There were 4 of us that hung around together most of the time. I am the last one so my testament must stand for all. Murph was in and out, around the edges, never in trouble but in on many adventures. He died in a car crash when in his early 2o's. DePue was one of the "mad scientists" and was in on almost everything. He never got caught. He died in his 30's from kidney failure. Max and I were the inseparable pair. Always together in the early days. My mother wondered about us. Damon and Pythias she called us. We got caught.
We had a record store at the corner strip mall (didn't call it that then, but that's what it was.) Candy store on end, a deli, a record store and another store I don't remember. Frank owned the record store. An Italian from Brooklyn getting out of the hood and making his way to the American Dream. We hung out there, listening to records, getting advice from Frank, trying to survive in a world we didn't really understand. We were on the edge of gang violence, had switchblades but never actually had a gang fight. We went to a few "rumbles" but got lucky and got home in one piece.
We were about 14 when we decided that we needed a revolver. Why I do not know. Just needed it. Big men. Or would be with a piece. So we asked Frank where to buy one. He was reluctant at first to tell us but finally gave us an address in Brooklyn, in Red Hook, in the tenements. Go to this address and ask for Mario-da-pipe. His name. Take the cash. Don't worry. He'll take care of you.
So we went, found the place and found "da pipe". We went down into the basement from the front, along a dangerously dark and cluttered path to a door in the back and up into the back yard. Mario went into a shed in the back and came out with a pretty little 32 snub nose. With 6 cartridges. Two for each of us (Murph wasn't on this caper).We paid him and left to go home on the subway and train and back to the burbs.
Now you have to understand the gun laws of New York State then. Called the Sullivan Act and it made possession of a handgun an automatic felony with automatic jail time. No exceptions unless you had permit. We didn't.
So we got the gun home and hid it in Depue's basement for a few days. We handled it, pointed it, loaded and unloaded it, and them went shooting. Took a couple of shots each, ran out of shells and scared the piss out of ourselves. Big men.
We cut the gun into pieces and spread it around the neighborhood storm drains.
What were we thinking? Thinking? At 14? We were thinking that the girls would go crazy for guys with a gun. Had to be the only one in the school. Big men.
We didn't get caught this time so that chapter ended. We did have another gun, though, a Czech automatic with a bent slide that wouldn't shoot. Sweet looker, though. That went on a few trips too. But that is another tale for another time.
We had a record store at the corner strip mall (didn't call it that then, but that's what it was.) Candy store on end, a deli, a record store and another store I don't remember. Frank owned the record store. An Italian from Brooklyn getting out of the hood and making his way to the American Dream. We hung out there, listening to records, getting advice from Frank, trying to survive in a world we didn't really understand. We were on the edge of gang violence, had switchblades but never actually had a gang fight. We went to a few "rumbles" but got lucky and got home in one piece.
We were about 14 when we decided that we needed a revolver. Why I do not know. Just needed it. Big men. Or would be with a piece. So we asked Frank where to buy one. He was reluctant at first to tell us but finally gave us an address in Brooklyn, in Red Hook, in the tenements. Go to this address and ask for Mario-da-pipe. His name. Take the cash. Don't worry. He'll take care of you.
So we went, found the place and found "da pipe". We went down into the basement from the front, along a dangerously dark and cluttered path to a door in the back and up into the back yard. Mario went into a shed in the back and came out with a pretty little 32 snub nose. With 6 cartridges. Two for each of us (Murph wasn't on this caper).We paid him and left to go home on the subway and train and back to the burbs.
Now you have to understand the gun laws of New York State then. Called the Sullivan Act and it made possession of a handgun an automatic felony with automatic jail time. No exceptions unless you had permit. We didn't.
So we got the gun home and hid it in Depue's basement for a few days. We handled it, pointed it, loaded and unloaded it, and them went shooting. Took a couple of shots each, ran out of shells and scared the piss out of ourselves. Big men.
We cut the gun into pieces and spread it around the neighborhood storm drains.
What were we thinking? Thinking? At 14? We were thinking that the girls would go crazy for guys with a gun. Had to be the only one in the school. Big men.
We didn't get caught this time so that chapter ended. We did have another gun, though, a Czech automatic with a bent slide that wouldn't shoot. Sweet looker, though. That went on a few trips too. But that is another tale for another time.
gun image: http://www.guncollectorsclub.com/
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2 comments:
Why am I only hearing these stories now? Y'know, when it's too late for me to use them to justify my own teenage hooliganism?
Not fair.
Who said anything about fair? I haven't had the time to do all this before, and now I do. And since my old bud Max passed I have been wanting to get these together. Couldn't though. But it's been long enough so that the loss is moderated by the memories and out they come. One or two probably won't get public airing due to continued possible prosecution.
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