Pray To Win
BOOK 1
John McAuley
Smashwords Edition
Published By
John McAuley on Smashwords
Copyright 2012 by John McAuley
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Pray To Win
BOOK 1
Written and Published By
John McAuley
Copyright 2012 by John McAuley
INTRODUCTION
1 DIAMONDS
2 IDEA #1
3 CHRISTMAS EVE
4 IDEA #2
5 WHAT DO YOU STEAL?
6 EVERYTHING INVOLVED MONEY
7 LOTTERY TO COME
8 LOOPHOLE THEORY
9 ROOTING FOR UNCLE FRANK
10 SAFER IN A WAR ZONE
11 THE DRAWING
12 CONDOLENCES
13 KEEPING MY PROMISE
14 ADD AN ADDITION
15 LOTTERY PARTY
16 PARTY CONTINUES
17 GOING VICTORIAN
18 WHO NEEDS THREE TOWELS?
19 THE WAGER
20 TRINITY'S LESSON
21 MY FIRST FUNDRAISER
22 JAMIE'S PARTY
23 SHOPPING
24 CRAZY ABOUT YOU
25 2ND FUNDRAISER
26 OPEN THE ENVELOPE PLEASE
INTRODUCTION
You do not pray to God for money, especially prize money. That’s just how it is. Yes, you’re allowed to pray for everything else, but not money. That was the “Bible” according to our very Catholic mother. She never really called it a sin, but she most definitely hinted that it was. I felt at times that she was on the verge of saying, “It’s a sin, so there.”
I believe she wouldn’t go that far because she knew she would have been telling us a lie. And we all know, telling a lie is a sin.
I suppose I grew up somewhat confused because of this rule, as she called it.
You only realize years later where the truth lies. When your parents tell you something as a child and they cannot or will not explain it to you fully, well, you can throw that out the window.
So, if my Dad were to lose his watch, he could say a prayer to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost items but don’t even think about praying to Him to win a lottery or you know where you’re going to end up.
“That’s the rule and that’s the way it is,” she would say.
Maybe that was the rule, but if there was a loophole, I was determined to find it.
1
DIAMONDS
November of 1969 was unusually warm for that time of year. The summer was over too soon as usual, but the serious winter wear wasn’t called for just yet. My friends Bobby, Kenny and I were hanging out at Diamonds, the local neighborhood bar in Park Slope Brooklyn, sipping our Schaeffers and pretending we were solving some of the world’s problems.
Kenny was about 6 feet 3 inches when he stood up straight, which he seldom did. His curly blond hair was just there, the kind of hair that didn’t need any attention except for the once a month haircut.
A slim build with long arms that you had to avoid when he was engaged in conversation. During the past summer, Kenny and I had a part time business even though I worked a full time job. We did floor cleaning together on the weekends.
I supplied the vehicle and the equipment. The problem was that during the hot summer months Kenny became the transportation for himself and the guys that weren’t working and spent the days on Coney Island. No hard feelings. I sold the equipment, and easily gave up what turned out to be hard work. The next time that I have a money-making idea, you can be sure it’s not going to involve a 150 lb machine!
Bobby worked a full time job with a major publication and his thing was cars. If he still had any of the cars he owned he would have ended up with a fleet of classic cars but we all know how that works, should have but didn’t. At this time he was driving a ’50 Ford coupe, and it was sharp. A dollars worth of gas and at least one car wash a week and he was one happy guy.
His second passion was aviation. He had attended Aviation High School and worked for an aviation publication. Aviation trivia was always a big “pass the time” topic at the bar and I’m sure that more than one person that was present during those discussions threw what they learned into the mix when they were in other company. Bobby was about 5 feet 9 inches, good looking with black hair. Always ready with a story that usually ended with a knock-em-dead punch line. He would go on to be an accomplished artist and author. Now, if you were at the foot of Bobby’s bed when he got up in the morning, that was the only chance you would have to see his hair uncombed. Other than that it was impeccable and every hair was in place.
At the time I was working for an ink manufacturer. The best part of the job was my title: Assistant Chemist. At least those boring chemistry classes at Brooklyn Tech were paying off. The funny thing was, the owner of the ink company and I drove the same car except for the fact that he had a chauffeur and sat in the back.
The car was a four year old black Cadillac. It was the biggest caddy they made, the Fleetwood. I owned the car for almost two months before putting it on the road and I had the body and all of that chrome gleaming. The back seat area was huge. I lived in a one room apartment at that time and the only difference between the back seat and my place was my apartment had running water. That car had a cigarette lighter for every passenger but I was missing one from the day I got the car. After introducing myself to the chauffeur one evening over a cold beer, I had a full set of lighters. “Besides,” the chauffeur said to me, “the boss doesn’t smoke anyway."
Diamonds Bar and Grill was established in the 1920s in a building that had been built in 1890. It quickly earned itself a reputation as a rough and tumble place.
After entering through one of the two large front doors and a pair of swinging doors, you would see a long wooden bar to your right facing a huge expanse of windows that looked out on 9th Street and sat on the corner of 7th Avenue.
Right under that window was the customary shuffleboard that no bar in Brooklyn could be without.
Paddy was the owner and you would see him working the bar on any given day. He was a bear of a man who took his business seriously. Still he was quick to laugh and join in any of the shenanigans that were always going on. Paddy would service his customers and then retreat to his “holding area," which was at the far left of the long bar. He would place his massive hands on the highly polished woodwork, with one eye on the bar ready “to go to work." One didn’t sit too long staring at an empty glass on the bar in Diamonds. The way Paddy figured, working the bar the way he did, could be good for 30, maybe 40 more “pulls” sitting in the till by quitting time.
