The Stanolis: The Epic and Enduring Legend of an Italian-American Family

Prologue

Note: the following is a trailer from Stanoli, the second volume in the tetralogy

Sandy & Josie, 1932

But two things cannot be held together without a third; they must have some bond of union. And the fairest bond is that which most completely fuses and is fused into the things which are bound (Plato, Timaeus, 31).

~ Dr. Marvin R. Vincent (Col. 3:14)

With Sandy’s arm around his shoulder, Clemente walked out of the kitchen across the room where his father was seated and sat across from him, Sandy remaining by his side. Not beating around the bush, his father wanted to know about Felona. Is it true, is he love-struck? Expecting to get something from his father of an entirely different manner and then to hear of this was a horse of a different color for Clemente, found him off kilter for a moment, while surprised and delighted at the same time. Now that his father knew what was behind his earlier violent outburst, Clemente was speechless. All he could get out was yes, it is true, but he didn’t know how she felt about him.

His father, again, one not to mince words, said the only way to find out is ask her. Right, he imagined, but that was easier said than done, and yet this was Clemente, Mr. Fearless. Sitting there feeling like he’d never felt before, a feeling totally new, he was scared to death – of her! Thinking about asking her that question was beyond his capacity, past his reach, a mountain too steep to scale. Sandy knew the feeling as did his father but it was Sandy who spoke up. He looked over at Vincenzo and back over at Clemente, leaned back in his chair and thought for a minute, not even his father knew about this, as close as they were, and so now was a time to help Clemente and bear his soul, as well.

Respectfully, he addressed Vincenzo by his title and began to reveal the story of his life with Josie.

"Don Stanoli e mio amico, Clemente, most people know Josie and I have been seeing each other for some time now, they nodded the understanding. Let me confess, it is more than just two people who are very fond of each other on a picnic, having coffee, or playing a game of cards. I believe I can speak for her when I say it has become more than I could have imagined."

Clemente looked over at his father wondering what he was going to think hearing this. He’d been aware for some time that his sister and Sandy had gotten serious. But his father was very much pleased and why not, Sandy was like a son to Vincenzo and brother to Clemente, so this was exciting news to them both, each secretly had been hoping would happen.

A few weeks ago, I knew it. One morning I awoke, after spending the evening with her the night before, and felt, I don’t know, kind o’ tingly all over, giddy, you know? You know what this is? and they both grinned. I felt like laughing out loud for no reason and yet held my mouth not to be found out. And I knew. I knew something had changed, something had grown inside me, bigger than any words I could ever say.

Vincenzo overjoyed, knew exactly what Sandy meant reminiscing about his own life years before, and Clem glued to him, hung on every word, it all sounded strangely familiar. Sandy glanced for a minute over at Umbèrto and Felicia, seeing their fondness for Clemente, imagining him as their son-in-law, smiled that knowing smile at them and continued.

I wasn’t supposed to see Josie until later on that week but I could not wait and went over to the house, without warning, for breakfast. Well, it wasn’t just for breakfast, but you know…

I was there that morning, too, Vincenzo teased, reading the newspaper in the front room, if you remember - unless all you could see was Josie!

"Nah! No, I saw you, you old guastafesta!" Sandy teased back.

Umbèrto and Felicia found their way to the others and for the next half hour Sandy told the story of his initial attraction to Josie months before and now of the great love between them. During that time Sam returned with Angelo Volva, Franco Finalli, Jerry Fingers LaRosa, the three stooges looking every bit the part. Right on their heels, Gino and Carlo returned, and all gravitated to Sandy with the others to hear his fascinating story. Clemente was enthralled because it was what he saw and felt for Felona almost from the start, and Vincenzo enjoyed his son’s reaction to Sandy’s love story almost as much as hearing Sandy tell it.

There was much to accomplish fixing the muddle LaBrucca had caused and getting ready for any retaliation from those who may have a lot to lose from his death and end of his business. So for the time, the don designated responsibilities to others down the line normally adduced to his sons and lieutenants. Thereby, to have them in the forefront during the next two weeks in the need to concentrate all their energies to discover if there were loose ends. Experience and knowhow told them there were, and when found out either appease or eradicate them. The second was almost always the best answer. In a word, any of their major undertakings were temporarily put on hold until this was taken care of. The difference could mean repercussions adversely affecting The Business, their livelihood, their very lives and that could not be. So, this was the top priority.

