SAVING ROSEMARY...(From A Thug In A Dark Alley)

While growing up in a Mob controlled neighborhood, you might never have a clue that it exists there. As you reach a certain age, little hints might occasionally come your way. Your best friend might be the son of a 'made' man, but on the surface the guy looks and acts no different than most other dads. 

If a mobster has deemed you a 'good' friend to his child, you can bet that you'll always be smiled upon and welcomed into their home. A 'good' kid who always shows respect for others, will make a lasting impression of you in their eyes. Simple things like helping a grandmother carry a bag of groceries up the steps; respectfully referring to your elders as Mr. or Mrs. earns a great deal of respect.

                                 

As a teenager, I belonged to a neighborhood youth gang. In those days we didn't deal drugs or walk around with a 9mm tucked to our waists...it was different. We mostly just 'hung out' in various parts of the neighborhood, causing some mischief, but nothing serious. That would change of course after the 'drug' explosion starting in the sixties. Things changed a 'lot' on the streets after that...

In this 'gang' of ours, I had a couple of friends whose family were connected to the Mob. One of these friends had a sister who I had a crush on. She was beautiful in my eyes, and although she seemed to like me too, she was about a year and a half older than me. In 'teen' years, that's a big gap in age...so, I just had to treat her like an older sister. This 'sister' got assaulted one night on her way home. 

A guy dragged her into an alley and started tearing at her clothes. She was kicking and fighting by the time I stumbled upon what was happening. I couldn't believe what I was seeing in front of my eyes...At about the same time she saw me and yelled my name, I had jumped onto the back of the punk on top of her. He was a lot older and bigger than me; I took an elbow to the side of the head which almost knocked me out. 

                        

In a daze, I just kept hanging on to the guy as he punched and kicked me to break loose. I could hear Rosemary in tears yelling 'no' 'no'...'stop'...The guy broke free and took off down the alley, disappearing into the darkness. Rosemary looked a mess, and I guess I did too. Helping her up, she hung on me all the way to her house sobbing. My heart ached for her...it ached like never before...

The commotion by her family when I helped her inside of the house, is difficult to describe...but I guess, you can imagine. Somebody had got on the phone, but they weren't calling the police. Within minutes, cars began to come from all directions; screeching to a halt by their house. Her father ran into the house followed by about a dozen others. Outside, neighbors began to stream out from their homes and gather in concern. 

Rosemary's mother hugged me in tears thanking me over, over and over...I'll never forget those eyes of her father; though wet with tears...he looked me hard and long in the eyes. He said, "you saved my little girl...'I' will never forget this...NEVER...He looked at his friends standing there. He could hardly talk, but kept gesturing towards me nodding his head to them. They began to nod at me too...He gave me a long hug like my uncles always did when visiting. He cupped my face in his hands and placed a kiss on my forehead...

                                  

I didn't know who the guy was that hurt Rosemary that night when asked, but 'she' knew who it was. The men all left quickly upon hearing a name...it was a name I later heard had a terrible accident. He was found floating in the river not far from my house...The newspapers called it an "accidental suicide" they said that he was suspected to have been drinking, and stumbled down an embankment. He had hit his head before winding up in the river.

Rosemary went to live with an aunt on Long Island, her whole family moved soon afterwards too. The neighborhood began to change a lot during those years, but well into my early thirties there remained that little Italian Social Club with the 'old-timers' hanging out, trading stories about the past...I always got a warm welcome from them when I stopped by. My money wasn't any good to them; I couldn't pay for coffee or a drink; it was always 'on them'...If you 'EVER' need a favor they would say, "you come and talk to us, ya hear?" 

I'd smile and say..."I hear..."

Another True Story by @angryman  Jan. 31, 2018  

Image Credits: pexels.com  (Thank you)