Tice
One Thousand Club
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Tice
One Thousand Club
June 26, 1963
In the cramped quarters of a steamy hot, undecorated apartment, one would find the little and chubby frame of a child growing up sitting in a seat, a plate of vegetables and what appeared to be dried meat in front of him. To the side, a dark complexion woman bearing resemblance to the little one would grasp her hands together, resting them on her forehead. Her elbows were propped on the table made of solid mahogany as she spoke an evening's prayer before the meal. The child joined as well, speaking in an echo after his mother. He'd then speak up, looking to the woman who had appeared to age a decade in but a year.
"Mamma, where is Luca? It is getting late."
The woman known as Nina looked up, out the framed window at the evening sky. It wasn't dark as of yet, but it was close to nine in the evening. Luca's shift was supposed to end an hour ago.
"He's coming, una preziosa."
She tended to refer to Antonio as 'precious one' a good deal. She couldn't with Luca, no longer. She witnessed her boy become a man so prematurely, she had no time to baby him. Whereas boys his age looked to party or get into trouble, Luca was different. He made better friends at the dock than he did elsewhere, and the fact that he dropped school bothered her. Although, his argument did make sense.
"Why go to school? So I can get a job someday? Mamma, I need to work everyday. I don't want to force yourself into labor too."
Ever since Vito passed, Luca was different. It was as though his mind and body adapted to handle the burden of adulthood before he was a teenager. Boxing was a release for him. Arlo pushed his dismal mood out of his head and opened the door to something he enjoyed. Arlo wanted to put Luca into the real ring in matches for money, but Luca refused. He did the sport out of love, not greed.
Nina Seslerther looked around the room, landing on a wall with family portraits. As time wore on, one could see the gradual shift of a kid dedicated to schooling and friends to a man with a heavy heart and conscience. She sighed in contempt at Vito, at Luca, at the world.
York Shipping Co.
Luca glistened with sweat as he packed the ferry's boot with goods, be it tobacco, sugars, or produce, he loaded it. It was late, and he was sure to miss dinner, but he needed the overtime. Locking the previously opened storage truck of the small vessel, he'd turn off his post, heading to the office for dismissal. The foreman that signed both his leave and checks was known as George, and was the reason why Luca could work at the port under the nose of labor laws. He'd enter the portly supervisor's office, not bothering to sit as he spoke in an accent beginning to weld into a New Yorkian, yet contained traces of Syracuse in it.
" 'Ey, George, what's my tally?"
He'd pull open a drawer, counting out a few bills. Sliding it over the desk built like the man behind it, he'd mutter under the thick moustache in a voice that'd be better on a hard detective.
"Three fiddy-five, plus an extra bill for the extra hours. Good job today."
"Thanks, George. This'll cover my ass until next week. So is it true, there's been some layoffs?"
"Don't worry about it. Just some idiots breaking crates. Always happens."
Luca nodded, and turned to exit, before being stopped by George's next sentence.
"Luke, be, eh...careful. Some whites are getting a bit involved in your community."
"You mean the racist assholes that probably killed my father? Yeah, I know."
"No, Luca," referring to his Italian name. "They're not just some prep boys looking for a good scare. I hear they're stringing some people up. Mostly Negroes, but it doesn't take much to switch their minds to any immigrant culture."
"George, you're white. You shouldn't worry."
"I'm worried for you. Seriously, be careful."
Luca would open the door, pulling on a black overcoat from the hanger before replying.
"I'll be fine. It's a short walk home."
And with that, he'd exit the office, walking down the fire escape turned staircase.
In the cramped quarters of a steamy hot, undecorated apartment, one would find the little and chubby frame of a child growing up sitting in a seat, a plate of vegetables and what appeared to be dried meat in front of him. To the side, a dark complexion woman bearing resemblance to the little one would grasp her hands together, resting them on her forehead. Her elbows were propped on the table made of solid mahogany as she spoke an evening's prayer before the meal. The child joined as well, speaking in an echo after his mother. He'd then speak up, looking to the woman who had appeared to age a decade in but a year.
"Mamma, where is Luca? It is getting late."
The woman known as Nina looked up, out the framed window at the evening sky. It wasn't dark as of yet, but it was close to nine in the evening. Luca's shift was supposed to end an hour ago.
"He's coming, una preziosa."