The principal, most pervasive, years of The Peacemaker’s reign were upon the Stanoli clan. By Christmastime of 1932 they appeared virtually unstoppable, feared as much as, if not more than, any other crime syndicate in the United States. From the early to late-30s the name Stanoli struck fear and respect among rivals and law enforcement alike, their mark in every major city. The Partnership would have a piece of every cartel even oversees, including but not exclusive of the Two Sicily’s.

A Love Story

If there is any one sentiment of most value for the comfort, the character, the virtuous sociability of the young - one that will shed the greatest charm over society, and make it the most pure, it is that which inculcates perfect delicacy and purity in the contact of the sexes. Virtue of any kind never blooms where this is not cherished. Modesty and purity once gone, every flower that would diffuse its fragrance over life withers and dies with it. There is no one sin that so withers and blights every virtue, none that so enfeebles and prostrates every ennobling feeling of the soul, as the violation of the seventh commandment in spirit or in form, in thought or in act. How should purity dwell in the heart, breathe from the lips, kindle in the eye, live in the imagination, and dwell in the conversation of all the young!

~ M. Henry: Remarks of Matthew 5

Weeks into the aftermath of the demise of the LaBrucca clan a story of a different variety had blossomed, the romance of Sandy and Josie. It was magical…the conditions, the timing, the characters all seemed to contribute to its budding and fulfillment, yes, a fairytale of the grandest kind.

They were a perfect fit in so many ways, a beautiful blend of opposites. The physical differences were stark, Josie a woman of small to medium stature dark complexion with coal-like eyes and dense long blackish brown hair, she’d regularly straightened when younger but left it naturally curly as it began to gray in her late thirties. The large rolling wide-set eyes sat like quiet nests beneath a canopy of long eyelashes and glistening eyebrows, her nostrils thin and nose pronounced gave way to full rosy lips, a round small mouth with high cheek bones down to a narrow jaw. Her look could be disquietingly probing and could make one feel she could look straight through you. It was patently unnerving. Yet, when she was sincere and kind, her smile could melt a heart of lead. It was mysterious. She was mysterious. And yet, through it all, Josie was as fragile as they come, the something hard to detect, its stark contract would but show up later…

When she and Sandy were holding hands, walking side-by-side, the picture was almost comical, why he was nearly three times her size! When he walked through a doorway, he barely missed the top and if he wore cowboy boots, which he loved the most, he had to slightly duck. Sandy was big boned, from top to bottom. His shoe size was an eighteen and from thumb to pinky when his hand was spread, it was fourteen inches across. His fair complexion was highlighted with large medium-set eyes that virtually shined like blue crystal, with heavy blond eyelashes and brush-like strawberry blond eyebrows. His nose was not unlike Primo Carnera’s, in fact, in frame and size they could have been brothers. Yet, Sandy was strikingly handsome in a soft way to Primo’s tautness. His jaw was square and, like Josie, cheekbones high. Naturally muscular, few men had shoulders as wide. He was an ox, a redwood, and yet like a colossus teddy bear.

People were drawn to him in another way, too, his personality. That he was funny and seemed to gravitate toward the sunny side of life, made him stand alone among men. He loved to laugh and no one clowned around like him, except Sam Stanoli, a close second. He was about as tender and kindhearted a man as ever there was and was especially fond of the underdog, the little guy, caring for small things, like puppies and kittens and children and canaries.

Petro Florenza, Sandy Genna, and Josie Stanoli were meant to be and in time, everyone could see it. They were inseparable. Just as much as she was good for him, he was good for her. Her fiery spirit was tempered by his easygoing style and seeing the good in people to a fault was balanced by her measured reservation.

As the figure of the matriarchal siblings of the Stanoli clan, she carried it to perfection, no one could doubt. From start to finish, she was not to be fooled with. Even the boys knew it. Her presence was unmistakable and dominant and yet this other side of her was just as pronounced, the side that Sandy brought out. He didn’t have to push his weight around. When he was there it just was and when Josie was with him, she allowed it without reluctance or contention. Where Josie could be two different people Sandy could be as well. That other side of him, the one that came out intermittently, was the alpha bear of indescribable power and strength, a carnivorous predator of the gravest kind, chiefly when defending others.

