my genius to the betterment of the
department, which is why they kept me around for four years. I used my
speed-reading ability to pore through insurance policies with ease (this was
two decades before PC’s became everyday office items…microfiche, anyone?),
plowed through basic math premium adjustments at light speed, and wrote
detailed analyses of entanglements between brokers and rating bureaus across
the country that we were empowered to resolve. It was all child’s play for one
of my genius, but again I found in the world of business, where it’s not what
you know but who you know. Nevertheless, I fought my way up the corporate
ladder, making it to the level of Commercial Property/Casualty Underwriter
before getting the ax in a power struggle at an insurance wasteland a decade
later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Another mainstay
in my post-Jets/pre-Spoiler timeframe was Alma’s uncle. Mingo Alindato was
Nery’s brother who had recently gone on hiatus from the Merchant Marines. His
chronic alcoholism caused him to plummet from a respectable seaman to a useless
drunk, and eventually sent him over the brink into premature senility. When he
first came to Brooklyn, we hit it off immediately and became close drinking
buddies. Unfortunately, I was too naïve to realize that such friendships are
built on such flimsy foundations as to eventually prove insubstantial. He was
an ex-boxer, which greatly enhanced his status in my eyes, and was a helluva
pool player who got better the more he drank. Our friendship didn’t go sideways
until sometime later when he drank the money he had said he would use to take
our long-planned trip to Puerto Rico. We remained friends until he left NYC for
Puerto Rico in the early 70’s, never having seen or heard me with the Spoiler.
He passed away in the Spring of 2011 and he is fondly remembered by all who
knew him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">About this time,
our downstairs tenants decided to pull up stakes, and I asked Mom to rent the
apartment to me. Manny was against it, figuring that he would lose money by
losing my income as a household member even though he was going to be
collecting rent off me from then on. I insisted, however, and eventually I
became his downstairs tenant. Had he known what ungodly noise he would be
enduring from that apartment for the next decade thereafter, I think he just
might have second-guessed himself. Yet, when I asked Mom about it many years
later, she said it brought her peace because she always knew exactly where we
were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Shortly after I
moved downstairs, Lea showed up at the door one afternoon, and who was she with
but George Reyes. George had changed so much since I last saw him I barely
recognized him. He had matured into a tall, dark, handsome fellow replete with
Christ-like hair, beard and mustache. We sat down over a case of beer,
reminisced about the old days, speculated on the new, and before you knew it I
had a new roommate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One of the first
things I did was paint the tiny living room black and decorated it with drawings
and graffiti in Day-Glo. When I hooked up my black light, it was a prototypical
hippie-like head room. I christened it the Surrealistic Death, and it became
not only a favorite neighborhood hangout spot but eventually the Spoiler’s war
room. Of course, that was two years ahead, and my father must have wondered
what would become of his only son and his downstairs apartment in the meantime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Along with Mingo
and Alma, the four of us spent most of our time raising hell and having great
times barhopping around the neighborhood. We rode with Alma’s dad Ramon for a
time as we had over the past year (I’d pay for the beer and gas), but he and
Georgie did not get along well. Georgie eventually bought a used car and we had
a set of wheels with which to raise hell throughout the summer, so Ramon faded
from the picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Not that I didn’t
remain close to the Merceds, who became like a second family. Alma’s mom Nery
was like a big sister to me. When I began visiting NYC after my move to TX,
after I arrived at my parents’ home the first stop I made was Nery’s apartment.
I always brought a bottle of wine, and those were the only times she ever
indulged. She was an expert seamstress and made the wrestling cape I wore to
the ring in Columbia Street I and II. She also made a fantastic pair of
midnight blue leatherette jeans that I treasured for years though I had long
since outgrown the size 30 waistline. She was always one of my biggest
supporters up until she died of cancer in 1999. I have no doubt that she will
be among those awaiting my arrival at the Pearly Gates when the Lord Jesus
calls me home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ramon was always
quite a character, and seeing him again when I visit NYC is like I’d left him
just yesterday. He has a fantastic sense of humor and spends his time telling
anecdotes about people in his life. Though he can be quite an earful to some, I
find him hilarious and can listen to him all day. Back in the day, everyone in
the Merced-Alindato clan eagerly looked forward to holidays as Nery and Ramon
were the best cooks in the neighborhood bar none. Ramon also kept a large
supply of alcohol on hand, and one attended a feast when visiting the Merceds
on holiday. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ray (who we called
Junior for most of his life until he became a Dad with grownup kids) was a
98-pound weakling as a kid, resembling yours truly at the same stage of
development. He grew up to be a ladies’ man with a great personality who acted
as our head roadie for years until his personal life led him to turn the spot
over to Richie Morales with the Ducky Boys in 1981. He was one of those people
whose social network was all over the place, and he was always quick to help
others and everyone liked him. He was a spunky kid who could handle himself and
enjoyed exchanging ribs with me and Zing during the Spoiler-Ducky Boy era. Our
relationship matured into brotherly love over the years and I’d give my life
for him anyplace, anytime. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Hector was a spoiled brat who the Jets
nicknamed Naked Nick over his penchant for tearing off his clothes and running
around the apartment buck naked during his Terrible Twos. As Nery’s child of
her maturity, she let him get away with blue murder, unlike the stringent rules
Alma and Ray were under. He grew up to become the neighborhood tough guy, building
his rep over the years until he finally made his bones by beating BT Superstar
in a hardcore match on Butler Street on November 19, 2004. He got into a brawl on a Miami street in 2009
which he was nearly killed, and his injuries have left him as a BSWC paper
champion. Ironically, he remains one of the last of the old crowd in Brooklyn
along with Alma, Suli Rock and Richie Morales. Terri Thunders got to meet them
at our 2010 reunion and it was truly a memorable event.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-57442412574368319112014-12-09T10:06:00.002-08:002014-12-09T10:06:31.140-08:00Off To Work?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Graduation Day in
June 1972 was one of many special occasions for the family as my parents began
realizing that our days as a happy unit were growing numbered. Lea and our
parents came out for the ceremony at Loughlin before Manny took us to the Greek
Village near Madison Square Garden to celebrate. Harry Naegele, one of the
older guys in my classes, crossed our paths on the way to the ceremony.
Inexplicably, he began goofing on Manny’s white suit, calling him the Good
Humor man. Why Manny or I didn’t call him out is still a mystery; I think we
were caught way off-guard. In this day and age I would’ve cold-cocked him and
let Manny bail me out. In retrospect, I’d wager that Harry’s Dad no-showed and
left him mad at the world. It was just another example of how blessed I was by
my Heavenly Father to have given me an earthly one as great as Manny. Anyway,
we had a great time at a Greek nightclub afterwards, and it came as a portent
of a great episode in my life to follow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One of my Mom’s
drinking buddies got me a job at a bank on Wall Street shortly thereafter, and
I was in heaven with my $110 weekly salary. I got along great with my
co-workers, and we began meeting after hours on Friday at the local saloon. It
was during this time that I met a beautiful Greek girl I would never forget. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pam Kagabines was,
after Judy Emmick, definitely one that got away. She was one of the new
trainees at the bank where one of Mom’s drinking buddies got me my first job. She
was a beautiful Greek girl with an hourglass figure, thick black hair and
emerald eyes. I thought she had eyes on Ray, a handsome Sicilian fellow who I
made friends with. Our clique went drinking one Friday night and we got separated
from the pack, going off on our own. We kissed and petted by the end of the
night, and I escorted her all the way back to her home in Queens. I got
double-crossed at the bank shortly afterward and was fired, but Pam and I saw
each other once more before she went off to college. We exchanged letters but
it didn’t seem that she was interested in keeping things rolling between us.
Looking back, I think a little bit more persuasion on my part wouldn’t have
hurt matters any. Chalk another one up to my chronic lack of self-confidence
back in the day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My Mom was
seriously up my ass for the rest of the summer, not having the sense to realize
that job markets dry up during the summertime. I finally got a job at Insurance
Services Office after Labor Day, after which I let Mom know in no uncertain
terms how I resented being hounded by her and Manny for not having found one
sooner. She realized she had hit a raw nerve and never got on me for going
jobless again, though Manny more than made up for it when I hit a couple of
rough spots over the next couple of years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Depression is one
of the most common ailments among society that is finally being addressed here
in the 21<sup>st</sup> century. Back in the day, one was simply seen as a lazy
bastard feeling sorry for themselves when they got caught in a rut. What people
back then failed to realize was the trauma people go through when they lose a
job, or a loved one, or whatever other blessing they might have. I’m a firm
believer in pulling oneself up by the bootstraps, but I’m also a seasoned
fighter who knows how hard it is to get up when slammed full-force to the
ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, ISO was
safe haven for four years, and if it wasn’t for the path the Lord had set for
me, I would have thought I should have stayed there over different points in
time. I met some good people there and had plenty of great times, but the best
of these were with Jerome Browne. He was a veteran who had been drafted off the
streets of Brooklyn and tossed onto the front lines in Vietnam. He wasn’t the
brightest bulb on the tree but had grown up quickly enough to find his way
around most situations. He liked my attitude and I loved having him at my side,
and he went along with just about anything I had in mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-66335158842780116842014-11-28T15:21:00.002-08:002014-11-28T15:21:09.573-08:00The End of the Butler Street Jets?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The day finally
came when I was able to prevail against Manny. It never actually happened but
came close enough. We got to roughhousing one night after carousing and I
nearly choked him out before releasing him as he tried tearing my hair out. As
with my Mom years earlier, I never followed up on it and never wanted to. It
was enough to know that I had reached that new level of advancement. Manny was
always considered one of the real tough guys in the ‘hood, and to have bested
him was a feather in my cap. I never told anyone of overcoming either of them
until many years later, more than likely as of this writing. Being able to
outwrestle your parents is no worthy achievement for anyone…unless your parents
happen to be as hardcore tough as mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One thing to
consider was the fact that Manny was a bad drunk and bullied me and the rest of
the family more than once while loaded. Although I never once considered any
form of comeuppance, I have to think that what goes around comes around
sometimes. Still, I always loved my Dad very deeply and always will, and would
have destroyed anyone who touched a hair on his head. Even after the Butler
Street Screwjob of ’04, if he’d have come back from the grave afterwards, I’d
have cursed him as a stupid son of a bitch before taking him to dinner as if
nothing happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Church, oddly
enough, was the reason why the remnant of the Jets fell apart. Mark was being
heavily brainwashed by Battle and was slowly becoming a religious loony before
our eyes. He lost his personality and actually grew hostile towards me for not
conforming like he and Israel and (so he thought) Ismael. Jose and Raul,
alternately, weren’t into the church scene and stopped accompanying us
altogether. Alma and Sonia remained solidly behind me but it was becoming more
and more obvious that we were no longer ideal candidates for the updated
version of the Dean Street Youth Group. We realized our time was up, but still
had enough of a yearning for the church life to seek greener pastures
elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Our last hurrah
came when Pastor Hawthorne took over Strong Place Baptist Church from Pastor
Cruz as interim pastor. He came in strong, organizing a youth group and
enrolling us in a church basketball league in Manhattan in which all the
churches sponsoring the summer camp participated. It was a welcome diversion
from Dean Street, and we spent more time working on our B-ball game than trying
to wreck each other playing football. Unfortunately we were far better at
football and got our butts handed to us in every single game. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a
transitional period during which the emphasis on sports in our lives was about
to be superseded by our new enthusiasm for music. Joe Namath, Derek Sanderson
and Superstar Billy Graham were about to make way for Lou Reed, Iggy Pop and
Alice Cooper. Football helmets, hockey sticks and wrestling costumes would be
replaced by mic stands, amplifiers and guitars as we found a new means of
self-expression in our lives. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One thing would
remain constant: though the cast of characters would change, our infrastructure
remained open to people who shared our vision of transcendence and redemption.
