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MARINE TIGERS Excerpt

 (What follows is an excerpt from Marine Tigers: A NewyoRican Story, my full length memoir available on Amazon)

          Looking west from 133rd Street we could see beyond the Hudson, to New Jersey and Palisades Amusement Park’s roller coaster, overlooking the river from its perch atop a high cliff. An electronic sign above the coaster moved announcements of rides, news, ads and current time across its expanse. I was fascinated by the lighted moving messages, checking often to see the time. While on the street playing, I might be alerted that it was time to go home, or watch a favorite show on TV, like ‘Al Hitch’ (the Alfred Hitchcock show) on CBS. I would often lie on the fire escape at night and watch the lights as they delivered information. The fire escape was also a good place to think.

          Sometimes, on a summer night, I’d just lie there staring up at the sky, with its limited view of the stars. I didn’t know it was limited, as I listened to bits of conversations rise from stoops and sidewalk, not really caring about them, but letting the sounds of the subway rumbling and car tires on the Broadway cobblestone meld with those of kids and teens laughing, kidding around and flirting. Cigarette smoke wafted through the air and an occasional whiff of the river mingled with it. Voices raised in anger or jubilation, sounds of sirens from emergency vehicles pierced the air every now and then, as in the day and all was well and right in the world.  

          A wide pipe hefty enough to be seen snaking its way up the cliff could be seen as well. There was a ferry that took passengers across the river to where buses waited to deposit them at the park’s entrance. The cost of the ferry and the park’s entrance fee were prohibitive to us at the time. Although Paquito was shy and remains a somewhat shy individual today, he had an idea that, as his, seemed implausible. While his truancy as a teenager got him into some trouble, he was mostly a law abiding kid. He stayed out of trouble with the law; though he drove without a license, and may have handled stolen goods, he’d never been arrested. He was otherwise fairly normal for a kid on the block. 

          But when he came to me with the idea of sneaking into the park?! It was all I could do not to jump up and shout it out the window. “What?!” I whispered loudly, not wanting Mami to hear. “Shhh!” Mami’ll hear!” He shot back in a loud whisper.  I was truly surprised. Not just because it was Paquito’s idea, but that he would invite me along! It was a big deal. But not until we had taken the ferry across the Hudson and were confronted by the immense precipice, did I realize what a truly big deal it really was. And while other passsengers headed for the bus stop a short distance away, we veered  out of view to where we would begin our climb, hoping they’d think we lived in the area. 

          Moving low, so as not to be seen from the ferry below or the surrounding area, we rushed toward the large pipe leading up the cliff to the park. We didn’t think we’d be seen from the other side. I looked up to see only sky above the challenging cliff that stood between us and an afternoon’s fun filled adventure. I feared getting caught and having Mami find out. I feared getting into trouble with the police for sneaking into the park. But it was too late to worry now. The familiar pipe I’d seen daily from my fire escape extended up the cliff before me and disappeared some yards above my head. The pipe seemed immense, maybe twenty inches across.

          There was a smaller pipe by its side that appeared to be attached to it. Dirt, weeds and rocks everywhere covered most of the cliff hiding parts of the pipe. I only cared that we were on our way to a free entry into a fantasy land of rides, French fries and cotton candy. I drew from my imagination and pictures I’d seen on billboards, what lay before us, as Paquito quickly surveyed the area. Beyond the roller coaster high above, the electronic sign that mesmerized me daily with its moving letters, challenging me to read faster, or wait for the message to come around again, loomed high above us; though we couldn’t see the letters from where we stood.      

          I’d been looking at that sign every day for as long as I’d lived on a 133rd Street. I felt my nerves tingle within. I grabbed hold of some weeds with one hand and placed my other hand on the pipe’s surface, bracing for balance. I began cautiously hoisting myself up along the pipe, questioning what I’d gotten myself into. We struggled up the pipe, taking hold, on occasion, of the overgrown foliage for support. Paquito kept watch over me, lending a hand when needed and especially as we neared the top. I looked down and could see the river, but not where we’d begun the climb. And although he didn’t show any fear, though he saw it in me, he pulled me onto the flat ground at the top.

          Having reached the top, the park’s sounds brought us into the festive world of the park. The cyclone fence preventing entrance to the park had to be dealt with. I readied to climb the fence; not my first. But Paquito grabbed my arm and led me to an opening, where others had entered before us. The roller coaster roared above, as screams followed the clickety clacking and squealing of the cars; their shadows crossed our path. I followed Paquito through the white wooden maze of the tall structure supporting the tracks. Looking back across the river below, we could see Manhattan on the other side. The excitement of our accomplishment was complicated by the fear of getting caught.