An incident occurred late one afternoon, when he and Josie were walking lazily through the park in Corktown after a picnic with mixed friends, some Irish, Italian, and Polish. For generations, Americans of Irish and Italian heritage were not known for getting along, let alone having get-togethers and when those rare few did strike up friendships, it was normally the result of intermarriage. This was the basis for the current situation. Mutual friends of both Sandy and Josie had gotten married some years before and occasionally the couple was invited to picnics, parties, and the like.

They had just sat down on a park bench and began to smooch when a group of young heavy drinking Irish toughs came romping through the park. On the hunt for trouble, they caught sight of the couple across the lawn on the other side of the green. With her arm around Sandy’s neck, Josie was in the position to see them coming and with it, trouble. She stiffened up and slightly backed away immediately pointing them out to Sandy. There were about twenty of them and she suggested they get back with the others before something happened beyond their control. But there was no time for that without making a scene, he advised. But she resisted, better to make a scene first before they made a worse scene after.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a soul anywhere near them and their friends were in another section of the park, perhaps within earshot, but the get-together coming to an end and its accompanying commotion, made it unlikely. If they tried to run, it would weaken their position and give the mob all the more confidence, the predator/prey syndrome. Early on he’d learned to stand his ground no matter the odds, in fact, the better to stand since it would not be expected, hopefully serving to take the wind out of enemy sails. Josie was familiar with such tactics from her brothers and so it didn’t take any more than that to convince her to hold fast. It was frightening, nonetheless, and she longed for friends to come to help, in what had the makings of a serious confrontation, especially since the approaching band made no qualms about their intentions, with jeers and shouts the closer they came.

Never unprepared, Sandy had a few concealed tools at hand, a holstered .45 automatic, a leather slapjack, brass knuckles, and a Kershaw plain edge folding knife but the most lethal tool of all was Sandy himself, his knuckles like a four studded sledgehammer, half a foot across. He was scared, too, there was no doubt about that, as gently edged Josie behind him up against a large elm tree adjacent to the bench and braced himself as they came up and then stopped just feet away.

Strangely enough, although there was no mistaking Josie was Italian, Sandy could have easily posed as Irish, his complexion, hair, and features seemed to fit. This could be to his advantage, or the other way around – an Irish with an Italian! Uh-oh!

In the meantime, word got back to the picnic site where only a handful of the party was still there and promptly running to help. Sandy’s looming frame and now threatening demeanor gave some in the group cause to pause to reconsider what they were dealing with brusquely turned to walk away, leaving over a dozen determined to do some damage, no matter the champion’s size and ominous manner. But there was more to it than that. Something was up and it was this sudden and wild uncertainly that forced the others to leave the scene. Sure enough, in a matter of seconds the otherwise tranquil climate altered, bringing with it ominous blackened clouds and wind bursts of an uncommon kind, sweeping across and through the park like a whirlwind, causing panic and calamity and with it diverted the threatening band.

Three men from the picnic, two Irish, one Pole, got to the scene seeing Sandy standing in front of Josie with clenched fists at his sides and a look rarely seen, bloodbath if anyone came near his Josie. One of the Irish yelled out to the heretofore-threatening gang in disarray, distracted by the sudden change in weather, to back off and go away. The momentary interference also distracted Sandy when he looked over at the three fellows running to his aid but he motioned they take Josie safely away when five of the ruffians refocused and, as one, rushed him.

Hastily turning to see that Josie was behind and away sheltered by the three, Sandy was hit by a few, tumbling over the park bench, while others from the gang joined in coming toward him from a few dozen yard away, kicked and pounded Sandy while he was momentarily trapped on the ground. It appeared the first five were going to give him a terrible beating as others were swarming in to add to it, as Josie screamed and told the three to help him but, just that quick, the scene had already turned the other way. One of the five was vertically airborne and then another and another, and the last two of the five he snatched with each hand across their chests by the shirts, and with outstretched arms spun them around in a circle, one two three times and let them fly, like paper dolls, one smashing against the trunk of the tree and the other into the wrought iron bottom of the overturned park bench. Ten more were racing toward him while the Irish two of his buddies from the picnic ran to his side and the third was with Josie and the others, women and men, from the party, had arrived by then many yards behind.

