Chapter 9
Frankie D’Allesandro put his hands over his ears to block out the yelling and screaming coming from his sisters’ room, and he wondered when it would ever stop.
They argued and fought about everything: clothes; if one stayed too long in the bathroom; whose turn it was to help their mother wash dishes or clean the apartment.
It was a wonder that he could keep up with his schoolwork with the chaos that seemed to escalate every day.
Whenever he had to study for a test, he’d pack up his books and go to the public library, or he would ask Kenny if he could come to his house so they could study together.
Kenny told him he felt different from the other kids because he was growing up without his father.
However, Frankie had to remind his friend that his father had been a soldier and fought in a war to stop the spread of Communism.
There were times when he’d gotten so sick of hearing talk about Communism and the Red Scare.
Kids his age shouldn’t have to concern themselves whether they would be blown up by bombs like the Japanese during World War II.
The photographs he saw in a magazine of people after the atomic bombs had been dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki had triggered nightmares for weeks.
The images were something he didn’t believe he would ever forget.
The ongoing talk of doom and gloom was the reason social studies was Frankie’s worst subject.
He refused to read the newspaper, listen to or watch the nightly news, and his textbook had remained unopened even in class.
Frankie had come to rely on Kenneth Russell to help him pass the subject.
His dislike of social studies was offset by his love of math.
Numbers had come so easily for Frankie when he was able to solve a problem within seconds of the teacher writing it on the blackboard, while he was a B-plus student in English and science.
His other friend Ramon Torres had become known as the mad scientist. Ray’s obsession with science ranged from anatomy to zoology.
He was able to identify and name every muscle and articulated bones in the human body.
He, Ray, and Kenny had become best friends and unofficial blood brothers in and out of school, and whenever they studied together, they confidently knew they would pass all of their exams.
When any of Frankie’s relatives asked if he was going to work in his father’s grocery store once he graduated high school, he told them of his plan to go to college to become an accountant.
He’d known by Gio D’Allesandro’s expression that he was disappointed that his only son had chosen not to take over the business he established as a small vegetable stand before he added canned goods, milk products, and deli meats; no number of threats or pleading from the elder D’Allesandro could get Frankie to change his mind.
However, he did have the support from his uncle—also his godfather and namesake, known in his neighborhood as Frankie Delano—that once Frankie became an accountant, he would have him oversee his East Harlem business ventures.
Just when he was ready to go into his sisters’ bedroom and tell them to stop fighting, he heard his father’s voice as he pounded on the closed door.
It wasn’t often that Gio got up early on Sunday morning, because it was the only day he allowed himself to sleep in late.
Opening the grocery store at six in the morning and closing around seven at night, six days a week, Gio declared Sunday as his day of rest. The year before, he’d stopped attending Sunday mass with his wife and children, because he found himself falling asleep during the priest’s homily.
His snores had embarrassed his wife Kathleen, who suggested he stay home rather than embarrass her.
Pushing off his chair, Frankie walked to the bedroom door and opened it just enough to hear what his father was saying to his sisters.
“How many times have I told you about making all that racket when I’m trying to get some sleep?
Is what I’m saying going in one ear and out the other?
I warned you the last time you were fighting with one another that I’m going to enroll you in Catholic school so the nuns can teach you right from wrong, because you refuse to listen to your mother. ”
“Please no, Poppa,” Elizabeth pleaded. “I’ll stop fighting with Mandy.”
“Lizzy is always taking my clothes,” Amanda said.
“I don’t care who’s doing what to the other.
Once this school term is over, you won’t have to fight over clothes, because you all will be wearing uniforms. Your mother will go to Holy Name tomorrow and register you for September.
And if I hear another argument or fight, the three of you will spend your entire summer vacation in this very room.
You will only be allowed to come out to eat and use the bathroom. ”
“We can’t watch television, Poppa?” asked six-year-old Carolina.
“No television. I swore I would never beat my daughters because I saw what my father did to my sisters, but I swear by all that’s holy that I will take a belt to all of you if you don’t learn to get along.
We’re all going to Nonna’s later this afternoon, so if you don’t behave, then I’ll have Miss Townsend come over and watch you. ”
Frankie couldn’t stop grinning as he closed his door.
It was about time his father had stepped in to chastise his daughters, because his wife had declared she was at the end of her rope with them.
Her husband had refused to hit their daughters, and while she disagreed with him when it came to childrearing, she had gone along with him because he was man of the house.
Kathleen D’Allesandro was two months pregnant with her fifth child, and she hoped it would be her last. Her first four children were born two years apart, and after she delivered Carolina six years ago, her menses had stopped completely; she attributed it to early menopause.
But now, at thirty-one, she was pregnant again.
Although Frankie loved his parents, he had no intention of repeating their lives.
His mother was eighteen and his father nineteen when they married.
He was born a year later; then came three more children, every other year.
Not only did his mother appear to be overwhelmed taking care of four kids, but with another on the way, Frankie knew it wasn’t going to be easy for her.
He wanted to graduate college, get married, and then buy a large house with a backyard and enough rooms for his kids to have their own bedrooms. Although his father owned and operated a neighborhood grocery store, he still wasn’t able to compete against the local Safeway and A and if he wanted to go to a private one, then that meant he would have to secure a scholarship.
The commotion in his sisters’ room had stopped, and Frankie was finally able to complete his algebra and science assignments. Now, when he went to visit with his relatives, the notion that he wouldn’t have to come home and stay up late to do homework was no longer a reality.
“Where are you going, and how do you know these people?”
Ramon Torres stared at his grandmother’s reflection in the mirror as he brushed his hair. “I’m going to Spanish Harlem with Frankie and his family.” He knew that whenever he left the house, his grandmother would question where he was going and with whom.
His grandmother’s penciled-in black eyebrows lifted. “Spanish Harlem?”
“Sí, abuela,” Ray answered in Spanish.
“El barrio is peligroso,” Carmen Torres said, mixing English and Spanish, as did a lot of Puerto Ricans on the mainland. “You have to watch out for the Latin Kings, Ramon.”
Ray set down the brush. “Where I’m going is not dangerous, and there aren’t any Latin Kings.
” He didn’t tell his grandmother that if there were gangs, then they were Italian holdovers from the turn of the century, when large numbers of Sicilians congregated between 106th and 116th Streets along the East River, but over the years many relocated to other neighborhoods; the ones who’d stayed continued to hold onto their language and culture.
“I just want you to be careful.”
“I will be careful, abuela. Frankie’s cousin is going to drive me there and back. He’s a cop.”
Carmen made the sign of the cross over her chest. “Está bien.”
Ray agreed with his grandmother. It was good.
When Frankie had called to say his police officer cousin was picking him and Kenny up, he knew they would be safer than taking the crosstown bus to and from East Harlem.
Frankie inviting him to meet his relatives was a first, because other than his parents and sisters, Ray had never met any of Frankie’s large extended family, many who lived across town.
“Well, well, well. Look at you,” crooned Delores Torres, as she walked into her brother’s bedroom. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
Ray frowned. “There’s no girl, Delores. Kenny and I are going with Frankie to his grandmother’s house.”
His fifteen-year-old sister was close to completing her first year at Julia Richman High School.
She’d elected to attend the all-girls school because the curriculum included classes that would prepare her to apply for nursing school.
Once she graduated, Delores planned on attending Bronx Community College of the City of New York to pursue a nursing degree.
“If I wasn’t going to a wedding with Mami and Papi, I would tag along with you, because I’m willing to bet there will be some good-looking Italian boys there, I could talk to.”
“You’re just boy crazy, Delores,” Ray spat out.