Paddy gave us a pour and in that deep roar of a voice, “How ‘r ya m’boys?"
“Kenneth,” looking at Kenny, “have ya found a job yet?”
Bobby chimed in, “Paddy, you can’t find something that you don’t look for.”
Amidst laughter, “I’m waiting on Jack’s next brainstorm,” says Kenny. “You know we thought we really had something with those alarm locks for awhile."
My cue, “We did Kenny, till our customers wanted us to install them also. We sold 5,000 dollars worth at that coin show in one day.
But installing them was another story. It took us over a month and we still couldn’t seem to get it right."
Kenny decides it’s been long enough. He wants to tell the story I made him swear he would never tell. “Jack, come on, let me tell it, they’re gonna love the story.”
“All right Kenny, you’re right, it has been a while.” Cringing . . . “Go ahead, I knew this was coming some day.”
“Here’s what happened,” he starts, “Jack installs one of our alarm locks on this old guy’s apartment door. I have no idea how what happens next was even possible. Jack is standing outside in the hall with the key. The plan was that he opens the lock, the alarm goes off, he steps inside and shuts the alarm off. I’m standing inside with the old man.
Okay we’re go. I hear Jack put the key in the lock, after that I couldn’t hear anything with that alarm going off.
Everything seemed to be working fine at this point. Key in lock, alarm goes off. Only the door doesn’t open. No Jack coming in and shutting the alarm off." Ken has me doing one of those laughing/crying episodes. “Then I hear knocking on the door. Jack tells me later he was knocking softly at first. But who could hear anything with this damn, noisy alarm. I only heard the knocking when he was pretty much pounding on the door. Then I heard a desperate plea, 'Kenny open the door.' So I open the door and I look at Jack and he looks at me and we both crack up. The only thing that saved us was that the old man was so hard of hearing he missed the knocking and Jack calling for me to open the door.
Somehow he put the whole thing in backwards. The only thing he got right was having the key slot on the front of the door.” That last line really did it, everyone was howling. I’ll be hearing about that episode for some time.
I’m not sure if it was good or bad but we always found the funny side of almost everything. Once, during our floor cleaning days, I was on my knees evaluating a customer’s floor. She was standing there with Kenny standing behind her.
I looked up and said, “I thought so,” while running my hand over the floor, “wax build-up.” The customer is looking down at me with such a look on her face you would have thought I just said, “Your first born has been kidnapped.” Kenny lost it and made an excuse that he just remembered something funny.
Yeah, we do something serious, but have a good time while we were doing it. The evening was starting off on the quiet side but that would only last awhile. The guys would be showing up soon enough and we would be comparing stories from last night, maybe last weekend. Maybe someone found a new club in Bay Ridge that could be worth checking out on the weekend. Perhaps Whiteys New York number came out last night and there would be a free round of drinks on the bar. Well maybe someones New York number.
The only time our friend Whitey’s number came out was the very same night that he gave up on it and called it quits. That night everyone at Diamonds bar heard that he stopped playing and we all jumped on it. Well, it did come out and no one saw Whitey for the next two weeks.
Whitey, who’s real name was Tommy, was a tough Irishman who would never back down to anybody. He was about 5 feet 11 inches with red hair and a ruddy complexion. Whenever he spoke, he sounded like he was auditioning for a role in a gangster movie. The previous Christmas Eve, Rocky and I, accompanied him as he handed out $10.00 bills to kids on the street in a poor section of Brooklyn reminding us, “Don’t you two ever tell anybody about this.” I never did until just now.
Rocky was everybody’s friend. No one disliked Rocky. About 5 feet 8 inches, a shock of wavy black hair. He usually didn’t sit in one spot too long. Even in Diamonds he would be pacing back and forth while carrying on a conversation. He did a great imitation of Yogi Berra, in a good way, saying something that came out funny without him meaning it to. For an example he made an excuse a week ahead of time saying, “I don’t think I’m going to be feeling good that day.”
Anyway, here we were passing the time, checking out what should’ve been the last of “New York back to Brooklyn” commuters coming out of the subway exit right outside on 9th Street. We had a shuffleboard game going just for practice. Later, when more of the crowd came in, it would be a bit more serious. At the very least there would be beers on the line if not dollars and beers. Let’s be honest here, practicing and drinking beers? Sure the practice part was a good thing. But I would have to guess the drinking totally eliminated any of the value of practice. Play shuffleboard without a beer in your hand? I don’t think so.
There were plenty of quiet evenings at Diamonds. On one of those quiet evenings George C. Scott walked in. That George, the actor. A friend of ours was his favorite bodyguard when he was in New York. Our friend, an N.Y.P.D. Detective, lived within throwing distance from Diamonds. He had first brought him in about three years ago. Ever since, George made Diamonds a stop when he was in town. Great fun, no hassles. We all loved his work. Hellos, drinks back and forth, just regular guys. He loved that because that’s what he was, a regular guy.
One of our friends named Smitty, who was 6 feet 4 inches and weighed 300 pounds, had George C.'s attention. They had met on a previous visit. Smitty was a truck driver and outside sat his brand new baby, a Mack cab. A big red thing that had so much chrome that one might describe it as a chrome Mack cab with red trim.
Of course his daughter’s name was stenciled on the passenger side door, Suzy Q. He tells the story of the christening, he, his wife and some friends had for his new Mack. “We didn’t have any champagne, not even a bottle of wine. I was ready to use a bottle of Rheingold beer, when my wife found a bottle of Ballantine Ale. She thought that had a lot more class then the Rheingold. So I smacked that on the rear chassis and the Suzy Q. was official.”