Stand back! Sandy yelled to his friends on each side and he reached over and picked up the park bench from the side like it was a toy tool. Clenching the edge of the wooden seat with one hand and the top of the wrought iron back with his right, he charged the brood with his newfound weapon, swinging it back and forth, knocking them down and around like toy soldiers. Amid their screams of broken bones, blood and carnage, the ferocity of his power was unstoppable, raking through them over and over again, back and forth, up and down and around, until most were incapacitated and just two were able to get away, scrambling, howling like beaten dogs. Yes, it was a bloodbath, all right. The rainstorm was now raging, too, and the pounding winds only made the scene look even more ominous.

From across the park, about half a dozen others from the gang that had originally chosen not to participate had been watching the scene unfold. And now, with their comrades down, in Irish pride intensified by the alcohol, changed their minds and decided, to circle around and catch Sandy unawares from behind in the thought it was over. In the meantime, the thrashed members of the mob slowly, one by one, crippled their way out of the park and Sandy let them go without further incident. He set the park bench back where it was and caught sight of his leather slapjack a few feet away that must have dropped out when he was fighting off the mob. He reached over to pick it up, fiddled with it for a minute, and checked to see if his other weapons were still there, too, the .45 automatic, brass knuckles, and Kershaw plain edge folding knife. Good, they all were there. While the others went with Josie back to the picnic area to finish packing up and wait for them, his Polish buddy stayed behind with him. Straightway, sirens were heard off in the distance and no one knew if it was on account of what had happened there or elsewhere.

It was nearing dusk and the storm was dissipating when rustling was heard behind them and just as they turned around the six thugs barraged them with clubs. Sandy’s pal was knocked unconscious and he appeared once more to be the unfortunate victim of an onslaught, unsuccessfully using the slapjack to fend them off, that is, until two of them pulled out knives in what became a game changer – for them! Instantly, Sandy went into his survival mode, pulling out his Kershaw and with both the slapjack and blade made quick work of them all, seriously wounding the two with knives and beating the living hell out of the others who fell under his merciless control. Quickly tucking away his weapons, he proceeded to pummel each of them, piling one atop the other, just as patrol cars ran up onto the green and stopped just yards from him, coppers hastily getting out and rushing toward the scene with firearms at the quick. However, when they got there Sandy was nowhere to be seen ostensibly had disappeared into thin air.

Note: the following is a trailer from Stanoli, the second volume in the tetralogy

Summer of ’57 and the Patio Roof

United sorrows and united consolations tend more than anything else to bind people together. We always have a brotherly feeling for one who suffers as we do; or who has the same kind of joy which we have.

~ Albert Barnes (2 Cor. 1:7)

Sam and Johnny. Theirs was a story. The ups and downs of the early to mid ’50s found them at the peak of their individual professional ambitions by ’57: Sam having risen to the number one spot of the sales brokers at Johnson, Carvel, and Murphy, and Johnny with his own successful business, Martese Electronics and TV Repair. Only because of Sam’s limited physical abilities was he not able to do the things he normally would have and liked doing. Working with wood was one. Johnny, a natural with small hand movement like his father, Sam Martese, was a handyman around the house, equally adept with in electrical, plumbing, and carpentry. On a Sunday in May, while visiting Johnny and Lou in their new home in Gardena, and seeing the large and attractive awning above the back porch, Sam got the idea of putting up a fiberglass roof above the patio between the house and garage. A second later, to Sam’s surprise and delight, if he furnished the materials, Johnny volunteered to build it on a weekend that June.

Sure enough, the first day of summer, Saturday 21 June, Johnny, with 2x4s and green fiberglass roofing panels, Sam had purchased the night before at Merkow’s, began the work. Louise and Johnny stayed over the weekend, both Friday and Saturday nights, while their daughters, Sylvia and Diane, were spending the week with their aunt. But, Johnny, knowing exactly what to do and how and to get there, had it nearly finished by Saturday evening!

