Manny, on the other hand, introduced another touch of world
delight, the Kosher Hoagie.
On Saturday mornings, when the club would meet, he brought
along a Kosher delight for himself and took pre-orders for others that he sold
for a quarter each.
Thus the handle "the Deli".
Thus the handle "the Deli".
He convinced his mother that he really needed all this food
as he was famished by the time practice ended.
His mother, not suspecting a ruse, was more than happy to make a few
extra but eventually she took Manny to the doctor worried that he had a
digestive tape worm because he claimed starvation, had been overindulging on
Kosher Hoagies, but never gained any weight.
Eventually he had to fess up, and the supply ended much to
the joy of the Italians.
Manny and I were on the same level as harp players, we
conquered “Hot Cross Buns” and were now ready to tackle something a little more
challenging.
Willie “no-fangs” Fong was a really fun kid to have hanging
around. He lost his two front teeth in
normal fashion, but they never seemed to grow back. He loved the harmonica, and played with all the heart of his
idol, Little Stevie Wonder. He had only two roadblocks to becoming an
outstanding performer, he was totally tone-deaf and he never understood that
each hole in the instrument had a blow and draw note.
Willie only knew how to blow, and blow he did.
We liked him a lot so he hung with us and we somehow worked
around his dysfunction.
After a few months of meetings we were invited to play
before an actual audience.
The local youth club was having a talent show and asked if
we would perform a song.
At our next meeting we agreed to play “Moon River” a
current top 40 hit by Andy Williams. Although still at the elementary level, we
were confident, that with just a little practice, we would be able to tackle this because we already progressed through
“Row-Row-Row Your Boat” and “Three Blind Mice”and we would not have to bend any notes
like a real blues player.
“Moon River” seemed like a safe bet.
“Moon River” seemed like a safe bet.
The result was 3 kids with lots of heart who needed much
more practice.
Somehow Willie Fong sounded better than his two semi-pro partners. It was a very funny performance, or so the audience believed.
Willie Fong was so delighted that he couldn’t stop bowing.
Somehow Willie Fong sounded better than his two semi-pro partners. It was a very funny performance, or so the audience believed.
Willie Fong was so delighted that he couldn’t stop bowing.
Three years’ prior I was to play a part in a school play and
I bolted right before the 1st act.
No I did not get cold feet!
Sister Cecilia B. DeMille insisted I have makeup applied before going on
stage. I refused and returned to a seat
next to my parents. My mother was
horrified that I quit but when I told my father of my rebellion, he smiled,
knowingly, and I gained a powerful ally.
I wasn’t gonna be a second-grade sissy wearing lipstick. I
would have had to spend the next month fighting my way through the
neighborhood.
Now we finally get to St. Patrick’s Day.
As I mentioned, our neighborhood was predominantly mixed, if
you consider almost exclusively Irish and Italian Catholic residents a total composite of
American life.
The wealthy Italians (the Pizzeria owners) had their own
elementary school, St. Joseph Pesci, just up the block from our school. St.
Attica’s.
At St. A’s March 17th was almost a holy day of
obligation (the “Pesci’s had Columbus Day).
I never really shared all the enthusiasm as some of my
school friends as I was a half breed, ½ Irish (Mom) and ½ German (Dad) with a
little Lenape Indian thrown in.
My school chums were mostly 1st and second
generation Irish-Americans.
My ancestors arrived in the early wave of the potato famines and settled in the Pennsylvania coal towns of Schuylkill County. My elders never spoke of the "old country". Their memories were of 6 year old mine workers and the Molly Maguire's.
My ancestors arrived in the early wave of the potato famines and settled in the Pennsylvania coal towns of Schuylkill County. My elders never spoke of the "old country". Their memories were of 6 year old mine workers and the Molly Maguire's.
I was so clueless about my heritage I couldn’t understand
why people emigrated because they had no Irish potatoes, after all, man does
not live by coconut, sugar and cinnamon alone.
By now I enjoyed singing, having been enlisted into the
all-boy parish choir. A few of my choir
friends asked that I join them in forming a quartet to perform Irish songs at
the “Patapalooza” talent show, the grand finale of the day’s activities.
They needed me because they were still boy-soprano’s and my
puberty arrived earlier leaving me to become a squeaky alto.
Until testosterone eventually fine-tuned my vocals I was now
the Willie Fong of the St. A’s “Patapalooza Extravaganza”.
The parish took Patapalooza practice with all the
seriousness of a Russian Olympic Ice Hockey team. We even had a former professional voice coach brought in, Sister Rose
Kathleen Sinead Seamus Shannon O’ Malley, directly from County Cork.
Sister O worked us like dogs.
We got to skip classes prior to the show to
practice-practice-practice. We had a repertoire of about 6 songs and even today
I can sing each from memory as the themes were all identical; mother,
homeland and death.
The show went as expected, every act was a hit, the audience
(filled with Guinness and Irish Potatoes) enthusiastically applauded and I was
certain to take a bow like Willie Fong.
Afterwards the family went to Gadaletta’s for Pizza.
The Irish say that on March 17th, everyone is
Irish so wear something green, enjoy the day, sing “Danny Boy” and be sure to
take a bow like Willie Fong.
Then order a pizza.