Lost on cherry street, p.20
Lost on Cherry Street, page 20
“Who knows? Some of my lady customers say it’s a girl,” Maggie said, wiping her brow with a damp cloth, “From the way I’m carrying.”
“I think so too,” James said, looking at her stomach, “Can you still do me?”
“Yeah. Stay standing. I’m tired from all this laundry shit.”
“That works for me.”
“I’m going to need more money when your kid get’s here,” she said, undoing his trousers.
“I won’t be sheddin’ money like a moltin’ canary, but don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Extra bonus if it’s a girl.”
A boy’s voice called out from the hall closet “Momma, let me out. I can’t breathe.”
“Shut up! I’ll let you out when I’m done,” Maggie said.
“I need to cuff his ear,” James said, staring at a brownish water stain on the ceiling.
James took pleasure in buying new dresses, shoes, and hats for Anna, parading up and down Cherry Street, pushing the little princess along in her brand-new baby buggy gifted by Grandma Peggy. He started attending Sunday Mass at St. Mary’s with the family and made sure everyone in church got a chance to ooh and ahh over his pretty little daughter.
James’s second daughter was born six days after Anna’s arrival. James and Maggie named her Rose.
Double trouble too
Having served two thirds of his sentence for racketeering, Melvin Stein was released from Sing Sing prison June 16, 1916, two months shy of his sixty-sixth birthday. The guards escorted him out of the building where he had been austerely sheltered, poorly fed, and frequently beaten. With a bundle of personal items tucked under his arm, he walked forward and never looked back.
Once outside the barbed-wire gate, he inhaled the fresh air of freedom. He loosened his rigid stride, gave his body a shake and walked confidently as a man empowered, assured that a brand-new chauffeur’s uniform awaited him at the penthouse apartment at 1 West 72nd Street, New York City.
Helen and Eleanor Minogue kept up a steady correspondence with Melvin throughout his incarceration, often making special mention of how grateful they were for the years he looked after them growing up as bordello brats. The ladies had promised to send a car for him on the day of his release and there it was, only a few steps away. With the choppy river behind it, the fancy vehicle was a bright sight for his weary eyes. This was no ordinary car. The luxury Locomobile Model 48 Sportif Touring Car idled on the gravel path, dust blowing against its emerald chassis and canvas top. The driver insisted Melvin take a seat in the rear, acting on instructions from the Minogue sisters, wanting their old friend to exchange his brand from ex-convict to King Melvin for a day.
Two ladies sat on a bench facing the white-capped waters and tossed bread to the ducks. They looked skyward when the mandrakes and buffleheads quacked excitedly, flapping away from the three high school boys tossing stones in the water. The boys dropped their ammunition when the women threatened to notify the principal of their truancy, and they wandered over for a closer look at the showy Sportif.
“Swell automobile, Pops,” said the head truant, bending down to examine the fancy wheel spokes, his eyes roving over the vehicle’s sleek body, taking in each dose of excessive opulence.
“I’ll tell you what’s swell, Sonny Boy,” Melvin said, “When you’re released after a long stay and get driven home in a deluxe vehicle.”
“I ain’t got no plans to go to prison like you, Pops,” the boy said as the Sportif kicked up gravel, leaving the truant in the dust.
In just a few hours, Melvin would get to see Helen and Eleanor, whose acquired knowledge of brothel economics provided them with a lucrative prostitution business in the city’s Tenderloin district. Melvin asked the driver to make an extra stop in Manhattan before they arrived at the Minogue sisters’ residence.
When they arrived at 144 Elm Street, the driver parked across the street. Melvin stayed in the car and looked out the window, catching a glimpse of the people sitting on the stoop.
Melvin got teary when Helen and Eleanor welcomed him into their spacious penthouse duplex, featuring eighteen-foot-high ceilings, luxurious velvet drapes, a marble fireplace, antique vases, sculptures, elegant Victorian sofas, Chippendale chairs, and every comfort fit for prosperous entrepreneurs. He hardly recognized the ladies, still picturing them as mischievous teenagers.