“Great story Smitty,” George says, “I think your wife was right about the ale, I know it’s more expensive than your regular beer.” We all agreed on that point. Now, Smitty has George by the window facing his Mack and apologizing.
“I’m sorry George, I’d love to take you for a ride around the block but I know my spot would be gone when we got back."
“I understand but thanks for the invite. It’s a beauty, good luck with it.”
I won’t get into it too much, the night the actor who played John Dillinger in the movie, took my money on the bar as his own. Whitey was there and knew him well. “Let it go Jack, there’s no winning here.” He says to me.
Paddy grabs me on the side, “Forget it Jack, I’ll make it up.”
The guy was a brawler when he drank and so it was let go. Yeah, a lot of quiet evenings at Diamonds, you just never knew.
2
IDEA #1
Bobby had only been back a short time from the Air Force National Guard boot camp. He would talk about stuff you would only understand if you were there. “Road guards out!”
That’s what a lead person would yell out when his squadron came to a crossroad on their morning marches. He knew that well because he was the designated road guard for his group. He would jump into the crossroad with a stop sign while the squadron marched through.
I could think of better things to do at 5:30 a.m. than waiting to hear “Road guards out!” But for anyone who served, you know the deal. Kenny and I were happy to have Bobby back in the fold again. Always great fun.
“I swear,” Kenny would say, “between the two of you I never laughed so hard.”
I had taken classes for writing and improvisation at a school in New York City, which was a great experience. I met a lot of interesting people including Jane Curtin of Saturday Night Live. She was a very funny lady who never hesitated to showcase her talent on stage.
At the time, I was working as a bartender in a relative's social club where the patrons were the people who really ran Brooklyn. My fellow bartender's nickname was Dum-Dum. Don't ever shorten it to just one Dum, which when I would he would remind me, "It's Dum-Dum Jack." I could never figure him out, one Dum wasn't enough for him.
I took to taking the bar as my stage, trying out different characters. One of those characters was the deaf/mute bartender. I would only do that when it wasn't real busy. I would keep an eye on the customers and supposedly read their lips when they ordered. When they realized I would take their order, serve their drinks and not say a word, they would question Dum-Dum. He always went along with the act.
One time there were three pretty women sitting at the bar confessing their innermost secrets and exploits to each other while I was standing close by. Now, one of my fantasies has always been to have the ability to become invisible. I wasn't invisible but as far as these girls were concerned I might as well have been.
Their mentality was, "If he can't see our lips, he doesn't know what we're saying." I usually keep in character but couldn't help myself when after they said their goodnights and reached the exit door, I waved and gave out a rather loud "Goodnight." Their faces became a shade whiter, staring, thoughts running through their pretty heads that they couldn't put into words as they went through the exit door.
It was a miracle, suddenly I could speak and they couldn't.
We were all earning money in some way or other. Bobby went back to his Art Director job which was guaranteed before he joined the National Guard. Kenny and I went through the quick money, big paying jobs that were always available through our connections. Still, while we were riding that out there was always the thought, “Yeah, this is good but what about the long haul?”
A good friend of ours, Jimmy R. walked in. Jimmy worked on Madison Avenue. He was responsible for more than a few of the popular slogans that were heard on radio, television and in print in those days. Here’s a test: “L.S.M.F.T.” That was for a cigarette company that put him on the fast track to success. We all heard the phrase, “larger than life,” that was Jimmy. Everyone knew when Jimmy was in the room.
He loved to travel and did quite a bit of it. His company would contact him wherever he was and lay out the current project. He’d brainstorm for a day or two, or as he put it, “I’ll go easy on the drinks for a couple of days.” The whole thing worked because he constantly came up with winners.
Jimmy was about 5 feet 9 inches tall with black hair and silver streaks running along the sides. A sharp dresser, today he’s wearing black sharkskin slacks with the correct drape over black cowboy boots. A black turtleneck and waist length black leather jacket with epaulets helped to accentuate the white scarf he wore. If you were to ask ten guys in Diamonds if they knew anyone who owned their own tuxedo, you would hear Jimmy's name ten times.
Anyway, Jimmy and I hit it off a long time ago, even though he had thirty years on me. “How you bums doing?” Jimmy asks. “Come on, I know you all missed me."
“Hi Jim.” "Jimmyboy how are ya?” “Look at you with the tan.” “You’re looking good Jim.”
He works his way down the bar shaking hands.
Paddy gets his in, “The prodigal son returns, are you still a scotch man? Or maybe one of those fairy island mixes. All colorful and an umbrella sitting in it.”
“No Paddy, that’s only when I’m around people that don’t know me. I drink that here and there goes my reputation.”
Jimmy arrives at our end of the bar shortly before his scotch on the rocks does. “Paddy, I’d appreciate it if you’d set up all at the bar with myself.” “I’ll do that Jimmy, but yours is with me.” Paddy pours from our end to the other end of the bar. “With Jimmy R.” He announces. Guys are picking up their glasses and sending salutations. Jimmy covers them all. “Happy holidays, you guys are the best."
“And happy holiday to you Jimmy boy," from Paddy as he downed the scotch poured from the same bottle as Jimmy’s drink. “Ahh, that was a good one. The truth being, they’re all good.” Paddy makes a statement. “So it’s Christmas in Brooklyn for ya this year Jimmy. Just like the old days.”