The Jets would give way to the Spoiler, which would evolve into the Ducky Boys,
but the spirit of camaraderie and the tradition of achievement would remain
eternal. Though few of us, such as Alma, Sonia, Ray Merced and I, would
experience it all, those who appeared in future episodes would agree that this
forever remained the case.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued..</i>.)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-74155209264925519182014-11-13T06:56:00.001-08:002014-11-13T06:56:17.131-08:00Scorpion Karate?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Just like with
Father George and the Catholics’ Sunday Mass mortal sin error, the major
disaster on Dean Street was Dan Battle being unable to explain Paul’s teaching
on marriage in the Epistles. I saw it as a glaring discrepancy which led me to
label Paul as a phony and blowhard. Of course, when one part of Scripture rings
untrue the rest falls like a house of cards. When Dan dropped the ball on this
one, my confidence in his religion shattered like a heart of glass. After my
own rededication in ’93, I would be able to knock this kind of rebuttal out of
the park. Unfortunately, the Holy Ghost didn’t give Dan the same gift of
evangelism that I would have years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">At any rate, Dan’s
game plan was to groom Israel to replace me as leader of the Youth Group, which
I doubt Israel would have been willing to do. When Israel left for seminary, he
decided Ismael would be the next Galvan to lead a flock. What he didn’t know
was what an ambitious little snake Ismael was. He was helping me plot to
undermine Dan at every step while running back and telling what I was up to.
Obviously Dan got the Pastor’s consent and held a vote to re-elect the Youth
Group members. Dan loaded the group with a bunch of the Cuban kids from downstairs
and suddenly, yours truly became yesterday’s news. What he did not consider was
the fact that Cuban kids grew up a lot quicker than American kids. As a result,
his new recruits weren’t in the group longer than it took to get married and
have babies. Rafael Carpio went from a peripheral member of the Youth Group to
a seat on the Board of Elders in less than a year!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sorry to say, but
Phillips’ organizational skills were non-existent. When I designed blueprints
for my church in ’96, I saw myself as Pastor alongside an Assistant Pastor who
would be the prayer leader, along with an outreach minister and a Bible School
supervisor. These are the cornerstones of the Church: the preacher, intercessor,
evangelist and teacher. Without these separate ministries receiving exclusive
attention, your Church will be unable to grow. Phillips had everyone and no one
wearing these hats at any given time, and it was a case of too many chiefs and
no Indians in the wigwam. I wouldn’t have thought of opening a Church without
someone securely holding each position. I can’t think of a time when Phillips
had one spot solidly filled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dean Street
Baptist Church may well serve as a paradigm for what ails the modern-day Church
in most communities. Many sectarians have lost sight of Paul’s vision in the
Epistles, and see the Church more as a community center than a house of worship
or Christian activism. This turns the Church into little more than a glorified
social club, and it not only robs the community of its inherent benefits but
earns their spite and derision in the long run. Instead of Christians going out
into the community to reach their neighbors and save souls, they co-exist in
their ivory-steepled churches that the outsider sees as daunting and
standoffish. Planted firmly amidst a minority community in Park Slope, Earl
Phillips didn’t have a whole lot going on that the neighborhood wanted a piece
of.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Looking back,
armed with the experience and knowledge of a lifetime along both sides of the
fence, I would have to say that Phillips’ and Battle’s fatal errors were fairly
obvious. In order to earn the admiration of young people you have to be able to
inspire them. We liked Earl and Dan but did not think of them as role models.
Alternately, we could sense that Sam Galvan was a pretty tough guy, and we
respected it. In my own case, Johnny Favorite always comes off as a cool dude
with young people, and I never had problems relating to them. I have always had
a solid relationship with youth groups and always expect to in future. It is one
major reason why the Spoiler is still able to remain relevant to the younger
generation after all these years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Alma, Sonia and I
pretty well left the flock after that. I remember Ismael was heavily channeling
Billy Jack, the movie character, around that time and fancied himself a karate
expert. He hooked up with another Caribbean ethnic, Hugo, who became his
disciple. I tried to talk Ismael into setting up a martial arts tournament at
the Church to showcase different skills. Of course, he and I both knew it was
an obvious subterfuge for me to kick his ass, and he was never going to make
that happen. Hugo was all for it, and we ended up meeting down the road with
embarrassing results for me – for all the wrong reasons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Hugo happened
across Scorpion Karate in ’73 when I was there for the long haul, and he began
running his mouth about his muse Ismael. This was not the right approach to an
egocentric guy like Alfonso Rivera. Still, he had enough class to refrain from
sending one of his top guns after Hugo, so gave me the job instead. He set Hugo
and me up for a sparring match, and I spent most of the time stalking him while
he did everything he could to keep me at bay. The class was having a ball
watching the cat-and-mouse game, but went hysterical when I finally closed in
on a fallen Hugo as he backpedaled into a wall. In desperation, Hugo grabbed my
pajama bottom to trip me up…and tore it from crotch to knee! The guys howled
with laughter as I retreated to the locker room to change back into my jeans.
Hugo made his point but never returned to Scorpion after that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Overall, I was
developing into a pretty tough guy though the Lord kept me well out of the loop
as regards any wrestling aspirations. Looking back at it, I could have easily
qualified for the ranks of the WWWF’s jobbers and worked my way up in time to a
mid-card spot or better. Ismael, Mark and I attended quite a few matches back
in the day and were always surprised to see how normal-sized the guys looked
outside the ring. Though the door remained closed, I continued improving my
skills for future use, and the time spent was a worthy investment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-70851457320813474022014-04-24T16:07:00.000-07:002014-04-24T16:12:48.238-07:00Leaving Dean Street?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Alma Merced lived
with her family at 278 Court Street, and they would prove to have the next big
impact on my life. Her dad Ramon used to sell refreshments out of his car at
the ballpark in Red Hook, and would park it on Butler Street now and again.
Ismael and I hated that car because he had coated a repair job with house
paint, provoking us to pelt the jalopy with eggs. I saw Alma hanging out with
the family at Columbia Park one day, and her figure captured my interest. We
got to chatting, and the Wilkies asked what I was doing with the girl with ‘the
Coke bottle glasses’. I was still barely making it with chicks after losing
Martha and Dinny, so I decided to overlook Alma’s handicap and ignore the
Wilkies. It turned out to be the beginning of one of the longest friendships of
my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sonia Martinez was,
along with Alma and their friend Yolanda, the triple threat at the Industrial
House of the Blind, which would soon play a major role in Spoiler history. Sonia
was the youngest of four siblings and was very much the coddled one. It lent
her an endearing princess quality which she maintains to this day. Yolanda was
as high-spirited as Alma but more pragmatic, and she fell into a childhood
romance with local boxing star Ruben Ortiz that led them to the altar. Even
though I never got to first base with her, she became the subject of one of the
Spoiler’s earliest original hits, “Yolanda Told Me”. Anyway, Alma introduced me
to Sonia around the time Ismael began his hostile takeover of the Dean Street
Youth Group. We broke away and began hanging out on our own, which sowed the
seeds of much of what would transpire later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My last fling at Dean
Street was June Carlson’s sister Leslie. She was a wayward child who was home
on leave from a halfway house when we first met. She was a Swedish Amazon like
her Mom, who probably topped the 300-pound mark, and June, who was as tall but
not as sturdily built. Leslie and I hit it off great but her Mom was not very
happy with someone who didn’t look like they were bringing her back to the path
of salvation. Plus, June decided to side with Ismael and Dan Battle in the
power struggle over the Youth Group, and she caught all the flak that I did not
want to bring down on those two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Leslie and I broke
up due to the fact that she was turned off by my constant role-playing while
hanging with the Jets. Either I was going off on my psycho wrestler routine
when ribbing the others over our upcoming BSWC showdown, or hamming it up along
with the radio as Alice Cooper’s hit song <i>School’s
Out</i> hit the airwaves. “You’re either a rock star or a wrestler, never
yourself,” she said as she gave me the brushoff. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately she
never realized that was exactly who I was, a rock star wrestler. She found that
out about three years later when she ran into Alma and I and came to a Spoiler
practice. It was a wild night, and the next morning I found her in bed with me.