The three friends sat on the balcony overlooking Central Park, drinking tea. When Eleanor noticed the teacup in Melvin’s hand rattle on the saucer, she said, “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”
“I was there and … did nothing to save your father,” he said, crying.
“Don’t do this to yourself. We know the whole story,” Helen said, “It’s not your fault.”
“We didn’t tell you in our letters, but we have a few surprises for you,” Eleanor said, “This is your home now. With your own bedroom.”
“I don’t deserve this,” Melvin said.
“Nonsense. We’ve always considered you a member of our family,” Helen said, “In a little while you can a take a nice long nap on a big, soft bed with big feather pillows.” Eleanor summoned the maid with the tinkle of a little bell and instructed her to make up Melvin’s bed with fresh linens.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I slept in a real bed?”
“When you wake up, we have another treat for you,” Eleanor said.
“What is it?”
“Filet mignon. Baked potato with butter and gravy. Fresh peas.”
“My favorite meal. I can’t believe you remembered. You two are spoiling me. And I love it,” Melvin said, “By the way, is your brother still around?”
“You remember him?” Helen said,
“Of course. Does he still have all that red hair?”
“Everyone calls him Red. You know he’s a cop now.”
“No.”
“He works on the east side. We almost disowned him. But he’s still our baby brother, all six foot four of him.”
Eleanor excused herself and headed to the kitchen to check with the cook about preparations for dinner.
“I know something you ladies don’t,” Melvin said to Helen, “Found out from an inmate who did time in the city system. Callaghan’s got a second daughter. Same age as the one on Cherry Street. Knuckles is very fond of her. Had her with a washerwoman. There’s also a boy in the apartment. But I don’t think Callaghan’s the father.”
“Where does the little princess live?” Helen said.
“144 Elm Street, around the corner from the prison.”
When Eleanor returned, Helen said to her, “Guess what?”
“Another surprise for Melvin?” Eleanor said.
“No. Melvin has a surprise for us.”
“Ooh, tell me. I love surprises.”
“Callaghan’s got two daughters he’s crazy about,” Melvin said.
“I had no idea. I only know of Anna, the Cherry Street girl,” Eleanor said, “What’s this one’s name?”
“Rose,” Melvin said.
“Rose and Anna. Twins like us!”
“I’ll be damned,” Helen said.
April 14, 1918
Before the sun came up, James slipped out of bed and put on his uniform. The boys were asleep in Uncle Bill’s room, having guessed correctly he was not going to make it home after a night of heavy drinking. James knelt beside Anna’s bed. The light from the small candle he held softly illumined her curly black hair and long eyelashes. Most of the baby fat on her arms and legs had disappeared except for one pinchable roll on her neck. James zeroed in on that spot and inhaled deeply. He brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead. He placed a box wrapped with a big purple bow next to her pillow. It would be the very first thing she would see when she awakened. It was a special present, a Kewpie Doll that Anna wanted more than anything in the world. The doll’s dress was made by Nana out of the same cloth she used for Anna’s birthday outfit. James tripped the jumper wire to the gas line he rigged before he left the building, remembering Nellie planned to give Anna a hot bath before church.
With the sun glistening on the East River, prison keeper James Callaghan boarded the East 26th street ferry headed to Blackwell Island.
“Hey men, listen up. Today’s your lucky day you get to meet the legendary ‘Knuckles’ Callaghan,” Sergeant Anthony Costello hollered as the keepers in the midnight-to-eight shift got ready to head home, exchanging war stories with the groggy eight a.m. crew. The keepers grabbed their coffees and sat at the long rectangular table in the locker room.
As James extended his hand to greet Costello, the sergeant put his hand forward, but quickly withdrew it. “Oh no you don’t Callaghan. Last time you gave me a stink palm. I ain’t falling for that trick again,”
“Thanks, Sarge. Good morning fellow keepers of the Blackwell Zoo. I’d like to say it’s good to be back here, but I’d be a lyin’ toad if I did,” James said, “I’m filling in for that lazy ass, Angelo. He called in sick or is it that his old lady is sick and needs him to look after her, if you catch my drift.”
