Diary of an Unbroken Child: My Autobiography Chap. II

Uncle Arthur lived in New Hampshire, in a cottage at the outskirts of a farm. It was beautiful country, so different than the inner city that I was used to. I felt free... I could go out in the sunshine and walk around. Most people probably won't understand, but after being a prisoner of sorts for about five years it was like being in Heaven. When the queers had me they would sneak me around in the middle of the night so they wouldn't get caught- now I was free. Uncle Arthur was a funny guy, he wasn't like any of the queers had been... in fact he wasn't like anybody I've ever met- either before or since. I can't even begin to tell what a relief it was to be away from Willie and be around someone that cared about me... somebody from my family. I wasn't getting tortured anymore, nobody could hurt me. He was really the only real family I ever had.

When the War broke out, Uncle Arthur was 14. He tried to enlist in the Army but was obviously turned away, so he hitched a ride up to Canada, lied about his age and joined up there. He came back pretty fucked up I guess. They used to call it shell-shock back then, or combat fatigue, 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. He also taught me to drive his car, an old 49 Chevy fastback. 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 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.

There was a lake near the farm, about a mile or so away. There was a beach with arcades and resturaunts and stuff. There were kids my own age to hang out with whose families had cottages there. There were some neighbor kids and for the first time in my life I had people my own age to hang around with. Uncle Arthur bought me a bicycle that I rode into town. That was in the summer when I could look like a tourist kid... that way nobody knew I didn't go to the local school. My friend Rodney lived across the field. We threw in five bucks apiece and bought an old car. We would put on football stuff and tie ourselves into the seats and roll it down hills and crash into trees.

The farmer was a pretty nice guy too, he let me work on the farm and paid me, not a lot but spending money. I learned how to milk cows and separate the milk. He had barn cats and he could squirt them in the mouth with the milk... they would stand with their mouth open and wait for him. For the first time in my life I had fresh whole milk every day and homemade butter. We had fresh vegetables from the garden. This probably doesn't sound like much but to me it was everything. Willie and the queers hardly ever fed me, except for Bill and his wife... they treated me ok. They would take me out places sometimes... I could probably have run away from there, but like I said- where would I go. I was terrified about going back to Willie. But now I was where Willie couldn't hurt me anymore.

The winters up there were beautiful, the snow was pure and white, not like the nasty stuff in Boston all black with soot and stuff. I learned how to ski and me and Rodney made sled runs. There was another kid named Danny Ellis who had a dog. You could let the dog smell a glove or something and then go hide... that dog would find you every time.

I learned a lot from Uncle Arthur, about many, many things. He taught me the woods and he taught me to hunt and fish, how to live off the land and how to track... things that would prove useful as time went on. 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. The most important thing I learned about from Uncle Arthur was how to be a man... how honor and integrity are the most important things. 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... stuff you would never think of putting in a salad dressing- 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 drunk 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. I could never figure that out, people being like: "I got my disability!" Like they're proud of it. It doesn't take a lot of talent to be disabled... I couldn't do that- as long as I'm breathing, I'm going to find some way to make it on my own.

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 up in the high cotton, like they say down South.

Next: Sonny, Patty & Uncle Sam