The Kid That Became A Guy Part II: Uncle Arthur & Back To Boston

Uncle Arthur lived in New Hampshire, in a cottage at the outskirts of a farm. He was a funny guy, not like any of the queers had been, in fact he wasn't like anybody I've ever met- either before or since. When the War broke out, Uncle Arthur was 14. He tried to enlist in the Army but was turned away, so he hitched a ride to Canada, lied about his age and joined up. He came back pretty fucked up I guess. They used to call it shell-shock back then, now it's PTSD. He didn't work, he just drank beer all day and we used to ride around the back roads; him drinking beer and me listening to the radio. It was pretty cool, he let me listen to whatever I wanted and he knew every back road in New Hampshire. I swear he could drive from Laconia to Manchester without ever hitting a main road- and get there faster. He had a cool old car, a dark green Chevy from the late 40's, one of the fastbacks with a visor in front. He had a suicide knob with a picture of a blonde chick in a two piece bathing suit...funny the shit you remember. It was really comfortable riding, warm and for the first time in my life, I felt secure.

I learned a lot from Uncle Arthur, about many, many things. He taught me to hunt and fish and how to live off the land. He taught me how to shoot, something I guess I had a knack for. Once he said I could shoot the pecker off a mosquito. I didn't go to school. Uncle Arthur said if he sent me to school they would take me away and I didn't want that, because mostly he taught me about kindness. I said before that I'm dead inside and it's true, but he taught me how I should be to other people...how not to hurt them unless they did something to me first. I don't know how he got money, not working and all, but I've got a theory. He used to take off for the day and come back later or the next morning and he always had money. I think he used to collect for the loan sharks in Boston. He would give me the lessons he wanted me to do before he left and I'd have them done when he got back- that was my school.

One day, I guess it was in June or July when I was 12 almost 13, the guy that owned the farm came to the door. Uncle Arthur was off making money I guess. He told me Uncle Arthur wasn't coming back, that he was dead. Didn't say how or nothing, just that he was dead. He asked me if I had someplace to go and I said yes, because I didn't want to get back in some fucked up situation like before. He said the rent was paid and to take my time, so I stayed a couple more days until the food started to run out. That was another thing about Uncle Arthur- he could really cook and he taught me which would come in handy later. One time we didn't have any salad dressing and he just started grabbing shit and throwing it in a bowl and mixed it up...best salad dressing I ever had, ever!

Well, after a couple days I gathered up my stuff and stuck it in Uncle Arthur's duffel bag from the Army and left for Boston. I had to leave my encyclopedia behind but that was ok I had pretty much read it all already. Uncle Arthur had a bank account for me in my name with about $150, plus I had a coin collection and a couple $20 gold pieces Uncle Arthur gave me so I wasn't broke. I hitched into Boston and headed where I knew the queers wouldn't be...the North End.

Boston

It was Summer and the kids were out of school so I made some friends pretty quick. We all hung around together for quite a long time. There was Bobby Azaritti, who got into heroin later on and died. I don't know if he overdosed or got shot. There was also Eddie Ferrola, who had Cerebral Palsy...his nickname was "Eddie the Cripple." Italians aren't famous for being politically correct and besides, nobody ever heard of it back then. It wasn't like if nobody mentioned it he wouldn't notice, he knew. He sucked at sports and was always the last to get picked, but he still got to play. And, we called him Eddie the Cripple because we were his friends, if you called him that we'd kick the shit out of you. The last time I saw Eddie he was working in Cambridge for the city on the garbage trucks...working for the city up there is kinda like hitting the lottery- you're set for life. One night in Cambridge, not long before I left, Eddie and I were going into the Cantab for drinks and some guy coming out said something about Eddie being cripple and Eddie smacked him so hard he went through two glass doors and broke the cigarette machine. Eddie didn't believe in disability, like the cunts do now, like it's a life goal or something.

Well, before too long I started to run low on cash and had to do something to make some money. I started running errands for the wiseguys. I could always pick up a few bucks doing this or that. It was cheap to live back then. A burger was about 15 cents. You could get breakfast for half a buck, hell you could eat all day for a buck or so. I used to sleep wherever I could, on rooftops, in doorways, whatever. The hallways were heated so I could climb up to the doorway leading to the roof and sleep there in the winter. On weekends during school, my friends would take me home for the weekend saying I was a friend from school. I got to take a shower that way.

One thing we used to like doing was to hang around the corner from where the wiseguys were and listen to them brag about shit they did. Sticking places up and hijacking trucks. We all thought they were cool. I guess I was about 14 when I met Sonny. Sonny was a bad motherfucker, he had been on the Brinks job, I heard, but never got caught. He liked me and used to let me do stuff to make some money. One day he introduced me to this guy named Frank who owned a garage just outside of town. Frank used to buy cars of questionable pedigree, so I became an entrepreneur. In those days (late 50's) people would go into the stores and leave their cars running, so I would walk around and when I spotted one, away I went. By the time the cops got there, I had already got rid of it and was probably on my way back to town. For a fairly new Caddy or Buick, I could get a couple yards. For an Olds or Pontiac, around $150 and $100 for a Ford or Chevy as long as it was pretty new and in good shape. I looked for Caddy's and Jew Canoes (Buicks).

Before I was 16, I was walking around with a G in my pocket all the time. Sonny and his wife Patty rented me an apartment so I had my own place. I was shitting in the high cotton, like they say in the South.

Next: Sony, Patty & Uncle Sam