One of the keepers defended Angelo, “Hey Knuckles, Ange was puking his brains out yesterday. Cut the guy some slack, will ya.”
James looked around the room. “Oh sure, my heart bleeds for him. He musta got sick locking up all those smelly Yids. Catch my drift?”
Sgt. Costello said to James, “Tell these suckers about your happy times at Sing Sing.”
“I know some of you guys gotta catch your ferry, so I’ll make it short. Seems like Sarge never gets tired of hearing the story.”
Costello smiled and sat down, all eyes and ears on James. “Ossining ain’t a big city. So, when it happens, every family sittin’ around the dinner table in my old hometown all of a sudden can’t see their dinner in front of them. And their little brats spill their milk all over the floor. It’s the same thing in every house - at the same exact time whether they’re eatin’ I-talian or franks and beans. It’s the same thing I’m tellin’ ya. Catch my drift?”
“What’re ya yakking about, Callaghan?” one of the keepers said.
“Every time they throw the switch on Old Sparky, another murderin’ son of a bitch gets fried and every single light in the city goes black.”
“The whole city?” another keeper said.
“That’s right. The whole fuckin’ city. They use all the juice they got while the S.O.B. wiggles in the chair and expires. Boo hoo.” “That’s bullshit about the lights, Callaghan. I heard the prison’s got their own generator,” Angelo’s friend said.
“I was there, sucker,” James said with authority, “I watched the whole fuckin’ show. Many times.”
At eight o’clock, Jim, Baby Ray and Anna sat in a small circle in the front room. The boys couldn’t wait to let Anna in on a big secret. Anna waved her new doll in the air, made it hop on the floor, calling out, “Kewpie, fly like a bird. Kewpie, hop like a bunny.”
“That’s so-, so-, so dumb,” Baby Ray said, “Her name isn’t Kewpie.”
“Kewpie. Kewpie. Kewpie,” Anna insisted.
“That’s not a-, not a-, not a name, dummy,” Baby Ray said, “That’s a k-, k-, kind of doll.”
“I named her Kewpie.”
“It’s her doll. She can name it anything she wants,” Jim said, “It’s her birthday.”
“But-, but-, but-”
“Let’s take a vote,” Jim said, “All those in favor of naming the doll Kewpie, raise your hand.” Jim and Anna raised their hands. Baby Ray folded his arms across his chest and stared at the floor. Jim grabbed Baby Ray’s hand and lifted it for him.
Excited, Anna pressed her nose against the doll, “Kewpie, it’s namamus.”
Baby Ray asked Jim, “Can-, can-, can I tell her about the big-, big secret?”
“Wait just a minute,” Jim said, “First, I have to give her something. Anna, close your eyes.”
Anna complied while Jim fetched a card and a paper bag from behind the couch.
“Open the card first,” Jim said.
Anna unfolded the hand-made card illustrated with a big red heart and the words, ‘Happy Birthday, Sis. From, Big Brother Jim.’ She ripped open the bag from Cheap Charlie’s candy store. Her favorite goodies tumbled to the floor. She scooped up a handful of chocolate covered cherries. “Just eat one or Momma will get mad,” Jim said.
“Okay,” Anna said, stuffing her mouth.
“I got you a pres-, pres-, present too, Anna,” Baby Ray said.
“Should I close my eyes again?”
“I left it in school. To-, to-, tomorrow.”
“What is it?”
“A po-, po-, poem.”
“For me?”
“Just for you.”
“Okay. Tomorrow.”
“What’s the big secret?” Anna said.
Baby Ray looked at Jim for approval. Getting the nod, he said. “A racing cart.”
Anna squealed, “Where is it?”
“At Mr. Nico’s. But you gotta wait for us to get back from First Communion class,” Jim said, “We gotta be the first to give you a push.”
“Pr-pr-promise to wait,” Baby Ray added.
“I promise,” Anna said.
“Gotta, gotta, gotta. Gotta go first ... gotta,” Baby Ray said, dancing in circles.
Nellie came into the front room, took Anna by the hand, and led her into the kitchen for her bath. After a good scrubbing, Nellie dried her off, wrapped her in a big white towel and handed the bundle to her mother who waited in her rocker. After Nana helped her get into her undershirt and bloomers, Anna snuggled close, and they recited a rhyme together.