“Yeah Paddy,” answers Jimmy. “I need to settle in for awhile and rejuvenate. The traveling is great, but Brooklyn is never out of mind for too long a time. Lying on a beach this time of year just doesn’t do it, I need a cold, snowy Brooklyn Christmas.”
“Well Jim boy,” Paddy says, “that’s exactly what we’re all in for.” The remainder of the evening had us all catching up on the past three months.
One of our friends, a fella named Dave, was doing the evening bartending duties in Diamonds at this time. Dave was an always ready to laugh kind of guy. It didn’t take much to get him started. About 6 feet tall with light brown hair, Dave was a quiet, soft spoken guy unless you got on the wrong side of him, then you had a problem.
He lived on the hill on 11th Street and 8th Avenue. For a time he was driving a Studebaker…a Studebaker with no battery. It was a stick shift. As long as he parked the car on the top of the hill everything was fine. The car would get a rolling start and halfway down the block it would turn over. The problem was, he needed to find a parking spot outside of Diamonds facing downhill. There was no other choice. At times he would be double parked with the engine running, waiting for a spot to open. Dave had an idea. “Jack, do you know that guy Harry who hangs with the iron worker crowd?”
“Yeah, sure Dave.”
“Well, he’s big on the trotters, and I’ve been calling in his bets for him.”
“Has he been a good tipper?” I ask.
“Tip? What tip? You don’t tip when you don’t win and he never wins.”
“That bad huh?"
“Real bad. But here’s what I’m thinking. I’m going to book some of his bets myself. Jack, in a weeks time he must be dropping a good six hundred.”
“Wow, that much?”
“Yeah, we could do good.”
“Dave, you said we, where are you going with this?”
“All right, if you and I put a little bank together, we could make some money. If I go it alone and he does connect before I get ahead of him, well it could be over real quick. What do ya think?"
I’m taking this all in and ask him, “Is he a good payer?”
“Jack, he pays me up front when he makes his bets for the evening.”
“Has he been in yet tonight?”
“Not yet.”
“Tell you what, let’s do this. Take his action tonight and we’ll be partners on whatever happens. Then tomorrow you and I will talk and make a plan.”
“That’s good with me Jack. I’ll let you know later what his picks are.” We shake on it and the adventure begins. As it turned out, we had a good run. Several weeks later we were sitting on about $3500.00, not counting a few more we had spent. A couple of scares along the way couldn’t be avoided. Like the night his long shot exacta missed by a whisker. There was more then a few times he would have busted us.
It was a funny scene the night Harry gave up the horses. Everyone was agreeing with his decision, everyone but Dave. “Come on Harry, your lucks gotta change.”
“Dave, leave him be,” said one of Harry’s friends, “it took a lot for him to quit, he’ll never be ahead.”
“Ah, I’m just saying, there’s probably something running tonight that he likes. Just be a shame, that’s all.” Like they say, all good things come to an end.
3
CHRISTMAS EVE
Here it is, Christmas Eve and there’s a crowd at the bar in Diamonds. Bobby, Ken and I were at one end in our regular seats. The rest of the crowd was spread out down the length of the bar and taking up the two cushioned booths along the windowed wall facing 9th Street.
Not to give you the idea this is where we had been all day. The last of the gift buying was finished earlier in the day. Well, better late than never. We all had plans to attend midnight mass. Yes, that’s what I said! It was a ritual every Christmas that we all still followed. I have to admit, it was easier to go to midnight mass while you were still up than getting up early on Christmas Day.
You can bet midnight mass became a midnight “mess” when our crowd showed up, but that’s something I would never repeat, or admit to anyone outside of our crowd. The shuffleboard is getting it’s share of attention but more from the not too serious players.
The three of us, Whitey and J. A., are into a matches game. Matches? For those of you not familiar with the game, here’s how it works.
The game always starts the same way. Everyone throws a dollar on the bar and when that’s done the game can begin. All of the players are allowed three matches. Now, like the game we have in progress, there are five players. That means the highest number could only be fifteen. The lowest is always zero. We all put from nothing to three matches in our right hand, keeping any matches left in our left hand. When everyone puts their right hand on the bar, whoever goes first, which is always the person who won the last round, will call out his guess on the total amount of matches in our combined hands. After the last caller, we show our open hands and add up the matches. That’s it, if a correct call was made, there’s a winner and they collect the pot. If nobody calls the correct amount of matches, we all add another dollar to the pot for the next round.
I’m sure that for those of you who have played before, I just brought back a lot of memories. J.A.’s Brother, Joe, just joined the game, which adds to the pot and the level of noise from our end of the bar. It is not a quiet game as one might think. Someone calls their guess and one or two other players are making fun of their call. “You called that?” “Aw, you must have one or maybe nothing.” The back and forth never ends. Great fun.
J.A. and Joe were regulars and Joe at 6 feet was the taller of the two. Both possessed quick wit and got along with everyone. Good conversationalist with a healthy dose of humor. J.A. supplemented his income taking action on the New York numbers. Joe would become a high ranking officer with the N.Y.P.D.
Now, as you can imagine, with this crowd Paddy is pretty much on the move. Pouring drinks from one end of the long bar to the other, but he loves it. On the bar sits a jar of pickled eggs and pickled pig’s knuckles. You probably would be surprised how often the pig’s knuckles are emptied and have to be refilled. There’s a little known law in New York, that calls for establishments such as Diamonds to have food available when alcohol is being served. Actually the law called for a working kitchen but the eggs and knuckles somehow covered the lack of it.