          The smell of French fries and hot dogs beckoned and pride over our feat struck me. At the other side of the structure we could see people moving past the opening to the park. The sounds of the crowd got louder as we approached. We stayed low and paused to check for park workers or cops before joining the crowd.  Then suddenly Paquito was pulling me along beside him and we were immersed in people. We’d made it! We were inside Palisades Amusement Park. It had all been worth it. For the first ten minutes or so I kept thinking we might get caught. Once I overcame that feeling I began to check out the rides and check my pockets to see what I could afford.

          In spite of having to ration what little money we had, we managed to have a good time and appease our appetites with candied apples, hot dogs and even French fries. When it was time to leave Paquito and I took the bus to the ferry. I’ve forgotten the cost, but it might have been free, or I might have snuck on, as I’d done on city busses or the subway. I felt fulfilled and proud to have made the trip. We would do it all again at least one more time. I remember once after Louie and Dotty were married, they took me along with them and their first daughter, Donna to Palisades Park’s pool, where artificial waves created were the pool’s most touted feature. It was great fun.

Heroes in the Night

A fictional story by Jose Bello

I'd met a few famous people in my taxi.  Some were well known, some lesser known.  And because of my lack of interest in sports and even less an interest in team sports, I'd not recognized still others.  I just didn't care.  Now, people in the movies or TV, they were the ones I felt good about having had in my cab; even the smallest of encounters with.  Although, despite the popularity of  “The Untouchables” TV series, I'm sure I would've recognized Walter Winchell, when I picked him up on the east side of Manhattan one night.  Also on the east side, along Lexington Avenue one night, I picked up Mickey Spillane, the famous detective story novelist.  Mind you, I didn't recognize him right away.  I was cruising down Lexington Avenue, when this older guy comes hurrying from the top of the stairs at the Fifty Second Street station of the subway, hand high in the air, hailing me.

“Take me down to the Village.”  He says.  “You know where “Murphy's” is?” 

I said:  “No.”

So, he says “OK, but I gotta' make a stop at a newsstand first, OK?”

And I said:  “Sure” and off we went.  We see a newsstand and I stop by the curb.  He gets out to pick up a paper and I notice his picture on the cover of one of the magazines, with his name under the picture, hanging on a line.  And in the picture he's even wearing the same sport coat and fedora he's wearing that night!  And of course, now I recognize who he is!  Although, I was no fan.  Not because I didn't like his stories; I'm sure now I probably would liked them.  But at the time, I wasn't a reader!  I didn't read much of anything!

So, I said:  "Wow, I thought I recognized you.  You're Mickey Spillane!"

And Mickey says:  "Yeah.  You like detective mysteries?"

I said:  "Well, to be honest, I don't get enough time to commit to written stories.  I read too damn slow.”

And Mickey said:  "No shame in that, kid.  You're living your 'real life'.  Maybe one day you'll write about some of the things you're living now.  I'll bet you're seeing some weird things working at night."

I said:  "I sure do."  So, we get to the Village and he directs me to a street I'd never been on. (No surprise I hadn't been a cabbie too long.)    

He said to me: "Drop me off at the corner,....Murphy's, the bar, there."  Then he says:  “Park it and come inside.   I'm meeting a couple 'a friends for a drink." 

So, I park my Yellow right there in front of the johnny pump, having been pumped by the presence of Mickey.  Up the three caddy-corner steps, under the green pigeon crap covered awning, and in the door I go.  Three old guys sittin' on stools to my right sippin' beers.  They might as well have been cardboard figures!  A silent TV played a football game no one gave a crap about.  Looking around the room with its incandescent chandeliers, yellowed nicotine wall paper, I see a wigged head lost between her own elbows, face down on a table.  Some old coot playing with her hair, eyes closed and mumbling to her from across the table. 

Just then I hear a hissing sound from the lips of none - other than famed author, Hunter Thompson, standing by a door at the back of the room, a forefinger over his lips (indicating "SILENCIO”) and waving for me to follow through the door he held open.  I hesitated, taken by the weirdness of the moment, before rushing over small hexagonal tiles of white and maroon that were the floor  -  I'm guessing since the nineteen thirties.  I go through the door.

Instantly I was transported to what resembled a twenties speak-easy.  Then, looking up from the card game I was now attending at a round table, I saw that I was playing cards with Hunter Thompson, Mickey Spillane, and Ernest Hemingway, who's irate and impatiently saying to me:  "You're holdin' up the game, kid!  You know that?!"