I had lost about thirty pounds which she seemed to have gained, and our size
difference was so great that when I woke the next morning, I didn’t know where
to start. We remained good friends nonetheless, though I saw her one last time
in Brooklyn Heights a couple of years later as she was with a new beau and I
was with Luna. It was hi and bye, and I certainly hope she found what she was
looking for over the years. I’m sure she made someone a wonderful partner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was around 1971-72
when we made contact with Tito Rivera, who was friends with Ramon and had big
hopes for Ruben Ortiz, Yolanda’s beau. He ran the Columbia Street Boxing Club,
and we asked him if there was a chance of us having a wrestling show there
during an off-schedule time. To our surprise he agreed, and we held two shows
there before the group dissolved once and forever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The biggest regret
I had about the Columbia shows was that, after the second one, Tito asked us if
we’d like to have a match at his boxing show that evening. It was a great
opportunity but I was already scheduled to accompany my parents to a Veteran
Boxers’ Association dinner and dance. It was with typical naivete that I didn’t
even think of asking Tito to give us a rain check. I had fantasized about doing
a job with Spook long afterwards, and I’m sure we could’ve brought BSWC to the
next level if we had pursued the option. Unfortunately the Guzmans moved away
shortly thereafter, and when Israel took off for seminary, the BSWC would
become defunct for almost three decades thereafter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When Israel left
for the seminary, it left a void in the Youth Group that Dan Battle was
determined to patch with his own cloth. Dan was a Cuban national and a recent
seminary graduate who had been referred to Pastor Phillips by Sam Galvan for
the position of Youth Minister. Dan didn’t like what he saw when he got there,
largely because it was what it was, a hangout place for the Butler Street Jets.
His wife, Susan, was a nice enough person but was a real prude who did not like
me one bit. Her young cousin Priscilla began dating Ismael, and that stacked
the deck in his favor big time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">The fatal error at
Dean Street Baptist was the church politics that probably got the place
decommissioned (I never saw anyone led to Christ during my time there). Sam,
bless his heart, was virtually running the same kind of insurgency that he did
against Castro. He was always bragging about how he had a stronger following
among his Spanish basement congregation than did the Pastor with his American
flock upstairs. Earl Phillips, a Canadian, didn’t have a clue how to handle the
Brooklyn church family he had inherited.</span><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Plus he didn’t have the evangelical anointing I feel is a necessity in
leading a church. He was a good man and a good Christian, but as a Pastor I
credit him for allowing me to fall by the wayside for most of my young
adulthood.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When Israel left,
he left for good, severing all the mental and emotional ties in doing so. Dan
Battle drove us out one time to visit him and he was, indeed, a changed man. He
was cordial but kinda like one of the victims in <i>Invasion of the Body Snatchers</i>. Was it Israel or was it Memorex? He
seemed somewhat stressed by all the schoolwork, no doubt well on his way to a
4.0 average. Yet we realized that the old Israel was gone for good. It’s quite
possible that one of Ismael’s motivations to turncoat was Samuel’s ecstasy over
Israel’s progress. I went through the same thing when Lea Shithead went to
college. All my mother talked about was how great Lea was doing, while I was
fighting to keep the Ducky Boys alive in 1982. It irked the crap out of me, but
outside of lambasting my Mom for it during drunken tirades, I just took it in
stride. After all, seeing your kid through college is the American dream. Sadly
enough, when I earned my degree in 2002, it was like been there, done that. I
never even got a congratulations card.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued...</i>)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-80407181934122659252014-04-02T16:57:00.000-07:002014-04-02T16:57:25.563-07:00BSWC Revival?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">None of the rest
of the Galvan clan could hold a candle to Israel and Ismael. Lisette’s little
brother Johnny Straps had a short but lively career with the Jets, and he
became an excellent target for my short shotgun passes. He was much younger and
smaller than us, and never amounted to more than a utility player. Marilyn used
to come down and shoot hoops with us, and I took her on my side in a couple of
games to show off for her. A family friend, Rafael Carpio, came down one time
to play football with us. Being the bastard I was, I knocked him on his arse
and he never came back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One night Sam
invited me for a ride and told me he had a vision of me becoming a preacher. I
was very flattered but tried to explain to him the teenage angst I was
undergoing. I really didn’t know how to tell him that one remedy would have
been for him to hook me up with one of his nieces. Maybe he understood but
might not have thought it a good idea. At any rate, I told him I’d pray over it
and left it at that. I only wish he would have learned of what was ahead almost
twenty years later when I experienced my rededication to Christ. He would have
been an extremely proud man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">For the most part,
early on it was all about the friendly competition between the four of us based
on the sibling rivalry between Israel and Ismael. Israel was great competition
for me because he was book smart (and would go on to earn multiple doctorates
and become a successful author) and a powerhouse athlete. Ismael and I, on the
other hand, had a kindred spirit and complemented each others’ skills on the
playing field. Mark ended up gravitating towards Israel by default though we
remained close friends for years afterward. This pattern remained until the new
kids on the block came along and rearranged everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Maria Guzman moved
into the tenement across the street from 263 Court Street along with her Mom,
her dog Mota and her sons Victor, Jose, Raul and Mongo. They would come to have
another great impact on my life. Jose, like everyone else, it seemed, set his
sights on Lea, and she brought him to the house where we made friends. He ended
up becoming my biggest sports rival besides Israel, and unfortunately it was
such that we didn’t become as close personal friends as we could have. I’d have
to blame that on Jose, who had an inferiority complex and was under constant
pressure as the surrogate man of the house. I really liked the guy and was
disappointed that we lost contact after he moved away a couple of years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Victor, the oldest
son, was a lardass who fancied himself a slickster and had a penchant for cheap
wine and cocaine. Mark loved poking fun at him, and I had little time for him
though Jose defended him fiercely. Raul, the youngest son, was the clown of our
group and was always cutting up to our amusement. Mongo was a Mongolian idiot
who wandered around the house wearing only a woman’s frock. Needless to say, he
didn’t get out much. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Raul, or Chi Chi, was
the Clown Prince of the Jets. He had a perpetual grin on his face and was
always joking and goofing around. Of course, this made him the constant target
for ribbing, but all in all he took it in stride. His idol was Chief Jay
Strongbow, a mid-card babyface in the WWWF whose main claim to fame was a long
feud with…the Spoiler! Of course, the feud spilled over into the BSWC, and Raul
and I were constantly bickering and roughhousing as proxies for our heroes. We
eventually took it to the mat during the BSWC’s Columbia Street II event, and
it was the first and only jobbed match in the history of the BSWC, which I
handily won.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Next to Superstar
Billy Graham and the Road Warriors, Don Jardine was my all-time favorite
wrestler. He was 6’4”, 275 pounds, but had the agility of a cat (the one who
taught the Undertaker, Mark Calloway, his top-rope walk). His finisher, the
Iron Claw, was a gimmick used by another of my boyhood heroes, Fritz Von Erich.
He had a brief run with the WWWF before going down to the NWA in Florida and
enjoying a highly successful run during which he captured all the regional
titles he so richly deserved. The Spoiler passed away on December 16, 2006 from
leukemia, and I never miss the chance to tell people about the man who inspired
the rock band bearing his name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, since
we were shoot wrestling, I was applying the claw to my opponents’ temples,
causing great discomfort to one and all though never breaking the skin or
causing blackouts like the gimmicked TV claws. To be fair, Von Erich’s claw was
the real deal, and he clamped it on legendary San Antonio sportscaster Dan Cook
one day to prove its authenticity during a broadcast interview. Cook grabbed
Von Erich by the balls, and it was quite a struggle before the TV crew pried
the two apart. At any rate, I even bought a bowling ball glove that looked just
like Jardine’s, and before long Broadway Turk Superstar was very much the
BSWC’s Spoiler dupe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There was a
significant difference between the Star appearing at Columbia I and II. Izzy
and I dropped our tag team titles to Spook and Israel on the first show in what
was nearly a squash job. During the second, I had Alma Merced put some mascara
on for me, and the Glitter Rock Superstar took out Spook in short order despite
the packed house wishing otherwise. Wearing war paint during the early 70’s was
highly unorthodox for an athlete on any level, but I was always way ahead of my
time and it didn’t start or end at BSWC. I think it was one big reason why Alma
remained fascinated by her shithouse crazy friend throughout our lifetime
friendship.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-3468824357970306972014-03-29T14:38:00.001-07:002014-04-26T07:45:53.048-07:00My Hockey Life?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As it turned out,
the worst was yet to come. I made some inquiries at St. Francis College during
my senior year about their hockey team, and the guidance counselor hooked me up
with their team which met weekly at the Long Island Coliseum where the
Islanders played. Let me tell you, as badly as the Isles stunk in their pre-Cup
days, they would do nothing compared to what BT Superstar would do during his
tryout.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I’ll never forget
it was Israel who drove me out there on an hour-long haul for which he asked
not a cent. He watched in embarrassment as I went out on my figure skates and
did my flip-flop rubber ankle routine. Unbeknownst to me, one of my
schoolmates, Robert Lacey, was in the audience as well. He was a big strapping
Irishman who reminded me a lot of Bobby Orr during our Loughlin hockey games.
Lacey decided to inquire and, as in turned out, became a welcome addition to
the Terriers’ hockey club.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The difference in
my second coming on ice was the sheer desperation with which I approached. I
was in my early fifties and knew that I had a snowball’s chance in hell of
going anywhere, but realized that I had never had a chance to find out where
the playing skill the Lord had provided could have taken me. The difference was
that at 240 pounds, with a 350-pound bench press and a 485-pound squat, as well
as two brown/black belts to my credit, intimidation was going to be a
non-factor in my opponents’ regard. I would have broken anyone across my knee
as easily as a hockey stick. Unfortunately, everyone saw me coming and decided
they did not want or need that in their fantasy hockey microcosm. After a
season and a half of play at the Waukonis Ice Center, both players and
officials alike decided to blackball me from their Mickey Mouse league.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">What will forever
stick in my craw was the weasel who did me in, Joe Lynch. He had been sucking
up to Islanders’ legend Ken Morrow, who lived in the area and came to the rink
regularly. I was dying to meet Morrow, inasmuch as the Isles were our heroes
during their Stanley Cup reign and I knew everything about them, even after
twenty years. I also knew that Morrow could assess my skills and give me advice
as to whether I could create my own miracle on ice just as he and the US
Olympic Team did against the Russians in 1980. Unfortunately, Lynch was
insanely jealous of my ability, largely due to our closeness in age. He was a
beat-up bag of shit who could barely skate, while I had his entire crew hearing
skates behind them when I was on the ice. Lynch railroaded me out of the
league, along with any chances I had of meeting Morrow and fulfilling a
possible destiny. <i>Que sera, sera.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I always knew deep
down that brute force is, was, and will always be the deciding factor in all
sports. The bigger and stronger team or individual will always win provided
there is not a major discrepancy in the level of skill. Back then, I knew that
I would get my arse handed to me for playing the kind of hockey game I did on
Columbia Street. One of Dad’s friends from the Veteran Boxers actually sat next
to Bobby Orr on a plane trip. They hit it off well, and he later told Dad that
he might have been able to arrange having me sent to one of Orr’s training
camps. I realized this was not an option because I didn’t have the necessary
skills or the muscle to back it up. Over two decades later, I developed both in
my own time, at a point in my life when most of what I had left was time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was too bad as
far as football was concerned. I was an above average quarterback in that I had
developed the skill of my hero Joe Namath in reading defenses and calling
audibles in a day and age when it was virtually unheard-of. I also had a great
shotgun short pass that Manny had helped me refine out on the street. I was
also a decent runner though not good enough to make the Loughlin track team. My
long pass was average though I could always put the ball on the money within my
range. On defense I played middle linebacker, and I could read offenses plus
make people pay for coming down my lane as a headhunting tackler. I was also a
great pass defender and was the one guy Ismael and Spook Guzman could not beat.