This Christmas Eve we were covered. As we sometimes do, we chipped in and brought in snacks. As per the plan, when Joe joined us he was carrying two large paper bags containing loaves of Italian bread, salami, provolone, roasted peppers, fresh basil and a jar of honey mustard. When Joe threw the bill for the goodies on the bar, Whitey grabbed it and paid Joe the entire amount.
“That’s it,” he exclaimed, “it’s paid, I don’t want to hear nothing, Merry Christmas.” And that was it, you didn’t argue with Whitey.
“Merry Christmas, thanks,” from the rest of us. Of course we attempted to cover his drinks for the evening. He still managed to have Paddy “set up the bar” at least twice that night. It was good to see our friend Rocky walk in. We knew he wouldn’t have a problem with setting up our feast on one of the tables. When he saw and heard what we had he even offered to do just that.
Beautiful, we get a few more rounds of addictive matches in. Rocky and another friend Mikey who just showed up, got what was needed from Paddy: a sharp knife, platters and a few forks.
It’s a rule, Paddy, who also supplied a jar of the large stuffed green olives from his stash, will make his plate first. Not too long after, we’re all sitting at the bar with a plate in front of us. It’s usually at this point that we tell whoever is at the bar to help themselves.
After cutting the remainder of the loaves of bread into sandwich size, the rest of the spread is offered down the bar. Plenty of takers there, all offering their “Thank you guys." Pretty soon there’s a round of drinks sent down in gratitude. Everybody wins. No more games of chance, the rest of the evening is taken up mostly with stories of past Christmas Eves. The midnight “mess” stories are high on the list. Smoking in the 'stand up only' side of the Church. Getting sick in the pew, and the only place for it to go was in the pew in front of you. For some folks it turned into a “messy” Christmas.
The weather has finally caught up with the month and about an hour ago the snow began to fall. Just a light covering on the ground right now and swirls of rather large flakes floating down. It was a pretty sight through Diamonds windowed wall.
The snow is no problem for any of us. Everything is within walking distance and the cars are staying where they are. Paddy is busy pouring for the entire bar, “All right this is my Christmas present to you all. Now what I wanna know, what did ya all get for me?”
Whiteys first, “Paddy I fed you tonight.”
Some one at the other end of the bar, “What do you get for someone who has everything?”
Kenny chips in, “Paddy, a handsome man like yourself, I got you a stick to keep all the girls away.”
My turn, “When you see the tip I leave, you can buy anything you want.”
“Yeah,” J.A. adds, “I just lent Jack a lot of money, now I know what it was for, your tip.”
This carried on for a good ten minutes before Paddy declared us all, “A bunch of cheap bastards."
4
IDEA #2
The next big idea came from me. Dave had worked as a salesman for one of those deluxe vacuum distributors. He did very well at first. The reason he did so well was because he seriously went on the street and worked the program. That became too much of an effort. He slowed down till he needed the big paycheck.
When he had to, he would go out and hustle the vacuums and put money in his pocket. The only problem was that the distributor owner didn’t agree with his work tactics. So the relationship ended, but on friendly terms. If Dave ever decided to work on a more steady schedule, he would be welcomed back.
A while back Dave had explained to me how the distributor did so well. He had a system that was simple, legal and sweet.
“Jack, here’s how it works," Dave is laying it out. “He’ll hire ten new people a week.
Now the following week, that should be good for maybe ten sales. Because you know what happens?”
“Yeah I think so,” I say, “especially if he’s hiring young people, maybe students. They go home and show their mother that they have a job and of course their parents want to support them in their venture. So the father decides it’s time to buy the wife a new ‘look how easy it is’ vacuum cleaner. Bingo, first day on the job, first sale.”
“Right Jack. You got it. That’s what happens. Now, throw in a close aunt and uncle, maybe a sister getting married soon. One sale is just about a lock, but it could easily turn into three or four."
“Yeah, I could see that. And as long as he brings in new people, his sales stay up.”
“Exactly Jack. And when the new hire runs through the family, that’s when they realize, they’re not really cut out to be a salesperson and they quit. Which is okay with the distributor.”
Now Dave is laughing when he finishes with, “He needs the room for the newer people anyway.” More laughter.
I’m laughing when I say, “This guy probably never sold a vacuum himself, all he does is hire people.”
Dave corrects me when he says. “No Jack, he probably sold two. One to his mother and one to his sister.” We both break up.
Shortly after Harry gave up the horses, I reminded Dave what he had told me about the system his old vacuum cleaner boss used.
“Dave, why don’t we do the same thing?”
“To become a distributor Jack, there’s some cost involved. You need a store of some kind and vacuums to supply your salespeople with for demos.”
“Okay so think of this. First, how much commission does a salesperson make on a sale?”
“Let’s see…I’m pretty sure it was $125.00. Then if you sold a certain amount in a month’s time, you would get a bonus of maybe another $20.00 per sale.”
“All right, let me ask you this, when you were working for this guy and if someone were to sell a machine for you, would it be worth it to you to have given that person say, $75.00?"
“Sure, I’d be making $50.00 without doing anything.”
“Now suppose you went back to work for the same place. You and I start hiring our own people for sales. Now, we’re hiring young people and we pay them $75.00 for every sale. Without any of the bonuses we’re clearing $50.00 each. If we just sold 20 machines a month that would be $1000.00"
“You might have something there Jack. Only five new people a week should easily bring in 20 sales a month. I know we could do a lot better than that with just a little effort.”
“And don’t forget Dave, we’re only talking about working part-time.”
“That’s all it would take, we’re not selling anything.” With that big grin of his, “We’re just hiring people to do that.”