As Angie and Lou were industriously going from the refrigerator, kitchen counter, to the table, laying out a southern Italian lunch, most of which was imported, cold cuts - Genoa salami, capocollo, mortadella, prosciutto, and pepperoni - and cheeses – fontinella, provolone, gorgonzola, Swiss, pecorino Romano, and ricotta. There were bowls of black and green olives, a mixed salad of escarole, dandelion, endive, and romaine, Spanish, red, and green onions, fresh garlic, basilico, oregano, cucumber, celery, salt and pepper. There was also a plate of finocchio, a head of lettuce quartered twice with saucers of extra virgin imported olive oil and cider vinegar with salt and pepper to dip it in. Two fresh loaves of hard crust Italian bread, too, were begging to be broken and eaten and pitchers of iced tea and the newest American favorite, Kool-Aid lemonade. Every mouth was watering in expectation of the feast…

The time together gave Sam and Johnny an opportunity of reminiscing about the good old days, when they were kids, something they hadn’t done for years. It began when Johnny – and Sam who’d been observing him from his favorite wooden patio chair – broke for lunch. They went into the second kitchen to wash up, which had been the original kitchen before the garage was converted into some family room years before the Stanolis moved in. Now, for all intents and purposes, it was divided into a pantry on the one end, and a utility/laundry room, on the other.

Remember when we would go into Mama’s utility sink in the back of the house and wash up like this before we ate, Johnny?

Yeah, Sam, I remember it well. I will never forget those years when we were under the same roof. They were some of the best times of my childhood - maybe the best!

Me, too, Johnny. Boy, did we get into it, eh? Hell, if our father’s had known all we did we wouldn’t have made it past fifteen!

"Hah - ain’t that that truth? You, know, every time we get together I always feel like something is missing, even now after all these years, and then I know what it is, it’s Clem. It’s hard to believe Clem isn’t here especially on a day like today.

Uh-huh, I know, Johnny, I know…

Well don’t get so sentimental, you son-of-a-b****, then I’ll start crying, too, and I know you couldn’t take that?

They laughed and laughed, poking more fun at each other, as they walked over around and down the three steps into the family room where the table was laid out with so much fair. Were it not for the chairs in front to point them out, it would have hard to find the place settings! Well, no, not really. Why, there was enough food for twice the people!

Ten minutes later, they all sat down, Sam and Johnny at each end of the table, Angie and Lou, respectively, to their right, Vincent and Sammy Jr., to the right of Angie and Maggie and Susan to the right of Lou. Sam gave the traditional Catholic blessing for the food and then Angie started the record player, softly playing Italian tunes sung by Carlo Buti. And like there was no tomorrow, Sam and Johnny chowed down, as their wives and the Stanoli children ate more leisurely, although, Vincent, at eleven, was already starting to take after his dad!

On the stove, a large pot of chicken cacciatore was already simmering for supper and the dough, basted in olive oil, for fresh Italian bread was rising for the second time, covered with a towel in a shallow bowl in the middle of the broad kitchen counter. Various Italian cookies, Johnny and Lou had picked up from the Italian deli, along with other Italian pastries, were still in the packages on the far side of the counter, and the ricotta filled cannoli were waiting in the refrigerator for after supper and late-night fare.

In the afternoon, Angie and Lou would be making the dough for homemade fettuccine – something normally done by Sam and Johnny - and the homemade spaghetti sauce for it, Sam had prepared that morning, was also simmering in another pot.

Forty-five minutes later, Sam and Johnny were back on the patio reminiscing about that fortuitous meeting in Los Angles back in ’49, after not seeing each other since they were young teenagers.

So what happened, Johnny, after you went away. Papa never mentioned a word about your dad and we never knew what happened to you.

We lived in Denver for about teen years until Papa had a heart attack and was gone before I knew it. By then I had learned his trade fixing radios and electrical appliances but my heart was in cooking. I’d worked for a friend three years part time in the kitchen of his restaurant, serving South American cuisine, mostly Chilean, Venezuelan, and Brazilian.

No kiddin’?