Of course, it was not meant to be, but I’m sure I could’ve contributed heavily
to any football team had the opportunity presented itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As a hockey player
I had above average skills in every facet of the game. Regrettably, as time
went on, my size and strength gains came in forfeit of my speed. When I
returned to Columbia Street hockey in ’75 at 185 pounds, my days as a speedster
were long over. I was forced to depend on my hitting ability and my skills as a
shooter and playmaker to compensate. Unfortunately for all concerned, I was
carrying forty extra pounds and they packed a brutal wallop. When I took my
last shot at the game in 2009, I came in at 240 pounds and was the terror of the
league. It was a different day and age, however, and this carnivore got tossed
out on his butt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Basketball was one
game that helped us stay in top shape, even though we were far too short to
make it count anywhere outside of the schoolyard. I fancied myself another
Pistol Pete Maravich, having incorporated some of my hockey moves in eluding
defenders while dribbling. We were all at about the same skill level, and our
games were highly competitive though I daresay that Ismael and I won way more
games than Israel and Mark did. In all fairness, Spook Guzman was probably the
best of us, though I fought him tooth and nail in every game (basketball or
otherwise) that we played.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...) </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-87751692587053490722014-03-18T14:04:00.000-07:002014-03-18T14:12:29.027-07:00Finding My Libido?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was about this
time that I came to terms with my manhood and my sexuality. Let me start out by
saying that, as an artist, Manny was not ashamed of exposing the female body.
He had one of his nude paintings over our living room TV set at 14 Butler,
which was the first thing one spotted when they came through the apartment
door. When we moved to our new house, Manny chose the small vestibule between
the living room and kitchen to hang his Playboy calendar. Unfortunately it was
just off to the left of the bathroom door (and I’m glad Pastor Phillips never
needed to use the restroom during his visit one time!). He also kept a few
adult mags by his bedside, which I eagerly flipped through when my parents were
out. My Mom never had a problem with these, being quite liberal in the sex
department in her own right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I’m not placing
blame here since, quite frankly, the Butler Aces contributed heavily to my
education in the sex department, as did my advanced reading skills that allowed
me to go through the entire collection of Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels. What
I will say is that the home should be the sanctuary and the primary learning
place where a child finds guidance in avoiding the evils of the wicked world.
You can’t shield a child from what is on the street, but you can teach them the
difference between right and wrong. You leave enough temptation lying around
the house, and a kid will eventually go outside to find where the real deal is
available.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The Figueroa sisters were far too street-wise
to let anyone get past first base. I had a brief interlude with a sweet Italian
girl named Luann Pellegrino on my thirteenth birthday which got me to third
base but, no cigar. Loaded with testosterone and surging with hormone
imbalances, I was looking for female companionship and found plenty of it at
the Freehold retreat. I came home with a couple of hot phone numbers, and
within days the hunt was on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dinelia Cruise was
Nitza’s older sister, and we took to chatting on the phone for long hours when
I began calling the number given to me at camp. We arranged a blind date a
couple of weeks later, and Ismael was delighted that he’d gotten the better of
the deal, or so he thought. Dinny was
about twenty pounds overweight and had a faint darkening on her upper lip that
stuck out to me like a sore thumb at the time. Unfortunately for Ismael, Nitza
dropped him like a hot rock, and I tried to get back with her behind Dinny’s
back to no avail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dinny and I
started hanging out together and I spent lots of time ribbing her. She was dead
serious about losing weight, though, and one afternoon she was at a Jets’
football game when suddenly it was pouring rain. Everyone ran home but Dinny
and I, and I had my arm around her in a gentlemanly way. When we got home,
suddenly I saw her in a way I’d never seen her before. With that long wet hair,
that rain-scrubbed face and her sopping clothes hugging her figure, she turned
into Isabel Sarli. At once our friendship evolved into a torrid affair, and we
lost our virginity together one morning shortly thereafter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Unfortunately
Dinny’s conscience began bothering her, and she was distraught that I had told
her I was destined to marry a German girl (which I did, twice). She had become
friends with Lea, who invited her to spend a weekend that promised to closely
resemble <i>Goodbye Columbus</i>. She called
at the last minute to tell me she didn’t want to see me anymore, and I blew her
off with injured pride without even asking why. We never spoke or saw one
another again, and I can only surmise it was the Lord’s will. I’m sure she grew
up to be a wonderful Christian woman and I pray all turned out for the best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My athletic
abilities were really starting to blossom though my big mouth (a byproduct of
my chronic insecurity) tended to quench the admiration of more than a few
onlookers. To be fair, I must admit that I had a realistic perspective on my
limits and never pushed the envelope farther than I was able to. For one thing,
I was painfully aware that at 147 pounds, I was nowhere near the competitive
level at Loughlin that I was on Butler Street. In other words, I was the
proverbial big fish in the small pond. I knew that my football skills were
insufficient to pursue a career on any level, and I gave up my wrestling dream
until fifteen years later. I had hoped that hockey would have been my
salvation, but my hopes were dashed during a humiliating tryout with the St.
Francis Terriers hockey team during my senior year. I would not resolve that
issue until returning to the ice over thirty-five years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Actually, my first
experience with ice hockey was quite paradoxical. First off, my Mom and I
decided to buy me a pair of figure skates which I only got to use once or twice
at the Prospect Park skating rink, which was the only place the Butler Street
Blues ever got to test their skill. My ignorance was so comprehensive that I
did not even know the skates needed to be sharpened. Somehow I got away with a
couple of sessions at the Park, most likely due to the fact that the ice was so
bad that any sort of blades would have sufficed. It was a couple of years later
as the Osborns passed through our lives that I got a taste of pond hockey, and
as I said, I had no idea what I would be capable of or could expect out on Long
Island with the Terriers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Susan and Pete
Osborne bought the Sosas’ home at 16 Butler Street, and they were quite a sight
indeed. They were prototypical yuppies, the type who had probably forsaken
hippiedom in setting out on a vision quest in the business world. Lea got
friendly with them and began babysitting for their son Jono, then their newborn
daughter shortly thereafter. I got chatty with Susan as we had a couple of
political conversations, though I quickly found we were on opposite sides of
the fence. I made pals with Jono, and he soon became the new Blues mascot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Susan had quite a
pair of legs, a shapely figure and a sharp tongue to match. She spoke her mind
on no uncertain terms and became a witch after Tabitha was born when loiterers
made enough noise to disrupt the baby’s naptime. I recall Kenny Reyes wanting
to throttle her on numerous occasions after tongue-lashings but nothing came of
it. Nevertheless, the Osborns had enough of Butler Street in time and decided
to relocate upstate to Garrison NY. They bought a beautiful home with its own duck
pond on the acreage and invited me to come visit. I took the Amtrak out there
and got my first taste of pond hockey that winter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Let me tell you,
on the Osborns’ duck pond my visions of hockey fame and fortune came to life
with a vengeance. I was skating like a fiend, pulling all my twists, turns and
pirouettes with little ado. A few of Jono’s friends playing with us were
enthralled and could not wait to see what I would be capable of doing at the
big neighborhood pick-up game on the frozen lake that next day. I went to sleep
in fantasyland that night, ready to set their hicktown on its ear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Let me tell you,
pride goeth before a fall, and with my unsharpened blades causing my ankles to
buckle, I did a lot of falling that next day. It was the best ice I had ever
skated on, like a big sheet of glass, and my blades slid across them like
butter knives. I wouldn’t look that bad again until over thirty-five years
later in Kansas City, and it was about as humiliating an experience as I
thought I could endure.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued...</i>)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-72779196166221135762014-03-08T13:17:00.000-08:002014-03-08T13:17:22.897-08:00Born Again?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">BSWC came back to
life in the summer of 1970. I had drifted away from the Wilkies during that
time just as the Yodels had distanced themselves from me for our differences
towards oncoming maturity. Once it grew too hot to play football, I had the
idea of having a wrestling tournament to select a new Butler Street Wrestling
Club champion. I can’t remember who came out on top between Mark and Ismael,
but Israel and I made short work of them going into the finals. At long last I
got to unleash the Iron Deathlock, and even Israel’s great strength was no
match for my great and terrible hold. I had become the fourth BSWC champion, a
title I would hold for thirty-four years until my father’s death in 2004. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dean Street
Baptist Church became our new gathering place as Samuel was determined to bring
us into his new fold. There didn’t seem to be any way around it if we wanted to
keep the Jets together; Samuel hauled the boys off for every church meeting, no
questions asked. After my Catholic beliefs crashed and burned during my
freshman year at Loughlin, I wasn’t against the idea of getting my religious
beliefs back on track. Besides, my Mom was a Baptist, so my parents’ mixed
marriage helped to facilitate the transition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Pastor Earl
Phillips was a pretty good fellow as preachers went, but I don’t think he was
aptly suited to run a crew in a Brooklyn tenement area. He was a Canadian, and
he had a passion for the great outdoors, which benefitted us on one great
camping trip he took us on. He just couldn’t understand the urban adolescent
mind, and though he tried hard he just couldn’t win us over. His help wasn’t
much better, with Bob Fernandez (a borderline sissy) and Jack Wacker, an
old-time Bible thumper, as his right-hand men. And, of course, Samuel, who was
champing at the bit to start his own crew and be rid of Phillips. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One thing to
remember was that Samuel had his own crew at Strong Place Baptist Church (the
same street where I hooked up with the Wilkies). He was not happy to have lost
his building for whatever reason, but he didn’t take it with the Christian
spirit required of a pastor. Instead of deferring to Phillips, there was an
undercurrent of competition that was not lost on the rest of us. We were Sam’s
Kids, and in our shallowmindedness, we constantly poked fun at what we saw as the
‘competition’ at every opportunity. It’s easy enough to blame Sam, but I
