Joey Gallo's Lament

It was impossible to concentrate that afternoon in school. I had a million questions. Was Joey jammed up? Why did he give me the package? What would it mean if my Da found out? Were Connie’s tits real or did she stuff tissue in her bra?

I confess I thought about the last one all the time.

Finally the bell rang and we all piled out of the school yard onto Strong place. Some of the guys wanted to choose up a fistball game but I wasn’t into it today. I went over to Tony’s candy store to grab a Yohoo and a Swiss Roll. It was my after school ritual. A chocolate drink and a big snack cake. I had a cast iron stomach in those days and people didn’t treat sugar like heroin. I gobbled it down as I walked down Degraw St. and turned onto Henry St. I said hello to all of the old ladies sweeping the front of their houses.  Louie Nerve passed by shouting obscenities at the top of his lungs. Today everyone would know that he had Tourette’s syndrome but in those days we just thought that he was fucked up.

I finally got to my Grandma’s and ran up the stoop to her parlor floor apartment. The door was open. The doors were always open in those days. You weren’t afraid of getting robbed. Of course the Mafia ran things in those days not Nanny Bloomberg.  

I went inside and Grandma was making sausages.  So I threw my school books on the floor. Took off my blazer and rolled up my sleeves.

You see I always helped Grandma cook. She was always preparing fresh Italian delicacies for my uncles who were longshoremen. They worked long hours and were able to come home for lunch and dinner since the docks were only three or four blocks away. Grandma always made fresh food for them. Fresh homemade pasta. Homemade sausage and salami. Her pickled eggplant that everyone loved. I was the only half Irish knucklehead who could cook like he was born in Ischia.

“Jamesy getta the mixing bowl. You can mix the sausage meat.” She had attached the sausage grinder to the side of the table. It locked like a carpenters vise and was just as powerful. She attached the sausage casing. I mixed up the pork, chopped fennel, provolone cheese, garlic and the white wine that I mixed together in a big busta-choata. Then came the fun part. I got to turn the crank as I fed the mixture into the top of the grinder. Grandma made sure it filled the casing and would expertly twist each sausage individually. After about six sausages were prepared she would cut the casing and then tie each one individually into a link that she would put into the fridge to cool.

“Grandma I think I might of got in trouble today.’ “What-a you do Jamesy?” “I was in the panele store and I ended up talking to Joey Gallo. Please don’t tell my Da.” “I won’t tell him but you need to stay away from that bum. He is no good. Don’t get in trouble with those gavones. Capisce?” “Yes Grandma. He caught me by surprise.” “Thats-a-good. Now go wash up and I make you a plate.”

Food always made stuff better. Grandma’s know that.