“I would think we have two choices for a place to work out of: ‘Whitey’s Club’ (our friend Whitey had a store front which was a private club) or ‘Fat’s Plumbing Store’ (another friend who had a storefront for his plumbing business).”
“Whitey’s place is out,” Dave says. “Too much goes on in there. He’s not gonna want strangers around."
“You’re right Dave, that won’t work. But ‘Fat’s’ could be perfect. It’s clean, with a big back room. He just meets his workers there in the morning and when they leave to go on their jobs, the place is empty all day.”
“You know what Jack, I think that’s the answer.”
“You go back in the vacuum business and sell five machines the first week and we’ll have our first five demos. I’ll be your first customer.”
“And only,” Dave comments.
“You figure we put out $1500.00 of what we got and we’ll get back $625.00 of that with the first commission check.” I’m doing the math.
The deal is set and in motion. The arrangement with our friend Fat’s is, he’s good for 8 bucks for every sale made. Dave’s old boss welcomes him back and after the first week is happy he did.
“Dave, I knew you would be back, this is your calling son. You’re a born salesman.”
Dave yes’d him to death and made five sales the first week. The second week we bought three more because we were still putting everything in position and wanted to keep his boss happy.
The first week we hit the unemployment office and passed out information for an opportunity. That brought in four bodies. By the third week they accounted for seven sales. Yes, we were on our way! Once we had eight bodies we had to stop hiring, we ran out of demos.
After two months we were only a little ahead. Every time we turned around we had to buy another demo. We had to stop hiring because we ran out of demos.
“Dave we’ve got a problem. We’re putting everything we make into new demos. We hired 18 part-time people since we started and 16 are still with us. We can’t afford to hire any more. We need some of them to quit so we can get new blood.”
“Jack, I think I know why nobody’s quiting.”
“Most of them, their sales are way down, so what is it Dave?”
“They like us Jack.”
“Like us? Why would they like us?”
“Well, let’s see. It might have something to do with those sandwich spreads you put out. Or maybe the cold beers that we supply. They see us having a good time and we always include whoever is around. Yeah Jack, they’re not quitting because we’re too nice and they think we would be hurt if they were to quit on us."
I say, “Looks to me like there’s only one answer. You’re gonna have to fire some of them. You think they’re still gonna like us Dave?”
“Oh I see, you supply snacks and beer, ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ and I do the firing.”
“All right, we do it together or we try to at least get even and close shop.”
“Let’s face it Jack, I don’t think either of us could fire them. They’re a nice bunch just trying to earn some spending money. I think we have to find a way out without hurting them. I mean for some of them this was their first job. What a drag to be fired from your first job.”
We closed up shop soon after. For the hell of it, we told everyone that we were closing in two weeks. Whatever sales they made in that time they would be paid $125.00 for each. Plus they could keep the demos and always sell them for half price.
I mean, after all, they liked us.
5
WHAT DO YOU STEAL?
Only when Dave and I gave up on our vacuum cleaner adventure did we realize just how much time we were putting into it. One job was enough for awhile. Not that we stopped looking for the pot of gold, far from it. It would just have to wait a little longer.
Diamonds was our base but we all moved around quite a bit. The biggest change in the bar was that women came in now. Dave was responsible for that. He invited a woman he was seeing to come in while he was working and it went from there. They would take over most of the booths.
I had a room on 9th Street between 8th and Prospect Park West, a half block off Prospect Park. It was in a beautiful Victorian home. In those days they were one family homes. Nowadays, most of them rented out furnished rooms on the 2nd and 3rd floors. Recently a young family of Italian descent bought the place. Father, mother and their 7 year old daughter. No sooner did they move in and a small army of workers appeared, restoring, fixing and generally updating the house.
The very attractive wife Catherine, always seemed to be home when not running shopping errands to 5th or 7th Avenue. I didn’t see the husband too much. A few afternoons, when I did see him, he would be very well dressed and getting into a black Lincoln with a driver.
Once in awhile I’d carry the wife’s shopping bags up the hill if I ran into her heading home from one of her shopping excursions. Her way of thanking me was to hand me a plate of one of her pasta dishes and a couple of meatballs, which always included a crusty bread.
“One night when my husband is home, you’ll sit with us and have dinner,” she’d say.
“Sure,” I would answer, not really caring, and not really expecting anything of it.
So I was surprised when I saw a note on my door one Sunday morning.
“Jack, I told my husband that I owed you a dinner. He suggested today would be a good day for you to collect. We’ll be eating at six. I hope that’s a good time for you.” Catherine
So there I was Sunday evening at six meeting Anthony for the first time.
“Hey, I appreciate some of the chores you did for my wife, carrying her bags up and what not” pausing only to stick his fork into a stuffed shell and finding his mouth. “That’s a nice thing you did.”
“Thanks Anthony, I appreciate you saying that but it was really no big deal. This dinner is the best ‘thank you’ I’ve had in a while. This has to be the best Italian food I’ve ever tasted.”
“Yeah Jack, that’s what you need, a nice Italian girl. The grandmother teaches her daughter how to cook and she teaches her daughter. It’s a family thing.”
Now I’m not one to ask questions of a personal nature. Like, age or what a person does for a living. But after Anthony asking me, “So, what do you do Jack? You know, workwise.”
I explained what I was involved with at the time, and I figured the polite thing to do was return the question.
“How about you Anthony, what are you into?”
He was busy moving the last meatball around on his plate, deciding whether he had room for one more I suppose. He gave me a sideward look and stared for, I guess a good five seconds. A lot of suspense, answer the question or eat the meatball. He decided to do both.
The meatball was on his fork and heading towards the mouth. Just before it arrived he said, “I’m in steel.”