believe that Earl was just a bad coach on a bad team.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">They certainly did
try their very best, and at one point they succeeded far beyond their
expectations. They set us up for a trip to a Youth Conference in Freehold NJ
under the auspices of Daniel Hawthorne, who had invited a few other
Spanish-speaking churches to attend. It was at this rally that I was ‘born
again’ as a Christian soldier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Hawthorne was a
true leader and a figurehead in the Hispanic church network. Though he was an
Anglo, he spoke good Spanish (with his American accent) and could deliver a
strong sermon in either language. The way things worked out, Samuel had turned
the Strong Place church (relocated to Court Street) over to Omar Reyes, who
ceded it in turn to Hawthorne about a year later. At first we bumped heads with
Hawthorne at the camp, but when he took over Strong Place Church we developed a
mutual respect. He understood street kids much better than Phillips. He didn’t
try to criticize or judge us, and we respected that. Moreover, he knew that
change comes over time, and it certainly did for all of us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, we went up
there with our wise-ass Jets attitude, and quickly set ourselves apart from the
rest. What turned into an enormous advantage was football. We began recruiting
the kids in Cabin C where we were assigned, and soon we had a kickass team
assembled. One thing in our favor that there was a large number of soccer
players on board who had no problem running for long periods of time chasing
loose balls. We taught them basic patterns and catching techniques, and soon I
had an arsenal of weapons available for our pickup games.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Hawthorne had
arranged a number of athletic competitions during the week, and closing them
out with an American football game was a natural. I’m not sure how it came to
pass, most likely because of my big mouth, but it turned out that they matched
Cabin C against a team of recruits from the rest of the camp. This not only
included campers but the adult counselors! I was so full of piss and vinegar I
cared less, but at game time, I realized I was in for the challenge of my young
career.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Poor Israel ended
up the worse for wear at center, having to spend the afternoon blocking Oscar
Reyes. He was one of the youth ministers, a lanky heavyweight who was after me
like a cat on a rat. I spent half the game picking my ass off the grass until I
finally decided the only way out was to put the ball in the air as soon as
Israel hiked it to me. This enabled Ismael and my other high-flyers to go
cherry-picking throughout the second half, giving us the game with a decisive
scoring edge. Ismael and the team tossed me into the swimming pool afterwards,
and I was quite the big man on the campground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Being in a coed
environment allowed my star to shine as never before, and soon there were girls
around whose attention I could attract. One of these was Nitza Cruz, a
beautiful Puerto Rican girl from Broadway Baptist Church who sat with her
friends at our lunch table. Nitza and I got chummy, though she was very shy and
not much on a conversational level. We exchanged numbers and made plans to hook
up after the retreat, but as it turned out, I ended up with two romances for
the price of Nitza.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Martha Suarez was
a lovely Ecuadorian girl who had just come over to America along with her
extended family, and was living in the Bronx where they attended Fremont
Baptist Church. She was at the Youth Camp at Freehold NJ along with her sister,
her cousin Clara, and other members of their church’s youth group. We got to
talking one morning at prayer meeting, and it was almost a prelude to what
would happen with Neysa Flores decades later. We ended up taking a long walk
down the road together and ran smack into Mr. Hawthorne in his station wagon.
He reminded us in no uncertain terms that camp rules confined us to the
campgrounds, and, no <i>parejas</i> (pairs)
allowed! Naturally, that didn’t keep us from bringing our groups together for
the evening fellowship. I had Nitza sitting to my right and Martha to my left,
and though I was the envy of every guy in the place, Nitza decided to bow out
of the competition and left Martha as the last girl standing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On the last night
of the retreat, Julio Nieves delivered a tremendous sermon in a last-minute
attempt to bring us to Jesus. He spoke no English, but whatever he said acted
as a Holy Ghost-driven battering ram to the heart. I remember getting all
choked up and asking Martha to help me along, and the next thing I knew I was
standing before the bonfire giving my soul to Christ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There are defining
moments in one’s life that act as clear milestones along their charted course,
and unquestionably this was the most important in mine. It was at this juncture
that I considered myself born again, and though my baptism at Dean Street was
somewhat of a charade, it was a confirmation of what had happened in Freehold. It
would be about two decades before I underwent a truly profound spiritual
transformation that actually surpassed it. At that point in time, however, I
was on the rocky road and determined that I would not stumble to the wayside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As you will see,
there were quite a few pitfalls that helped define the journey of a lifetime.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-29295173389416739302014-02-26T17:06:00.001-08:002014-02-26T17:06:10.578-08:00Urban Legend?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mark, the Galvans
and I were inseparable for that short span, which lasted little over a year
though proving one of the most eventful times in our adolescence. The Butler
Street Jets made quite a name for themselves in the ‘hood as kings of the
gridiron, and they established a vital link between the Butler Street Wrestling
Club of the Reyes-Yodice era and the BSWC of the 21<sup>st</sup> century. We
had also secured our position as the dominant force on the block, prevailing
against the Yodels for the Butler Aces’ legacy and holding our place intact
until the rise of the Spoiler a couple of years later. Though we’ve lost
contact over the years, it’s one of my fondest memories and I’ll never forget
them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was about fourteen
years old in the Summer of ’69 when I decided I had to create an enduring image
for myself that would hold fast throughout the turbulence of my teen years, and
hopefully beyond. The other hockey players at Loughlin and on the Stars were
calling me Turk (after my Derek Sanderson Bruins #16 jersey), so that seemed a
plausible option. I was still referring to myself as Broadway Joe on the
asphalt field playing football with Mark and the Galvans. So, I decided, why
not Broadway Turk? It had a magic ring but needed a finishing touch, and the
inspiration came from my favorite rock opera of all time, the new sensation
“Jesus Christ Superstar”. Begging the Lord’s forgiveness, Broadway Turk
Superstar was born, and I immediately stenciled it onto my hockey stick where
it somehow lasted for over twenty years. The name and the character, as you can
see, did endure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The Yodels moved
to Long Island that summer after a couple of skirmishes that indicated Ginny
may have avoided a blood feud should they have lingered much longer. One time
they staged a ride-by on their road bikes and fired paper clips at me, Mark and
the Galvans. We responded with a barrage of empty soda bottles that ran off the
Yodelss and left the street covered with broken glass. Another time Paulie came
around and got in an argument with Ismael, who punched him in the face. There
was a sitdown between our cliques but nothing came of it. Finally, John came by
one time and trapped Israel’s arms in a rear waistlock. They tussled briefly
and I think Israel’s strength made an impression. Then, one day, poof, they
were gone. I wouldn’t hear from them until Spoiler VI at Los Panchos about
seven years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The winter of ’69
was when I established myself as the greatest hockey player of the decade in
South Brooklyn. Even though my best weight was 147 (as listed on my draft
card), I was like greased lightning on wheels. I had an instinct for the game
matched only by my hockey skills. I also loved to hit and could give and take
better than the rest. I made contact with the Wilkies and ended up joining
their team, which we soon began calling the Stars. I played center on their
second-string line as a matter of choice, selecting Steven Duffy and Julio
Gary, a black kid, as my linemates. In a short time we were outplaying their
first line which featured Anthony and Peter Vega, another of their best players
who was also one of their football mainstays. I scored countless goals and
leveled just about every player on the team that first year, establishing a
reign of terror patterned after the Big Bad Bruins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was on that
fifteenth birthday when my Mom consented as I embarked on a lifelong pattern of
substance abuse. I pulled all the strings and pushed all the buttons to get her
to agree that I should be allowed to have some liquor at the party. To be fair,
one’s fifteenth birthday is often considered a rite of passage in many
cultures. Only she should have realized that, coming from an alcoholic Mom and
a borderline alkie Dad, and having an Irish-Spanish bloodline and a willful
spirit to boot, she exposed me to far greater risk than a responsible parent
should have. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Taking sole
ownership of Butler Street resulted in a testosterone explosion amongst the
Butler Street Jets, as we now called ourselves. Israel grudgingly butted heads
with me like a couple of rams at every opportunity, as did Ismael and Mark. We
went from touch football to British Bulldog, and after we tore almost a whole
wardrobe of T-shirts from each others’ back, we decided our best option would
be to take it up to Memorial Park and the football field. It was there that we
came into our own and truly set out on our individual paths to manhood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued...</i>)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-90618707898788567352014-02-17T10:52:00.002-08:002014-02-17T10:52:30.973-08:00Columbia Park Chaos?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I redeemed myself
at Loughlin on the intramural hockey team. The Rangers were in a rabid playoff
series against the Boston Bruins that spring, and their top enforcer, Derek
Sanderson, became the new ‘someone I loved to hate’. Just like Von Erich, I
became fascinated by this new rogue and eventually began channeling the Bruins’
Wild Child. Sure enough, I showed up at Loughlin on game day wearing
Sanderson’s No. 16. Although everyone assured me I was a goner, all that came
of it was my new nickname: Turk, after Sanderson himself. So, now you know.
Actually, I wasn’t the only one enchanted by the Terrible Turk. Not many people
realize that the New York Yankees’ All-Star shortstop was named after the
Bruins’ center: Derek Sanderson Jeter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">John Yodels and I
had gone permanently on the outs by then. Harold eventually turned on me and
joined John to become my bitter rivals. Both of them realized during my Nazi
episode that I wasn’t about to get bullied anymore. John was always the cunning
type and probably saw how things would end up in a power struggle on Butler
Street. I didn’t have that foresight, and was still thinking of them as the
Wild Bunch, like the new Peckinpah movie. Only I wasn’t the gang leader
anymore, and became a lone wolf for a while before building a new crew of my
own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> As the Yodels began expanding their sphere of
influence, taking their bully act to Douglass and Degraw Streets, I became more
withdrawn and spent time riding my three-speed around the neighborhood.
