Preamble
Thinking, thinking, thinking,
always thinking on my 20-minute walk to the clubhouse gym each day and the same
on my return trip. On what do I cogitate? The stimulating banter at the gym as
we go through our own exercise routines? What else? Heck, without the chit
chat, we old geezers would be bored to death. Fortunately, we all have years
and years of living experience and so never run out of topics.
Some topics are mundane, and
some are profound. As an amateur scribe, I relish these discussions as fodder
for my writing grist mill. The following piece resulted from a take-away from
the gym: this one a somewhat heated discussion about bagels, of all things.
There were some strong opinions, especially on where to buy the best bagels in
the Atlanta area, and each bagel lover had his own bagel “story.” On the walk home that day, I began
structuring my own bagel story from the past. The completed piece follows.
The Great Bagel Caper by Octo G. Enario
Vito
Brazzi was one of the most feared teenagers around. This guy was strong and
fearless. Nobody crossed him without risking peril. Vito acted as the “enforcer” for the Ditmas
Dukes, one of the toughest gangs in Brooklyn during the 1950s. And yet, Vito
was fair and had a softer side, fortunately for me.
I
knew Vito only by sight and by reputation throughout my youth. In my late
teens, my best friend Kirk became a close pal of Vito’s. This was an unlikely
relationship what with Vito being an Italian American greaser and Kirk a blond,
Nordic, California surfer type. Their mutual attraction might have developed
because they both were fearless with dominant personalities and innate
leadership skills. As Kirk’s buddy, I was drawn into a tangential relationship
with Vito.
Hanging
out with the guys was our favorite pastime in our late teens. We roamed all
over the neighborhoods late into the night, looking for “action.” We never
really found “action” but reveled in the constant pursuit of it (go
figure). My set of friends consisted of
wannabe tough greasers, but in truth, were goody two-shoes (I refuse to use the
word wimps). We dressed and acted like greasers, but this was only an
affectation. On occasion, we might think about crossing over the line of the
law, talk about it a lot, but rarely if ever crossed it. If we did cross over,
it was to commit minor offences (what’s below a misdemeanor?). The Ditmas
Dukes, on the other hand, were real “gangsters.” They dressed like greasers and
acted like greasers. While my buddies experienced rumbles in the stomach from eating too much cake, the Dukes
actually fought in them, and Vito was one of their main weapons.
The
scenario is now set for the great bagel caper. It is post-midnight, after my
pals and I had searched for action all Saturday evening. It had been a good
search, and most of us were satisfied with the evening. On the last leg of our
adventure that early morning, we walked past a luncheonette that was getting
its early morning delivery of fresh hot bagels. The restaurant was not
scheduled to be open for a few more hours and could not take delivery
immediately of the 5-dozen bagels wrapped in a giant brown paper bag. For
practicality and because this was the custom back then, the bagel delivery van
driver just left the hot bagels at the door-well of the shop.
As
we walked by, I commented aloud that hey, anybody could just snatch the bagels—in
my mind, just a theoretical observation. The bagel delivery men in the van
lingered in the vicinity, wary of the group of teenagers passing so near to
their precious delivery just sitting there unprotected. Their concern was
heightened even further by my loud comment about how easy it would be to steal
the bagels. At that moment, all the action seemed to move into slow motion,
with us drifting down the street and the delivery van watching on high alert.
One
of the players in the scenario broke out of slow motion and began to operate in
real time. The bold and fearless Kirk, the unofficial leader of our pack, ran
back and quickly snatched the bagels and rejoined us. We were dumfounded by his
bold act. The theoretical had turned into reality. It was exhilarating, but
mostly scary.
Unbeknownst
to us, the delivery men were watching the robbery unfold and started chasing us
in their van. Instinctively we all scattered in different directions. The ploy
worked and each of us escaped safely.
Later
we all drifted back to the route leading to our neighborhood, Kirk with the booty in hand. By this time, we
thought the men in the van surely had given up the chase. As we walked along in
triumph, we met Vito Brazzi and his buddy coming towards us. Kirk greeted him
warmly and asked the guys if they wanted some nice hot bagels. They were
pleased and walked away contentedly chomping on their half dozen bagels. We continued
on to my house.
Although
it was about 2 a.m., the lights in my house were on, and I found my mother
still awake watching an old movie on television. My mother was always very
sociable and welcoming and enjoyed hosting visitors at any hour. She was delighted
that my pals were visiting and that they had brought tasty, hot bagels. She put
on the coffee and set the table with cups, plates, and silverware and brought
out the butter and the cream cheese. We feasted on the booty (we never told Mom
where we got them) in the comfort of my hospitable home, really pleased with
ourselves.
Two
days passed and the incident receded into history. But did it? One evening as
our group gathered, Kirk told us that there was more to the story. It seems
that after we left Vito Brazzi walking down the street, eating his bagels, he
was spotted by the bagel men who had not given up the chase as we had thought.
The van pulled up to Vito and his friend as they were eating their bagels, and
the men jumped out with tire irons in hand, ready for a confrontation. They
grabbed the two teens, rammed them up against the van, accused them of stealing
the bagels, and threatened to call the police. Of course, Vito denied the
accusation. When he began to resist the manhandling, a scuffle broke out; the
police arrived, and Vito and his friend were taken to jail.
As
we listened to Kirk tell this story, we started to realize that if Vito had
ratted us out to save his own skin, we would be in big trouble. Our little
group spent the next few days worrying about going to jail. A week later, Kirk
gave us an update. Yes, innocent Vito had spent the night in jail. However, he
was released because the evidence against him was too thin, but he never
disclosed our guilt. He respected the greasers’ code of silence. Our
apprehension levels dropped to zero. He was our hero.
But
then it occurred to us that Vito experienced a lot of discomfort that night,
which we caused. Vito was pretty big, pretty strong and really tough. He might
be somewhat irked and might want to seek revenge on the group that caused him
so much trouble. We spent another week worrying and looking over our shoulders,
waiting for just retribution. Kirk again relayed the latest update in the
affair: Vito was not going to take any action against us. While annoyed, he did not think his experience to be
so bad. He shook off the incident and all went back to normal in our
neighborhood.
To
this day, I think about the guilty ones sitting around eating warm bagels in
comfortable surroundings, as innocent Vito sat in a cold, uncomfortable jail
after a fight with two men. Somehow, because of Vito’s honor and munificence,
we came out unscathed. Brava omerta!
