Gang 87

Gang 87

Contents: 1949-1960

1. The Sacred Heart of Jesus

2. The Golden Bear

3. Johnny Boots

4. The Barrel

5. The Birth Certificate

6. The Iron Glove

7. The Machine Gun Nest

8. Bear

9. Long Steel

10. The Heap

11. Just Like Jack Johnson

12. Carmen

13. Saint Thomas the Apostle Church

1961-Present

14. Hans Larsen

15. The Trunk

16. The Anna Lovinda

17. Frank X. Fuehrer

18. Bow Bow Cocktails

19. Red Top

20. The Santiago Express

21. Robert Heilbuth

22. On the Mokihana

23. The Jung-gu

23. The El Rancho Cafe

24. On Rice

25. On Sugar

26. Gallery 57

27. The Xin Qin Huang Dao

28. The Xin Da Yang Zhou

29. Pier 80, San Francisco, December 1991

30. A Friend of Fats Domino

31. The Yang Ming Sung

Part I

The San Francisco Waterfront

1949-1960

1

The Sacred Heart of Jesus¹

Dan, or the Wolfman² as he was known on the waterfront, drove the DeSoto down Mission Street. He stopped for the Sunset Scavenger truck. You never knew when one of those erratic Italians was going to dart across the street, carrying a huge garbage can on his shoulder. A few grocers were rolling out their stands of fruit and vegetables and setting out the garbage.

Dan turned right at Fifteenth Street then left onto Shotwell after a couple of blocks he approached Louie’s House. Dan pulled the DeSoto over to the curb. Where is the bastard? Why wasn’t he sitting on the steps as usual? Damn him. Is he on another drunk? Dan slammed the door loudly, took the stairs two at time, then banged on Louie’s front door. Louie, damn it. Get you ass out here. Dan shouted.

Louie’s wife Helen opened the door. Her eyes were red with tears, her hair a scraggy mess, and her bathrobe partly open as if she didn’t give a damn who saw that she was getting fat.

Dan felt like a damn fool, yeah Louie had been drinking again. Why hadn’t he just kept on driving. Dan started to go, but Helen grabbed his hand and led him into the living room. She pointed to Louie who was sitting on the sofa dressed in his long underwear, obviously dead drunk.

Dan turned away in disgust. Helen grabbed his shirt collar. Can’t you see. Can’t you see what’s happened. Yeah, I see, Dan said. I see all too well. Dan, Dan look again. Can’t you see he’s dead. He’s dead.

Dan didn’t want to see what he was now seeing. Damn it, Louie was dead. He was dead, sitting there on the sofa.

And me with four kids. Dan what am I going to do? Dan knew what she meant. Helen wasn’t exactly marriageable material, and as for a job?

Dan shook his head and started to walk out the door. He took one last look at Louie. Goodbye ol’ partner, he said. As he passed through the kitchen, he looked at the painting of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Tell me Lord. Tell me what to do.

Dan climbed backed in the DeSoto. Dan, what am I going to do? And me with four kids, Helen’s words kept ringing in his ears. He needed help. He needed divine help. Dan pulled up to Saint Charles Borromeo Catholic Church. A few older women, some Spanish with veils were walking up the stairs.

Dan quickly crossed himself and knelt down. He started to say an Our Father, but half way through he broke down and blurted out, Sacred Heart of Jesus, Helen needs your help. She needs a lotta help. A woman in a dark veil turned and looked at him sympathetically. Dan meditated quietly, a few minutes later, got up quickly, crossed himself, then left.

Dan drove back to Shotwell Street, back to Helen’s. He banged on the door.

Helen opened it, her eyes still red from crying. Dan walked in quickly, Thanks, he said as he passed the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Helen followed Dan into the living room. What the hell’s going on, she said. You tell anybody else about this, Dan asked abruptly.

No, but I was just getting ready to phone the coroner, she said.

Don’t. Don’t tell anybody ever. We gotta get Louie dressed. We gotta get Louie dressed in his work clothes.

I don’t understand.

No, but the Sacred Heart does.

Get his work clothes. Get his lunch pail.

Shortly Helen was back with Louie’s work clothes. Here, stretch him out on the sofa. We’ll pull his pants over his long underwear. Strong as Dan was from working hides, coffee, and general cargo, dressing Louie even with Helen’s help was no easy chore.