Eventually I began building my leg strength and endurance, unbeknownst to me,
until my crossover into adolescence and the resulting testosterone rush began
manifesting itself in unheralded episodes of brashness. I was backtalking all
the neighborhood bullies to their consternation and soon making a new mark on
the sports field. Things changed forever at the beginning of hockey season #3,
when I ushered in our checking era by knocking Harold on his ass. He left the
team shortly afterward and I became the new cock on the walk, so to speak. I
kept the team going and remained the big fish in the little pond until the
Strong Place All-Stars drifted along.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Anthony and Robert
Wilkie were blond-haired, heavy-set twins living on Strong Place who were a lot
like a pair of Baby Hueys. I found out later that they had played in a band
with Ed Colander before turning their focus on sports. Around the time I had
met them they had developed quite a reputation west of Court Street, so it was
natural that our twains would meet. They saw us playing one afternoon and introduced
themselves, asking if we would like to play against their team on Strong Place
sometime. I readily obliged, setting the stage for a momentous home-and-home
series.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">During the first
game it was pretty much Turk vs. the All-Stars, and I learned a hard lesson
about the necessity of wearing groin protectors on the playing field. Lacking
anyone worthy of passing the puck to, my entire strategy revolved around firing
the puck up the court and using my speed to beat everyone to it. The Stars
began adopting the tactic, and one of their best players, Peter Vega, let a
wrist shot fly that caught me square in the groin. Bear in mind that we were
still using ice hockey pucks instead of the plastic iceless pucks. That put an
extended halt to the game until I somehow managed to skate it off. We got beat
pretty bad, and invited them to Butler Street for a rematch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">That game was
pretty much the last hurrah for the Blues. We threw everything at them but the
kitchen sink, including a one-skated Harold Yodels, who couldn’t play on two
skates anymore. We ended up winning 4-2, which included a controversial goal
strenuously upheld by our referee, Anthony Scala, and lineman Richie Aceto. The
Wilkies weren’t happy when they went back to Strong Place, but were elated
weeks later when I told them the Blues had disbanded and I wanted to join the
Stars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> We got pretty close during the one season I
played on Strong Place. They say that twins look alike but often have different
personalities, and this was the case here. Robert, who I got along with very
well, was easy-going and playful. Anthony, who grew very resentful of me over
time, was competitive and goal-oriented. While I was playing center, he and I
and Peter Vega were unstoppable as linemates. I got bored with the monopoly game
and decided to move back to defense, teaming up with Robert as the Maginot
Line.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The games grew far
too competitive for Strong Place to contain, so we moved the team to Columbia
Park along the waterfront. It gave me a chance to open up, and the games grew
extremely competitive as I was blazing up and down the court at breakneck speed
skating rings around everyone and everything. Unfortunately, I had adopted the Bruin
mentality, and I got chippier as the season wore on. Robert, who was a standout
football player, liked to hit as well and we constantly schemed on catching our
opponents in cross-blocks and sandwich jobs. At other times, it would turn into
shooting matches between Anthony, Pete and I, who had the heaviest shots on the
team.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Socially, we spent most of our time managing our
fantasy hockey league, which consisted of about five different board games, one
of which I created myself. I was maturing rapidly, however, and the wanderlust
that would possess me for most of my life began to take hold of me. I tired of
sitting around the house and wanted to take long walks, which wasn’t the
Wilkies’ cup of tea. By the end of hockey season, we went our separate ways,
and I started hanging out with Mark Roman again. Only this time, he had made
friends with a couple of newcomers, the Galvan brothers. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued...</i>)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-61803118739498944652014-01-26T13:43:00.000-08:002014-01-26T13:43:18.353-08:00Hitler Youth?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My football days began
on the afternoon when a precocious rookie quarterback, Joe Namath, shocked the
sports world as deeply as Muhammed Ali years ago in guaranteeing a victory over
the feared Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III that Winter of ‘68. My first teen
romance with Christine Jurczak was in full bloom, and she and her chaperoning
Mom were on hand along with Harold as we all began to realize that Joe Willie
was leading the Jets to a world-class upset. Harold and I had been shanghaied
into games from time to time but now, as adolescents, street football would
soon become a new Butler Street tradition. For me, the Jets had become the
Knights of the Round Table and Broadway Joe their Lancelot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was during the
Spring of ’68 when my insecurity would lead to the manifestation of an
exquisite self-defense strategy that would, unfortunately, resurface at
different times throughout my life. Over the winter, having read all the
Sherlock Holmes books in the Loughlin library, I began reading about Nazi
Germany. Let me point out that, fundamentally, I was anything but a neo-Nazi.
Our best family friend, Baron Sanders, who I would’ve given my life for, was a
Russian Jew. Plus, the SS philosophy as dictated by Heinrich Himmler had become
increasingly anti-Christian. My whole spin was on the Aryan ‘superman’ concept.
It was just another way for me to be Superman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">What set the game
in play was the return of Waldo Von Erich to the WWF. He had been one of my
heroes when I first discovered wrestling, but as a Storm Trooper he became
someone I loved to hate. After he left the WWF, it hit me with one of the
‘aftershocks’ I would experience throughout my life in picking up on concepts
after the fact. I began channeling Von Erich and astounding both my schoolmates
and friends in the ‘hood with this weird heel turn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Paulie bore the
brunt of this aberration, taking a few licks from the wooden spike I toted in
imitating Waldo’s swagger stick. Ginny blew a fit and I got a dressing down
from Bobby, but nothing came of it. In retrospect, I think it was comeuppance
for their failure to intervene as Harold bullied me over the years. Up the
block, most people thought I lost my marbles. Ismael fashioned a swastika lapel button for me which was not making friends or influencing people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This angle played
out at Loughlin, where the black kids were getting fed up with the racial
overtones of my routine. One kid named Moorehead began baiting me in Maryanne
Montesano’s class (fittingly enough!), and when we squared off, Mike Jensen
rose to the occasion. He caught me in a headlock in the locker room after class
and I tapped out, largely because the whole thing had ballooned way out of
proportion. Mike and I made friends afterwards and my days as a neo-Nazi came
to an end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Maryanne was
another one of my fantasy girls. She had just started teaching at Loughlin and
came on as a real hardcase until the guys finally saw through her. After that,
they put her through the wringer. My big angle, going back to Religion class,
was being able to use class time for my ‘special project’, which was working on
one of my manuscripts, <i>Carole and Butch. </i>I
met with her on that and she agreed to let me work outside of class in the
school newspaper office, <i>The Loughlinite.
</i>They had even given me a key to go in and use the typewriters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The novel was
about a juvenile delinquent falling in love with a neighborhood girl and going
off along with friends on an interstate crime spree. Maryanne would meet with
me once a week after class and she would spend time editing the manuscript. She
always wore dresses to class and had an awesome pair of legs. When she took off
her shoes while reading my work, my heart skipped a beat! Of course, she was
way out of my class but it didn’t keep me from fantasizing. I went back to
Loughlin for a visit with Al Catraz when he first joined the Spoiler as a high
school senior, and she seemed pleased to see me when I stopped by. Of course, I
was as from another planet at that stage, so that was the end of my aspiration
for more Montesano time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ironically enough,
it was Maryanne who kept me from getting class honors in English upon
graduation. When she came in playing hardball, I got hit with a mid-80’s score
during my first semester under her. It was hard to believe that the one low
score could have cost me so dearly, but when all was said and done, it was
enough to drag my score down enough to lose the top ranking. It would have been
overcompensation for her and the Department to have helped solicit my
manuscript as an upcoming young author, but that didn’t happen either. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Looking back at
the Jensen incident, it did a lot to help reconcile the xenophobia of my
earlier days that I had mentioned. People tend to fear things they don’t
understand, and in demonizing different races, religions and creeds they turn
them into larger-than-life bogeymen. Once you start trying to understand the
other person you start realizing how much you actually have in common with
them. For one, the biggest bullies are the people who are the most insecure.
They feel they have to overwhelm others in order to gain their respect. This is
why lots of minorities group together in gangs, using the power of numbers to
assert themselves amidst the majority. When white people feel threatened, they
also seek out those of like mind in order to retaliate against those they are
afraid of. Once I learned that black people were no threat to me, my xenophobia
was cured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Another
altercation with a black fellow helped improve my perspective and self-image
after the Jensen affair. Roddy Hasson, the son of the Negress cashier at the
Cobble Hill Theatre, was making big noise one night after having words with Lea
that continued on with Jesus Figueroa as the three were hanging out at the
theatre. Apparently Jesus escalated the issue into a question of messing with
Lea’s big brother, and Roddy announced he was more than glad to face the
challenge. Needless to say, within minutes we were throwing down right in the
middle of Butler Street. It was a matter of one being unable to fight and the
other glad he couldn’t, and after about a half hour we agreed on a draw. It
made me feel better about the Jensen loss and helped me improve my position on
race relations. Guys like Mike and Roddy proved to me that young men of
character came in all races, colors and creeds.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-29525223517816411282014-01-25T14:24:00.004-08:002014-01-25T14:24:26.122-08:00Loughlin Days?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Another new arrival on the block was the Galvan
Family, and they would have an even greater impact with lasting repercussions. Ismael
Galvan was a skinny little kid who I nicknamed Gopher during the Summer of ’68
because of his resemblance to a cartoon character who wore a baseball cap and
sunglasses like he did. He liked to play catch with Mark and we soon began
putting stickball games together. He had a short fuse, though, and one time he
came at me and I ended up bitch-slapping him. He disappeared after that and I
didn’t see him again until next summer, when he and I joined forces to create
the Butler Street Jets football club as well as becoming the first BSWC Tag Team
Champions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">By the time Fall
’68 rolled around I was in the midst of another personality crisis. John was
going to John Jay High School and spoke little about it. Looking back, he may
have been dealing with as much turmoil as I, and resorted to bullying and
pranksterism back in the ‘hood as a way of coping. I was still channeling the
Sheik (and sometimes his manager, the garrulous Grand Wizard) as one of the
real ‘characters’ in my freshman class, with a fun-loving Irishman named John
Hickey acting as my foil. On the home front, Harold and I were still friends
but it was evident that we were beginning to drift in different directions as
our tastes and attitudes grew more adolescent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">John Hickey and I
hit it off from the beginning, but unfortunately our friendship didn’t develop
any further than constantly ribbing one another. I also made friends with a
black kid, Mike Hanson, who learned of my xenophobia during a couple of
classroom discussions and backed off as a result. He embraced the black
activist movement thereafter and left some disturbing remarks on his senior
yearbook profile which I hope weren’t inspired by yours truly at any time.