It was the perfect segue...“Oh” I replied, “So what do you steal?”
I think the meatball went down whole. His wife had a napkin to her mouth stifling herself.
Anthony looks at his wife and then at me.
“That’s funny Jack, that’s funny.” Looking back at his wife, “That was funny wasn’t it Cat?”
Catherine answers, “Hilarious. You should share that with your friends at work.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, I’m gonna do that. They’ll get a kick out of it.”
A quick cup of coffee and some homemade tiramisu brought dinner to a close. Anthony let it be known that he had a meeting and I excused myself.
“Thanks for everything Catherine. My God it was all so good.” Turning towards Anthony and shaking hands, “Good to meet you Anthony, you’re a lucky guy, getting food like this every day.”
“Okay Jack, same here. You take care of yourself.”
“Yeah thanks, stop by Diamonds some evening, I’d love to buy you a drink. That’s where I’m heading now, see who’s around.”
I found Bobby, Whitey and J.A.. They had a matches game in progress and were glad to see me. Four is better than three. Dave was tending bar. It was a slow night so he was hanging with them but on his side of the bar. I told them about the fabulous dinner I just had. “That woman should open a restaurant, that’s how great it was.”
J.A. wasn’t impressed. “Jack, what’s a Scotsman know? If all those Italian women that are great cooks opened a restaurant, you wouldn’t see any bars. Every store would be an Italian restaurant.”
Everyone agreed with that. Everyone except Whitey, “What! What’s wrong with Irish cooking? They’ve got a lot of good stuff.”
“Yeah Whitey’s right,” I say, “what do they make? The high ball, right.”
“Yeah, I’ll give you the high ball," he shoots back.
Davy pipes in, “It’s Irish coffee you’re thinking of.”
I would see Anthony only a few more times after that day. Both were when he was getting picked up in the Lincoln. After about two months I knew he wasn’t around anymore. There were times I ran into Catherine and helped with her bags but never saying more than, “Say hello to Anthony for me.” The workers disappeared around the same time.
Progress back to the Victorian age came to a halt.
6
EVERYTHING INVOLVED MONEY
Almost everything that went on in Diamonds, involved money. The game of matches, shuffleboard, even the trivia rounds there was a dollar in the pot.
Betting on a horse at Aqueduct, Belmont or maybe the trotters at Yonkers was a daily routine. I didn’t know anyone who didn’t bet on something.
I suppose, looking back, it was just a case of people with limited means who wanted more. The easy way. When someone did make a score, there would be a round of drinks on the bar. If one of the guys was in a hole, they would be bailed out. One thing about us guys, we shared.
It was a late afternoon on a rainy day and there was a full house at Diamonds. Because it had been raining since early morning, the iron workers set up camp early. Mix in our crowd and the truck drivers who were finished for the day and the noise level reached a record high.
“You guys want your same numbers in New York tonight, right? J.A. asks.
He has learned to always confirm that information on a daily basis.
His brother Joe standing at the bar, replied, “There’s some money to be made today,” referring to the ironworkers, truck drivers and the mix of alcohol.
Rocky and Mikey saw the same opportunity and were already on it.
“We got the first game against Big Smitty and his partner,” Rocky said.
Tommy, aka Whitey, wants Joe as his partner. Two really good players, they should own the board tonight.
“Joe, you and me, okay?”
“Sure Tom, no problem." knowing that his brother J.A. doesn’t play.
That reminds me, I do know one guy who doesn’t gamble. The same person who takes bets, never bets himself, J.A..
Bobby, Kenny and I would alternate games till another player showed up.
That didn’t take long. Jimmy R. and a doctor friend of his walked in.
He worked his way down the bar greeting everyone and introducing his buddy.
He reached our end, where Paddy was setting down a round of beers in front of us.
“Paddy, let me know if you need a partner. Look at this crowd! I have a check in my pocket right now.”
Paddy’s wearing a big grin when he answers, “I should take it Jimmy. But you’ll walk in tomorrow when all these guys are back to work and be looking for your check back.”
Jimmy introduces his friend, Ray, who is a surgeon at Methodist hospital.
The Methodist is close by on 7th Avenue and 6th Street.
Paddy leaves and returns with a scotch for Jimmy. “Jim, this is from Smitty.”
Jimmy gives a thank you in Smitty’s direction and turns to face us.
“You’ve got to hear this. When I said hello to Smitty I introduced Ray here. And I mentioned that he is a doctor from the Methodist. So Smitty wants to buy us a drink and I accept, but Ray tells him, 'No thanks' he has surgery in the morning. As we’re walking away we hear Smitty telling the guys, 'Can you believe that? Jimmy’s friend is having surgery in the morning and look at him. He looks okay to me.'"
We’re all laughing as Jimmy says, “Ah, the good hearted giant.”
Sure, he would love to play some shuffleboard. But first he and Ray were going into the back booth to finalize details of an upcoming fundraiser that Jimmy was having.
Jimmy was at that stage where he was looking to give back. A successful guy, never married, always “just dating.”
His friends, outside of Diamonds, were all professional people. He was close to more than a few who were in show business. He found his calling through these same friends. He was the person to go to when there was money to be raised. A new wing at a local hospital. A community project. Maybe a new hospital from the ground up. Jimmy R. could make it happen.
Jimmy lived right across from Prospect Park on Prospect Park West in a beautiful Victorian mansion. Most of his fund raisers were for Brooklyn projects and he would hold them in his own house.
An ex-governor of New York was one of his neighbors and frequently was an invited guest. He also managed to squeeze himself into a few bit parts in three movies.