And Mickey, sitting between us says:  "Hey, take it easy with the kid.  He's my cabbie!  He's with me."

And Hemingway says:  "Alright, alright!  Don't get yer undies in a bundle!  You've got most of our bread.  One more hand and we'll have your “royal” royalties by day break.”  And I was thinking, what have I gotten myself into?!  My Yellow's probably being towed, right now!  -  Is this real?

I'm holding a hand and I have no idea what I'm doing. You see, I don't play cards! Never have! And I'm staring at my cards, wanting to do the next thing. But just what would that be?  No idea. Not a clue.  Now, Hunter's in my face.  He whispers:  "If you don't make a play, Ernie may just blow you away with that old revolver on the table.  He's been losing all night and he's getting mighty impatient, kid!!” So, now I feel cards coming out of my hands one by one and Mickey's standing beside me, head back, laughing.  “Great move, kid! - Look out Ernie!  Looks like beginner's luck's got hold of ' im.  Look at those beauties he's thrown out! - AHA, HA, HA, HA......"

Now, I look at the cards that flew outa' my hands and onto the table.  Mickey's praising my move.  But, I don't know how it happened.  Hunter Thompson, chompin' at a stub of a dried up cigar between his teeth, winks at me.  Hemingway appears totally incredulous, and throws down his hand in frustration.  I Fear For My Life;  what hand?  What  IS HAPPENING?? - Spillane, smiles and winks.  He offers: 

"Listen kid, it's been a fun time.  I hope you appreciate me wanting to get you some winnings at the table here.  But, we don't play for winnings, least not actual money.  We're way past that now.  We seen too much of life to know 'winnings' set up by mortal beings are nothing more than bull!  Real winnings are dealt to those who regard happy, touchy, feely stuff of the heart.  We never did appreciate that enough in our time.  You'll know what I mean when you're outa'  here and living your real life again..............”

"Hey, Cabbie!  Wake up, man!.......Are you on duty or are you -  Not On Duty!? - Cabbie! - Hey...."  The voice was coming from a big round, tired and angry dude staring in at me from the passenger side window of my Yellow Cab.

Stunned, alone in my cab, I remembered -  YES, YES, YES.  OF COURSE -  I'M ON DUTY! ! ..... I unlocked the back door and let him in.

 

 Read also free pages of the author's life story:  "Marine Tigers: A NewyoRican Story" at Amazon.com

IN MY DEFENSE

by Jose Bello

        From the distance between us I couldn't make out gender, or features revealing much about my enemy. My capable opponent was somehow able to use the unobstructed terrain to keep information from me that might be physically telling. I was situated on higher ground; a coveted position in battle. With time of no consequence and being well equipped with no need of additional equipment or assistance, I would await my enemy's next move. My only need was to keep watch over the situation and assess a possible outcome.

        As in any battle, no outcome is assured, regardless of positioning or equipment. It is always a crap shoot, with death waiting in the wings and the threat of injury looming. At the moment, what we had was a stand-off. I only knew I had to survive this situation thrust upon me by a menacing stranger. If this be my final battle, I would face that possibility proudly and in the knowledge that it was in the performance of my duty, as protector of the terrain only I occupied before the present threat appeared. 

        Modern technological advancements were my friends. I happened to be in possession of a weapon that allowed the long distance spraying of debilitating and deadly substances. As I pondered the distance between me and my target and the consequences of my choice of weaponry, I had to consider my trajectory and the effects of shifting air/wind between us. The air was still. Since the beginning of time some battles have been lost to seemingly lesser foes. Size may confuse and confound the untrained observer. It's been well documented that a soldier's sense of self preservation, and perseverance, regardless of size, body weight, weaponry and other supposed disadvantages, have been overcome by a persistent, competent soldier. One should never underestimate the enemy.

        In this particular incident, I considered a tool most suited to the job at hand: A modern tool, whose capabilities would render the enemy dead or dysfunctional. That would lessen my risk in closing in to better assess things after my attack. My weapon of choice was equipped with the capability to activate a lethal spray upon my enemy that would coat the skin with a potentially deadly substance. Its only disadvantage was that I would not be able to measure the effects of my attack, without getting closer. I would in fact, be increasing my vulnerability, should the enemy be only disabled as I closed in.

        So, after some time and consideration, I decided it was time enough to move the toilet brush in its container, holding it by its very end and seeing whether I'd killed that pesky little spider holding me hostage in my own bathroom!!!

 

Read also free pages of the author's life story:  "Marine Tigers: A NewyoRican Story" at Amazon.com