Ribbing was part and parcel of the growing-up process at Loughlin, and one of
my fiercest ribbing pals, Ivan Zamora, also became a good friend. He actually
came out to visit Butler Street once though he had his own life and the twain
was not going to meet with us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Two other good
friends were Rich Mc Curry and Remus Labutis, both of who were hockey players
at Loughlin. Rich came out and played a marathon game one afternoon with the
Stars on Columbia Street. Remus invited me to his neighborhood for a highly
competitive (though non-hitting) game, after which we watched the Rangers on TV
with his Dad. I made quite a few friends during my time at Loughlin, and only
wished I had been more involved with campus activities that would have created
fonder memories and a richer history of scholastic accomplishment.
Unfortunately, most of my time was consumed by the Jets, but my stardom on the
street far exceeded anything I could have achieved at Loughlin. Looking back, I
can see how the Lord made everything work out to perfection according to His
purpose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Another close
friend was Pete Halpin, a second-generation Irishman who had a fantastic
personality, an incredible character and a serious drinking problem. We got
together during my senior year and he came to the house a few times for
drinking sessions, football games and just hanging out together. Unfortunately,
his problem was far greater than anyone suspected, and the last couple of times
I saw him on campus he was totally plastered. I never knew what brought his
demons on, and I only hope he found victory through Christ and is enjoying a
happy and prosperous life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">(To be continued...)</span></b></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-72723557731079645662013-12-21T13:12:00.001-08:002013-12-21T13:16:09.874-08:00Manny and the Mob?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Manny was always
hobnobbing with Mob guys, all because of his rep as a 50’s boxing star. Mimi
London, a capo with the Colombo Family, gave me a red-marked silver dollar as a
child, which I was to return after my eighteenth birthday. Unfortunately, one
of Lea Shithead’s druggie friends robbed Manny’s and snatched the coin, so
there went my chances to join the Mob. Another big name was Toddo Marino, who
owned a restaurant in Bay Ridge and loved having Manny and his friends from the
Veteran Boxers’ Association come by. I didn’t think much of it until he was
shown on the Gambino family tree in the HBO movie, <i>Gotti</i>, during the 90’s. Two others who would be seen around the
Mafia bar, Angelo’s, where my parents hung out on Court Street were Crazy Joe
Gallo and Tony Anastasia, the kid brother of the Mad Hatter, Gambino overlord
Albert Anastasia. Talk about a lively neighborhood!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Years later, after
Crazy Joe was assassinated outside of Umberto’s Clam House in Little Italy in
Manhattan, they came out with a movie of the same name that rekindled my
fascination with the Mob. Jerome Browne and I decided to wander down President Street while making our rounds carousing one Friday night after
work. We took in the sights sometime around midnight, deep in Gallo territory
near Columbia Street. We didn’t see any gang activity, Mafia or otherwise. What
was most noticeable was an enormous searchlight (the kind you see in prison
movies) perched atop one of the tenement roofs, its beam aimed discreetly out
into space until needed. It remained as a testament to the vicious Colombo
drive-bys that occurred during their internecine gang wars of the 60’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I never had any
real aspirations to get connected, though I did play the role more than a few
times in my life. The reason was that the three types of people who get the
most respect in public, even more than businessmen, politicians or actors, are
wiseguys, pro wrestlers and rock stars. It’s not the reason why I got into rock
or wrestling, but it may help explain why I gravitated towards those
industries. Plain and simple, those kinds of people are larger than life, and
most of the time, take big risks to get where they are. Some dedicate their
whole lives to those vocations, like yours truly. I would never have sworn
myself over to a criminal life, but I’ve never gotten upset by anyone mistaking
me for that type.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">At any rate, I had
no idea how quickly my early sports career would flash before my eyes. Most of
it was due to the fact there were no organized sports teams in the area, and I
was turning into the proverbial kingfish in the goldfish pond. There were only
a couple of high school football teams back then, and at 5’9”, 147 pounds, I
didn’t stand a chance even if I’d gotten a shot. There was no hockey
whatsoever, and Bishop Loughlin discontinued its roller hockey program right at
the time I had mastered the game. Neither were there any wrestling or martial
arts programs other than the judo team, which didn’t hold my interest me at the
time. Sadly, the doors kept closing in my face in the sports world, and it
wasn’t until I reached my thirties until the opportunities began appearing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Another problem
was the lack of competition, even in the neighborhood, after the Yodels left. I
was getting stronger and faster, and the other kids either couldn’t keep up or
had put sports well behind them as their lives moved into the fast lane of sex
and drugs. Things were slowing down athletically and I began spending more time
by myself, reading and working on my manuscripts. Actually it was a point in
time where I began developing my writing skills, leading to a lifelong writing
career which produced this book and four others before it. Outside of my
musical endeavors, I would consider this my most positive contribution to our
American society and culture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">During the hiatus,
I began hanging out again with Mark, who introduced me to his new neighbor
Louie and his brothers. The Matos Family moved into 263 Court Street upstairs
from Mark, and they began to have a three-dimensional impact on my life. Anibal
(“Papo”) was the oldest, a studious introspective type who had a romance with
Lea that inspired our friendship. Funnily enough, it was her <i>latino</i> romances that led to a number of
strong friendships that also gave me insight into the Puerto Rican community
and lifestyle. The middle brother, Luis (“Afro”), was the real Latin lover of
the family and grew to be one of my biggest rivals on Butler Street. He threw
in with Kenny Reyes, and I have a strong feeling that Kenny had a lot to do
with the rivalry. The youngest brother, Peter, was a peripheral figure due to
his age but fooled around for a short while with our street hockey scrimmages
and even played a couple of football games with the Jets. Upon reaching
adulthood, he turned into a capable fighter who forced me into my bag of tricks
to come up with a martial arts win against him years later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Kenny Reyes’
social development was, in retrospect, quite an interesting study. He began
embracing the Latino lifestyle and built his own little counterculture along
the periphery of my budding sports clique. He began working in Manhattan and
was soon able to afford the best in Latino finery: knit shirts, plaid pants and
highly-buffed, pointy-toed shoes. Luis’ Dad was an amateur <i>salsa</i> musician who let the boys fool with his percussion
instruments, and soon they became the only band on the block before the advent
of the Spoiler Empire. Kenny grew to be a heavyweight, and taking him on
physically was generally considered a suicidal notion. Yet there was a lot of
insecurity about him, as with most bullies. Besides having no education in
having ditched school, he was also beleaguered by premature hair loss that got
to him about the same time as Lea Shithead. I myself would be fighting the same
battle just a few years later.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>(To Be Continued...)</i></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-87518663924024908332013-12-06T20:07:00.001-08:002013-12-06T20:17:31.525-08:00Broadway Joe and Derek the Turk?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was another
Manny-centric moment that turned hockey into one of the great loves of my life.
He refused to let me watch wrestling one Saturday in the Spring of ’68, and Mom
told me I could have the TV after his ball game ended. Crestfallen and
spiteful, I switched on Channel 9 regardless and sat sulking as the New York
Rangers game commenced. As time elapsed, I found myself mesmerized by the quick
skating, the intricate plays, the hard hitting and the booming puck that
dominated the game. I began asking Manny so many questions that he bought me a
book on ice hockey which I kept all the way until Lea and her daughter Tasha
threw out or sold all my books on Butler Street in 2009.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I idolized the New
York Rangers from the very beginning. They got kicked out of the NHL Stanley
Cup Playoffs by the Montreal Canadiens in four straight games but it didn’t
stop me from doing my homework over the next three months of summer before next
season. I went up to Madison Square Garden and bought a Rangers puck and a
yearbook which became lifelong treasures that were also lost during the Hyatts’
spring cleaning of 2009. After that I began going to Gramercy Park, which was
closer, and became a regular customer all the way until my last days of street
hockey in NYC around 1976, nearly seven years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Even though I was
a diehard Ranger fan, I could not help but admire the Boston Bruins after a
time. The Big Bad Bruins were the terror of the league, a reputation they would
carry until the Broad Street Bullies, the Philadelphia Flyers, began taking it
to them a few years later. The problem with the Rangers was that they couldn’t
back themselves up. They had a couple of tough guys who didn’t take shit, but
not enough of them. Not only that, but top-scoring center Jean Ratelle and
All-Star defenseman Brad Park just weren’t in the same league as Bobby Orr and
Phil Esposito. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The one fellow
that no one had a match for was Derek “Turk” Sanderson. He was a bad-ass street
punk from Canada whose reputation as a fighter overshadowed his skill as a
center, one of the best face-off men in the game. He was the fashion plate of
the NHL and hung out with my football hero, Broadway Joe Namath. I was like
every other fan in NYC wishing him a slow death in the late 60’s, but in time
both he and Namath became the role models that gave birth to Broadway Turk
Superstar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It didn’t take me
long to start my own hockey team, the Butler Street Blues. I spray-painted a
rink between manhole covers and even fashioned a St. Louis Blues-like logo at
mid-field. Harold and Paul Yodels were the mainstays, and we also had puny
Johnny De Losa on defense, who would play a role in the formation of the
Spoiler almost seven years later. We played street hockey until the dog days of
Summer ’68, then took a break until that fall to resume operations. During that
time, Harold became a much better player and actually beat me for the scoring
championship and team record in ‘69, exceeding my spring total by one goal! I
recounted my stat book dozens of times to reach the same sorry conclusion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When it got too
hot to play, we sat around on the steps of homes in the neighborhood sipping
sodas and ribbing one another. Paulie was one of my main stooges, and he, in
turn lorded it over Danny O’Connor, the dreaded O’Connors’ younger brother, and
Richie Aceto, who would become one of Osama Bin Laden’s victims in the World
Trade Center over thirty years later. The age difference was too great between
us, and I began spending less and less time with the stooges as the summer
crept along.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Paulie was the
last of the Yodels that I had a good friendship with. He was about Lea’s age
and loved playing my homemade board games. He was always the brunt of my ribs
and took it out on the kids his age, as I mentioned. I never fully realized
that he had probably the most explosive temper of all the Yodels, and my
ribbing really took a toll on him. Nevertheless, he became the goalie for the
Blues and did a pretty good job in net for us. After the Yodels moved away, he
came to visit one last time but apparently he had outgrown his tolerance for my
ribbing, and I never saw him again. I heard he went on to a good job as a sky
marshal and grew into a two-fisted, pistol-packing son of a gun. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One claim to fame that
Harold and Paul would have was during Harry’s brief stint as a club owner in
Queens. They bought a club on the Gambino Mob’s turf during the reign of John
Gotti, who had a couple of the boys stop in to shake down the Yodels. Paulie
took exception to that and got a bit of a hiding from the Gottis. I’m sure Paul
has put it behind him by now, but I must admit I’m proud to know that one of my
old friends stood up to the bastards.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued...</i>)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-26529930880255009562013-11-28T20:15:00.002-08:002013-11-28T20:15:42.241-08:00BSWC Begins?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Eventually Mom
bought a weight set, a tarpaulin, four 4x4 posts and some clothesline during
the winter of ‘67, and we went about constructing the trappings of the Butler
Street Wrestling Club. Georgie, the psychologically stronger yet younger
brother, was out chasing girls while Kenny and I plotted to usurp his position
as BSWC champion. When John and Harold Yodels helped form our new clique,
George was on his way to Puerto Rico around the Summer of ’67 and the rest of
us were left to determine a new champ. By this time, Kenny was following
George’s lead as neighborhood Romeo and was reluctant to test himself against
John on a mat-covered dirt floor. John and Harold mauled each other for almost
an hour on our debut card before Harold conceded the bout, and John became the
new champ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The next show was
a baptism of fire from which I took my first step on the road to wrestling
superstardom. We managed to sell tickets at five cents apiece, and who should
end up in the front row of wooden chairs but my old pals, the Colander
brothers! The main event was scheduled to be John vs. Kenny for the
championship, but Kenny volunteered to act as referee for my match with Harold.