“They owed me a favor,” he’d say, “and besides, I wanted to see how I looked on the big screen.”
Overall it was a good night. On the shuffleboard it turned into our best shooters against the iron workers and truck drivers best. Money and beers were being bet on every game. Of course that meant some of us never got to shoot, but hey, we were way ahead in the “win” column.
At one point Bobby was telling J.A., “Yeah John, New York is going into the numbers business.”
“What are ya talking about? They can’t do that, the numbers are illegal.” J.A. answers.
“Well, they’re about to make it legal.” Bobby goes on. “They’re going to generate their own numbers.”
Rocky adds to the conversation, “Yeah, that’s what those signs are about that you see in the stores: LOTTERY COMING TO NEW YORK. “That pisses me off," says J.A., “they see a good thing and they jump on it.”
Kenny has some advice for J.A., first with a straight face.
“John, I’ve got an idea. Apply for a job with the New York lottery.” Now laughingly, “Tell em you got experience.”
Adding to the laughter, his brother Joe offers, “I’ll help you write up a resume. Let’s see, you’ve been taking action for how long?”
We’re all having a good time at J.A.’s expense when Dave, who walked in and caught the end of the conversation, makes a statement.
“Would you call that a resume? It sounds more like a confession to me.”
J.A.’s smiling now when he says, "All right you guys, have your fun now. Let’s see if you’re laughing when New York gets it all wrong. At least you know that my operation is on the up and up and you get paid on time."
Bobby looks at Kenny and me with a puzzled look on his face. “His operation is on the up and up?”
7
LOTTERY TO COME
I say hello to the two detectives I know from the 72nd Precinct on Fifth Avenue. I was leaving my apartment as they were coming into the areaway leading to Catherine's front door. I’m a little concerned about not having an apartment.
If the building gets seized in a legal action, I suppose anyone there would get locked out. Not much I can do about how it turns out. I do have options but I start to keep extra clothes and toiletries in my car, just in case of any surprises.
I’m heading up to Jimmy R.’s place this morning. One of his fundraisers is scheduled for tonight and he needs a hand to set things up. When I first walk in, I notice a one year old group picture of all of the guys. Jimmy has it hanging over the mantlepiece.
“Yeah Jack, finally got around to hanging it.”
We move furniture around for a few hours, unload small tables and straight back chairs that he rented.
He places two glass bowls on each table. Each bowl has a tag identifying a particular prize. The idea is, you buy tickets and place them in the bowl/prize of your choice. I read some of the tags, 'Dinner for six at The Palm,' '3 day weekend in Vegas for two with $1000.00 credit,' 'One week in Jamaica for two.' I resist the temptation to insert the word “Queens” after Jamaica. We set up the bar area on one end of the room to provide more open space. When we’re done he treats me to Chinese food at a place on 5th Avenue and 9th Street.
Over lunch he explains how the evening will go.
“Jack, as people arrive, the co-host and I will greet them, show them where to hang their coats and make sure that they get a drink. After that, they’re on their own. The girls will be bringing eats around the entire evening and the bar is fully stocked." “Girls Jim? What’s that about?"
“Oh yeah, been using the same group for a year or so. My niece Carol is my bartender and the rest of the staff are friends of hers from college.”
“Jim, I remember you mentioning your ‘cute-as-a-button’ niece Carol about 2 years ago and she was starting school. I figured then, she must be 6 years old."
“Nooo Jack. She was starting school for her masters. I guess I never fully explained.”
“No, I guess you never did.”
“Carol’s been helping me for awhile now, you know, working her way through college.”
“And knowing you, I’m sure that’s the only job she needs.”
“Well Jack, what’s the sense of it all, if you don’t help the ones that you care about?”
“I’m with you there Jim. I’m sure it all comes back, it always does.”
“Here, let me show you a picture.” He pulls out his wallet with a foldout containing several photos. All of the photos were of the same girl. She had shoulder length light brown hair and a smile that looked like someone had just told her the funniest joke she ever heard.
Then there were the ones that captured the more serious look. The serious look pictures were the ones that captured me.
“What can I say Jim, you hit the nail on the head, cute-as-a-button. She’s lucky to have a nice guy like you for an uncle.”
“No Jack, I’m the lucky one. She’s one of a kind, believe me. She is such a giving person, perhaps to a fault.”
“Oh, oh, I think you’re trying to say something.”
“Maybe I am. When she was attending college she also was a volunteer at the Foundling Hospital of New York. Even when she graduated from college she couldn’t bring herself to leave so she took a full time job there. She’s part of the group that tends to children with special needs.
There are times that she brings her work home with her. What I mean by that is, she’ll bring home one of the little ones for a weekend. The hospital policy allows and encourages it. I’m all for it and insist she spend some of those weekends at my place when I’m in town."
I interject, “Wow Jim, she sure sounds like a giving person. Not only giving up her own time but it certainly takes a lot more than just your normal babysitting."
“You’re right Jack, that’s what I’m saying, how can you find fault with a person who’s willing to do that?”
“I can’t, but apparently someone else does.” All I can think of is, “Her parents?”
“No. That might make sense if it were them. It’s this idiot boyfriend of hers.”
Oh, there’s a boyfriend. Well, how could there not be? And why should the mention of a boyfriend make me feel like I’m on a high-speed elevator that just came to a sudden stop?
“The first thing he does, when Carol is bringing home one of her little visitors is become unavailable for that weekend. I don’t know, work or prior commitments, but always something. Then his other problem is how she’s wasting her education. She could command a lot more money in a different field.”