What are you going to do with my Louie? Helen asked as Dan struggled to pack his friend out of the house.

He’s going to have an accident at work. Like God intended. But Louie died here. That’s just it. Louie died here, but God intended that Louie die at work so you and the kids can get insurance. Louie made a mistake, that’s all.

Here help me what you can. Did you remember his lunch box?

Yeah. I had it ready last night. It was in the ice box.

Now when we get outside, say Oh no, Louie, you’re drunk again. And not a word to anybody you hear.

Dan and Helen packed Louie in the car, his lunch box beside him. Dan started up the DeSoto. Helen waved Louie goodbye.

Thank you God. Thank you Sacred Heart of Jesus. Dan drove down Shotwell Street in a mystical trance. He crossed himself twice as he passed St. James Church.

Thank you, he said. Thank you, Sacred Heart of Jesus.

****

1. San Francisco early 1949.

2. Longshoremen often have nicknames. In this case Dan got his nickname because he had a gray beard and gray hair.

2

The Golden Bear

Perhaps it was because he was upset. Perhaps it was because Louie was sitting beside him, but Dan began talking to Louie. Louie why’d you talk me into joining the Marines during Korea? And while I was signing up, you walked over to the Navy recruiter. What kind of deal was that?

And then there was that skinny broad you fixed me up with. The one who liked to go nude horseback riding together. Sure it was fun but then I forgot where we stashed our clothes.

We were the last ones in. Come riding in bare assed, and everybody laughing. Thanks a heap. Ol’buddy. Thanks a heap.

Don’t you got anything to say. Hey.

Dan looked over at Louie . . . silence. What the hell’s getting into me? Dan thought. Talking to the dead. Picking ‘em up as passengers. What next?

Dan passed the Ferry Building. He looked up at the clock: Twenty to eight. He better step on it. Longshoremen were already beginning to assemble along the piers.

White longshoreman hats. Navy blue watch caps. Army field jackets. Navy pea- coats. Old woolen sweaters. Ben Davis pants held up by thick black suspenders. Levis held up by bellies and thick leather belts. These were men waiting for work.

Dan pulled up next to Pier 35. He left Louie in the DeSoto.

Near the entrance to the Pier, among a small huddle of men, was a stout potbellied man with a goatee whose face was lit up by a frequent chuckle, gang boss Tony Tuna.

Hey, Tuna. Hey, Tuna, Dan said loudly but trying not to shout or sound alarmed. I’ve got to talk to you a minute. Though gang boss Tuna did not show it, he sensed something was wrong. He stepped just inside the entrance to the Pier.

Dan explained the situation as quickly as he could. Tuna rubbed his belly. Just let me handle this. He said. Not a word.

Tuna walked back and spoke to the gang. Louie’s hung over. At eight o’clock you guys go up to the ship finish up on coffee in number two.

We’ll be right along.

Eight o’clock on the Ferry Building clock and the men surged in. Conversations continued though now with the cadence of work and turning to.

Gangboss Tuna and Dan walked over to the DeSoto. They propped Louie between them. Just another drunk being helped by his mates. On the dock and up the gangway and onto the deck where they propped Louie against a bulkhead. They put his lunch pail next to him.

Dan climbed down into the hold while Tuna walked over to the winch driver. They would have to tell the winch driver and the gang. Otherwise they would keep it tight.

Dan explained about Louie. The men hung down their heads in silent prayer for a dead brother.

Tuna says we’ve got to finish the hold. We can’t leave it for the night gang.

Fortunately, or was it due to the Sacred Heart of Jesus? There wasn’t that much coffee left.

The gang threw coffee sack after sack. Pallet board after pallet board.

Gangboss Tuna remained on the deck. He had covered Louie with a tarpaulin, just in case.

Hours passed measured in sweat, measured in sacks, measured in loads.

Dan and the others looked around the hold of hatch number two. There wasn’t a coffee sack left. Just the steel of the deck. They climbed up topside.

Lay back the hatch boards, Tuna cried out. The gang began putting back the hatch boards. One on each side, walking them over the beams and the deck. After a while they came to a spot which Dan had eyed earlier where there was a little oil on the deck. Dan and Johnny Boots drug Louie from the starboard side of the deck, They propped him up and put his right shoe in the grease.