After Harold mauled me for the better part of an hour to no avail, Kenny called
the match a draw and declined to participate any further. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The match with
Harold was a major turning point of my wrestling career. It consisted of him
trying to hit me with a knee thrust and slam my head into a ringpost, drawing a
warning from Manny that the show was over if that were to happen. I managed
only one takedown during the bout, and we were broken up as Harold easily made
the ropes in the miniscule ring. It was the most humiliating experience of my
career at that point, topped off by the heckling of the Colanders throughout.
Harold was surprisingly humble after the match though letting everyone know
later that he had the upper hand. I decided then and there that the pecking
order would soon change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My friendship with
the Yodels was predicated on the rivalry between John and Harold. They would
use me as leverage against one another, and when one made peace with me the
other would turn on me. After the match with Harold, he joined forces with
Kenny against John and I. It was all badmouth, talking trash against one
another, mostly a competition between John and Kenny. During this time, I
really began learning how to wrestle as John and I spent most of our time
tussling wherever we could. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He delighted in
the fact that I was developing the strength and skill to compete with him, even
though he outweighed me by over fifty pounds. I was learning to copy holds from
the pros and could now employ leg takedowns and armlocks to gain ground
position over him. I was also channeling off the Sheik, the legendary Detroit
kingpin who recently came to the WWF to challenge Bruno Sammartino. When John
would ambush me on the street, I would try and bounce his head off every
surface nearby. By this time he and Harold made the peace and the three of us
reunited. I was beyond the point where Harold could bully me anymore, though he
tried at every opportunity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">By 1968, I had
come out of my shell, and John and I had a reputation for being rowdies upon
graduation. Unfortunately, his family problems combined with teenage angst to
cause major changes in his personality, and he started seeing me as a major
rival in his plans to rule Butler Street in the void left by the Butler Aces.
It was like a constant triple threat match between John, Harold and I, and soon
John formed alliances with the borderline delinquents in the neighborhood to
move along the pecking order. I stuck to my sports fantasies and it put me on
the road to one of my biggest personal achievements: nearly twenty years later,
Broadway Turk Superstar would make his pro wrestling debut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> As
with all adolescents, my life began taking some major twists and turns after
graduating 8<sup>th</sup> grade and leaving St. Paul’s School for Bishop
Loughlin Memorial High School. I never dreamed that, in a short space of two
years, my circle of friends would change completely, my personal image would
undergo a series of dramatic overhauls, and even my religious life would be
transformed. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued...</i>)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-59683403487964753242013-11-22T12:48:00.002-08:002013-11-22T12:48:30.196-08:00Sibling Rivalry - The Beginning?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I was still
fascinated by pro wrestling, and my dream was to be a wrestler one day. At
first my Mom tried to talk me out of it, telling me that her family in Texas
saw wrestling as some kind of carnival freak show. My rebuttal was that Manny
had been a boxer, and she left it at that because, indeed, she and Manny and
her family had fought along that road before. I sold the idea to Kenny and
Georgie, who were always fighting anyway, and we declared the Butler Street
Wrestling Club. Georgie, who always got the best of Kenny, was the champ, Kenny
was the top contender, and I was Number
Three. Poor Mark Roman ended up the bottom man. Jesus, Mickey Reyes and the
Orlando Brothers didn’t even rank, they were declared midgets! Of course, when the Yodels came along, things
changed dramatically. Until then, I enjoyed my spot behind the fearsome Reyes
brothers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Historically, the
first BSWC champion was…my Mom! She had been tussling with me since I was a
weeun and somehow or other Kenny and Georgie got in on the act, and at that
point of time she was literally scrubbing the floor with us. Only her drinking
and our maturing eventually brought those days to an end. One night she had
been on the sauce and we were scuffling, and to her chagrin, I got the best of
her! I was elated that I had reached such a pinnacle but made nothing of it.
She, however, harbored resentment that smoldered until that Christmas holiday. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Manny used to
paint the windows with Christmas displays every year (a tradition Lea continued
to the next generation), and one night she was sipping and brooding in the
front window, well-hidden from view. I was in front of the house amidst a
ruckus with Georgie and called him a bastard at the top of my lungs as he trotted
off. My Mom saw the opportunity to call me inside and throw me a solid beating
with her fisticuffs. I squirted a few tears to placate her but contemplated the
unreasonable severity of the attack for years later. It took me a few decades
to realize it was all about having bested her at wrestling, and she just needed
to reestablish her physical dominance over her upstart son.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The first
piledriver I ever gave out was to my sister. Mom had bought me a couple of
flimsy exercise mats when I told her I wanted to put a wrestling set-up
together. Actually I don’t think it was her choice, it was just we were both
clueless. Anyway, I was anxious to put them to use and invited Lea to the
vacant apartment downstairs (that I would rent years later) where I would teach
her to wrestle. Determined to find out how well the padding worked, I announced
that the first maneuver we would practice was the piledriver. Well, I executed
it perfectly (as described in a <i>Wrestling
World</i> article on Killer Buddy Austin), then stepped back to evaluate the
results of the experiment (after a loud bang resulting from her head hitting
the floor). She was motionless for a few tense moments, then slowly arose to a
seated position like the Undertaker. I anxiously asked if she was okay (fearing
certain comeuppance from Mom), then graciously excused her from the rest of the
class.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My sister and I
would have a weird relationship until our final split in 2004. During her
pre-pubescence she became the neighborhood flirt, largely because of the lack of
male affection in the family (Manny later confessed in his senior years that he
was always fearful of someone accusing him of abuse). I ratted her out at every
opportunity, mostly because she was doing her thing down around Smith Street
with blacks and <i>latinos</i>. It wasn’t
until she hit her teens that I was able to tolerate her life choices, and by
the time she left NYC to attend the University of New Mexico at Portales, we
had become close. We had our ups and downs after she got married, but I never
anticipated the Butler Street Screw Job of 2004 which I’ll go into later.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;">(To be continued...)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01608091202180054901noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3577969964572228118.post-37784476508724196042013-11-16T19:42:00.000-08:002013-11-16T19:45:20.861-08:00Bringing Up Father?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Manny joined the Veteran Boxers’
Association a couple of years later, and that was another memorable experience.
The president of their chapter was Paul Berlenbach, who has his place in
history as one of the only athletes to hold amateur titles in both boxing and
wrestling. He was the sports idol of one of the heirs to the Ruppert brewing
company fortune, which set him up with a trust fund for his lifetime. He even
named his toy bulldog Ruppert! Paul was
kind of punchy by that time, but was a kind man who treated us like gold and
loved Manny. The VBA also held annual dances, which were like stepping into a
time capsule back to the early 20th century. Everyone dressed formal and they
played ballroom dance music all night. There were also unlimited supplies of
beer kegs, which I greatly enjoyed. Manny was their emcee as well, and people
lined up to compliment him after he delivered his speeches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Every
now and again they sponsored amateur fights, and the rookies marveled at being
able to hobnob with the legends of yesteryear. They would ask Manny to referee
a fight now and again, and he enjoyed it as much as we did. He also refereed a
few of our matches with the Butler Street Wrestling Club, and the guys loved
having Manny doing the honors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> The
other organization was the 40/8 (their symbol being forty horses and eight
wagons, reminiscent of the mode of transportation afforded American troops in
WWI France). It was an elitist group within the Legion that was not officially
recognized because of their by-law prohibiting non-whites from joining. The
commanders of their posts were called the Chef de Gare, and Manny was elected
to that position in his second year. Shortly afterward, they had their national
convention which Manny and I attended. Back in the day, a Spaniard would have
had a chance of a snowball in hell of earning the Chef spot. After a few
drinks, Manny made the rounds at the four-star hotel we were at, making one and
all of the conventioneers well aware of the fact! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Manny
and I bonded during that time, and though we did not see eye-to-eye quite often
over the decades, in his golden years he finally realized how much I truly
cherished him. I made him feel like it was Christmas every time I visited NYC,
and I only wished one of my ships would have come in time to have given him so
much more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> Back
in grade school, we weren’t quite that close because we were always trying to
understand each other. He saw all my faults as the result of being spoiled by
Mom. Conversely, I thought his problem was having been bullied by his Dad
throughout his childhood. I figured he just didn’t know how to relate to kids.
Having a hard ass as a father wasn’t the worst thing, I figured. He was still
the toughest guy on the block, and that was something I was forever proud of. I
was determined to live up to that legacy (not to mention Mom being the toughest
woman in the ‘hood). Only I had a lot of toughening up to do, but I was looking
forward to that as long as the ends justified the means.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> As
you can see, major changes were taking shape in my life as I prepared myself
for teenhood and my high school years. I would have no idea how drastic they
would be, and I could never have dreamed that it would all become the prelude
to the beginning of my lifelong journey as a rock and wrestling cult legend.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">(<i>To be continued</i>...)</span></div>
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