She tended to refer to Antonio as 'precious one' a good deal. She couldn't with Luca, no longer. She witnessed her boy become a man so prematurely, she had no time to baby him. Whereas boys his age looked to party or get into trouble, Luca was different. He made better friends at the dock than he did elsewhere, and the fact that he dropped school bothered her. Although, his argument did make sense.
"Why go to school? So I can get a job someday? Mamma, I need to work everyday. I don't want to force yourself into labor too."
Ever since Vito passed, Luca was different. It was as though his mind and body adapted to handle the burden of adulthood before he was a teenager. Boxing was a release for him. Arlo pushed his dismal mood out of his head and opened the door to something he enjoyed. Arlo wanted to put Luca into the real ring in matches for money, but Luca refused. He did the sport out of love, not greed.
Nina Seslerther looked around the room, landing on a wall with family portraits. As time wore on, one could see the gradual shift of a kid dedicated to schooling and friends to a man with a heavy heart and conscience. She sighed in contempt at Vito, at Luca, at the world.
York Shipping Co.
Luca glistened with sweat as he packed the ferry's boot with goods, be it tobacco, sugars, or produce, he loaded it. It was late, and he was sure to miss dinner, but he needed the overtime. Locking the previously opened storage truck of the small vessel, he'd turn off his post, heading to the office for dismissal. The foreman that signed both his leave and checks was known as George, and was the reason why Luca could work at the port under the nose of labor laws. He'd enter the portly supervisor's office, not bothering to sit as he spoke in an accent beginning to weld into a New Yorkian, yet contained traces of Syracuse in it.
" 'Ey, George, what's my tally?"
He'd pull open a drawer, counting out a few bills. Sliding it over the desk built like the man behind it, he'd mutter under the thick moustache in a voice that'd be better on a hard detective.
"Three fiddy-five, plus an extra bill for the extra hours. Good job today."
"Thanks, George. This'll cover my ass until next week. So is it true, there's been some layoffs?"
"Don't worry about it. Just some idiots breaking crates. Always happens."
Luca nodded, and turned to exit, before being stopped by George's next sentence.
"Luke, be, eh...careful. Some whites are getting a bit involved in your community."
"You mean the racist assholes that probably killed my father? Yeah, I know."
"No, Luca," referring to his Italian name. "They're not just some prep boys looking for a good scare. I hear they're stringing some people up. Mostly Negroes, but it doesn't take much to switch their minds to any immigrant culture."
"George, you're white. You shouldn't worry."
"I'm worried for you. Seriously, be careful."
Luca would open the door, pulling on a black overcoat from the hanger before replying.
"I'll be fine. It's a short walk home."
And with that, he'd exit the office, walking down the fire escape turned staircase.
JAMN
Just Another Bourgie
"Goodnight."
John sighed as he put down the telephone. He looked down and closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking back up at the office door. He slowly stood up and walked to the door, twisting the knob and pulling it open. John looked back at his father's office. It was simple and organized, the centerpiece being the grand desk as well as the family portrait hung up behind it. John's father hasn't been using it much as of late though. John turned around and closed the door behind him as he began to roam the hallways.
John momentarily paused, looking down at a book. Our Synthetic Environment by Murray Bookchin. May as well read it now, John thought. He picked up the book and began to make his way to his bedroom. Everyone in the household was asleep at this point and they had dinner a few hours back. John was in his sleeping wear, plain light blue pajamas.
John closed his bedroom door and hopped in bed. He looked at the clock, it was half past nine. John placed the book on a table next to his bed. Maybe tomorrow, John thought as he turned off the lights and pulled the sheets over his head. Closing his eyes... maybe tomorrow.
John sighed as he put down the telephone. He looked down and closed his eyes for a few seconds before looking back up at the office door. He slowly stood up and walked to the door, twisting the knob and pulling it open. John looked back at his father's office. It was simple and organized, the centerpiece being the grand desk as well as the family portrait hung up behind it. John's father hasn't been using it much as of late though. John turned around and closed the door behind him as he began to roam the hallways.
John momentarily paused, looking down at a book. Our Synthetic Environment by Murray Bookchin. May as well read it now, John thought. He picked up the book and began to make his way to his bedroom. Everyone in the household was asleep at this point and they had dinner a few hours back. John was in his sleeping wear, plain light blue pajamas.
John closed his bedroom door and hopped in bed. He looked at the clock, it was half past nine. John placed the book on a table next to his bed. Maybe tomorrow, John thought as he turned off the lights and pulled the sheets over his head. Closing his eyes... maybe tomorrow.
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