Plum cherry quick
Give the girl a candy stick
Let her lick it before the dog kicks it
To the floor. I want more I want more
The little girl cried
Until Nana and Anna tried to march
The naughty doggie out the door.
“One more, Nana. Please.”
“I have to think for a minute, baby girl.”
“I got one,” Anna said:
Nana banana smells like pickles
That’s why she gives me lots of tickles.
Nana tickled and Anna giggled. Nellie came in and said, “You can’t go to church dressed like that, can you?” She held out her hand, but Anna clung to her Nana.
“Five more minutes. No more,” Nellie told her daughter, pinching her cheek.
As Nellie returned to the bedroom, Nana whispered to Anna, “That was silly.”
“What was silly?”
“You called me Nana banana. How can I be a banana AND smell like pickles?”
“Momma told me you work there,” said Anna.
“That was a long time ago. I worked in a pickle factory,” Nana said, “But I don’t smell like pickles anymore, do I?”
“I guess not.”
“What does your Nana really smell like?”
Anna planted her nose on Nana’s neck, took a deep breath and said, “You smell like a thousand hugs.”
Nana squeezed her. “Well, here’s one thousand one.”
“And a million cuddles.”
Nana rocked her back and forth, “Here’s a million and one.”
“I love you, Nana.”
“I love you too.”
“I love you three,” Anna said.
“Silly.”
“Can you keep a secret?” Anna said.
“Your secrets are always safe with your Nana”
“Jim and Baby Ray made me a racing cart for my birthday.”
Nellie returned and led Anna into the bedroom. “Can I wear my new dress Nana made?” Anna said.
Nana made Anna’s black and white checked dress out of woven cotton material. It was trimmed with red flannel bands and strappings, the bottom one third of the dress pleated with wide panels and finished with gilt buttons. With enough fabric left over, she made a matching outfit for Anna’s Kewpie doll.
“Of course, you can wear your new dress. But you have to change after Mass if you want to play outside,” Nellie said.
“I don’t want to,” Anna said.
“Then you’ll have to stay inside. That would be a shame because it’s such a nice, sunny day.”
“Please Momma.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Nellie said as she held the dress against Anna’s body, “This will look so beautiful on you. You don’t want to ruin it now, do you? It could get ripped while you’re riding in the cart.”
Jim and Baby Ray walked down the block to the Nicoletti tenement at 357 Cherry. Salvatore Nicoletti, his wife, and brood of six children were the only Italian family on the block. He made chairs and dressers for several neighbors, including the Callaghans. A master carpenter by trade, he promised the boys he’d build the push-mobile in time for Anna’s birthday, provided they gathered the necessary parts. Working off his list, Jim and Baby Ray spent their after-school hours scavenging in railroad yards, alleys, empty lots, and dumps.
Mrs. Nicoletti opened the door, holding 8-month-old Salvatore, Jr. in her arms, with two-year-old Sofia clinging to the bottom of her dress. Jim tipped his cap. “We’re sorry to bother you, Mrs. Nico, but we want to pick up Anna’s cart.”
“Papa issa notta here righta now.”
“Mr. Nico told us we could take it any time.” Jim said.
“Needsa braka, no?”
“No br- braka, It’s a p- p- pusha,” Baby Ray said, making a pushing motion with both hands.
A dish crashed to the floor behind Mrs. Nicoletti, followed by a child’s piercing cry. “Scusi,” Mrs. Nicoletti said as she rushed into the kitchen.
“Prego. Ciao,” Jim said, closing the door and running down the hallway with Baby Ray. They took the cart out of Mr. Nicoletti’s shed, carried it through the hallway, down the stoop, and pushed it along Cherry Street.
Helga Nilsson was sweeping her steps and waved to the boys as they approached. “Is that for Anna’s birthday?”
“Yep,” Jim said.
“She’s going to love it,” Helga said.
“I hope so” Baby Ray said.
“Where are you going to park it?”
“I dunno. Bottom of our stoop, I guess.” Jim said.