Lets get it over with, Dan said. Johnny Boots and Billy Ray and the others looked at Dan and then at Louie. They felt a dryness in their throats.

We’re all in this together, Dan said and with that each member of the gang grabbed hold of Louie and tossed him down the open hatch.

There was no time to stop their ears. Louie’s crunch was a sound that would remain with them throughout their lives. They stood there each silently looking at the other. Each wishing it had not been so.

Dan now reached down for Louie’s lunch pail and pulled out a bottle of Acme beer. Knew he’d have that in there. Dan said to himself. There was a rusty can opener in Louie’s lunch pail which Dan used to open the beer. He passed around the bottle of Acme beer. Each man took a swing. Johnny Boots finished the bottle and was about to throw it down the hold when Dan grabbed his hand. How’s that going to look? Dan asked. He put the bottle back in Louie’s lunch pail intending to drop it off the side of the ship.

Dan now looked up the hatch. Now after me. Man down the hold, Man down the hold, the gang chimed in.

****

3

Johnny Boots

Now Johnny Boots, or Johnny Lightfingers as he was sometimes called, had a penchant for removing anything that he could pawn at Gleason’s Pawn Shop on Sixth Street.

So that Wednesday - when a shipment of Philco radios was due to be loaded on the Orion at Pier 27, Johnny was there with his battered canvas bag slung nonchalantly over his shoulder. He wore his lucky white cowboy boots. He had his trusty crowbar inside his bag along with his lunch. He put on his ten gallon hat. He was ready to go to work.

Johnny took the steps of the gangway two at a time. This was to be his day. Soon enough he could hear the whir of the winch as Stokes the winch driver guided a crate in. The task at hand was not easy though he had done it many times before. He had to wait until gang boss Tuna was out of the hold which was easy enough since Tuna was a thirsty man and would soon hit the ladder. Then there were the Local 75 guards. They could be relentless. Oh well, it had been done before and many times before that.

Johnny Boots searched his fertile mind. He had staged a fight, he had faked an accident, he had pretended to be drunk. Though these ruses had in their way diverted the attention of the Local 75 Guards, they were on to him and he knew it. There was, of course, the old fashioned way of snitching things when nobody happened to be looking.

Bear, Johnny started to say to his partner; I’ve got an angle.

You’re not involving me, Boots. You burned me last time, remember.

Johnny Boots shrugged his shoulders. There were other ways, many other ways.

Stokes, the winch driver came down for his relief.

Stokes, remember that time in Korea?

Yeah. Yeah. You knocked me in a foxhole when a mortar was coming in.

"I must have paid you back a million times. But, okay, what have you got in

mind."

Johnny Boots searched his fertile mind.

I got an idea.

Stokes shrugged his shoulders, What is it this time?

Johnny Boots talked up his idea. Some things you gotta have a knack for.

Stokes went back on the winch. Loads came in smooth as silk, lulling minds.

Heads up, Johnny shouted as a load banged against the side of the bulkhead.

Red the Local 75 guard watched. An old trick: break a crate open and a window of opportunity is created. The crate was set aside. Gang boss Buffalo called for the cooper.

Presently Johnny and his partner Bear took their break, relaxing in the shade near the back of the hold.

And that was the plan. For it was here that the crate of Philco radios was stowed. Johnny Boots’ tools were out and in a jiffy, he had the Philco radio in his sack and the crate boarded up. All the while the cooper was hammering on the other crate.

Johnny whistled as he walked toward the door of the shed. He had a Philco radio in his canvas bag and no one was the wiser how much would Gleason give him. Enough for a beer and a blow job. What more in life was there?

His eyes blinked as he came out into the full sunlight. Just then a Coast Guard alerted by the Local 75 guard reached for his canvas bag. Thinking on his feet, Johnny Boots mumbled that he had forgotten something, and turned to go back inside. The Coastguard was a little smarter than Johnny figured, he grabbed the bag while another Coastguard started walking toward Johnny with a mean glint in his eye.

Johnny ran back in the shed, along the wall and out the dock door. He could hear footsteps. Not of just two men, but of many men. He slid down a piling, so as not to make a splash. Now they ran down the dock and some inside the shed.

Johnny swam from piling to piling, toward the center of the pier, overhead he could see rats scurrying along the crossbeams