Oh, Sam, it was great. The man was such a sweetheart. Manu became like a second father to me, and his sons were like brothers, too, reminding me of you and Clem. You know it was because of them that the memory of you and Clem was kept so alive in my mind. I never forgot you, thank God.

Me, too, Johnny.

Well, I kept my father’s business going but my heart was not in it and although I really loved Manu and his sons I needed to get a fresh start and wanted to cut my own path and I knew I couldn’t do it there. There was too much pain, too many memories.

Uh-huh, I know about that, too, but go ahead, there’ll be plenty of time for me.

And if there isn’t – you’ll make it!

Ha-ha, all right, all right, you son of a b****, ha-ha, just go on!

I sold the shop and moved to Inglewood and bought a house just down the block from Randy’s Donuts.

No kiddin’? I’ve been there many times.

Great donuts, no?

The best American I’ve had.

I had enough from the sale of Papa’s business and money saved up on my own, over and above what it cost to buy the house, so I could take my time trying to find something I knew I could do and wanted to do. I was driving through Hollywood one day, always wondering what it was like and stopped into little café for lunch at the counter when I saw Lou sitting with her sister and mother. Try as I might, I couldn’t keep my eyes off her trying like the dickens not to be noticed. Well, about a month later I was visiting some neighbors a couple of doors down who’d welcome me soon after I’d moved in with a gift of homemade bread and pastries, and some friends of theirs stopped by for a visit and that was when Lou and I met. It was love at first sight. She was with her mother and older sister then, too, but she stood out like a light just like the first time in the restaurant.

How did she feel about you?

Hey, don’t get ahead of me! You know Lou; she was bubbly but had this almost English dry sense of humor. I thought she saw something in me, too, but it was hard to tell even after our first couple of dates. She would be outgoing one minute and then look at me with doubt the next like I said something wrong.

It’s what she does. She’s just thinking and wondering about you, feeling almost uncomfortable being so lively with a man so new to her while catching herself and stopping to figure out what was going on inside her.

That’s right, Sam, you said it. She was coy because she was raised to believe many Spanish men could not be trusted with single, young, and pretty women with only one thing on their mind. Being one hundred percent Spanish and from a family of means in Spain she had this sophistication, this unusual attraction, and was so exciting that two months into our courtship she had me completely under she charms and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

She tells a different story.

Oh?

She says you had only one thing on your mind.

You son of a b****! Will you let me finish?

And they both laughed at the thought.

Well, the war was on in Europe and we knew it was only a matter of time until the US got into it, too, and so that, and the fact that we were so much in love, we decided to tie the knot.

I wish I could have been there.

Me, too, Sam, I did not have any family, as you know, and you and Clem came to mind often the days leading up to the marriage. I did invite Manu and his sons but they couldn’t make it so I invited the neighbors that had introduced me to Lou months earlier to stand with me and of course Lou had her sister and mother there and a few other friends.

So, what came first Sylvia or your restaurant?

The restaurant. Sylvia was born six months later.

Johnny, it’s now been seven-eight years since we had that chance meeting. It’s seems like yesterday. It was so fantastic we should meet again the way we did.

I know, Sam, it’s a wonder still to me, too. You were my best friend and still are even though you can kiss my a**!

Now it’s my turn you bastard, here I am getting all sentimental over you and there you go and blow it!

Hey, you got no room to complain, I’ll get my licks in whenever I can because they’re few and far in between!

Well, that’s okay, as long as you don’t rig the patio roof to fall on me after you leave!

Don’t give me any ideas!

Lou brought out a pitcher of fresh lemonade and refilled their glasses.

That’ll be a dollar each.

What’s this? The normal fee is a quarter! Johnny bantered back.

Well, that’s when someone ‘normal’ serves you and I’m not that!

"You sure aren’t, si bella donna" (you beautiful woman).

Ah, flattery will get you everywhere! she blinking her eyes flirtatiously.

I know, I know, and they all three laugh as Lou goes back inside to continue helping Angie make the fettuccine noodles.

Sam, when did you know you had arthritis?

Well, I was diagnosed when I was seventeen but I did not have any real problems until my mid-20s.

It hurts me to see you like this. I’ve thought about bringing up the subject but didn’t know how to or when.

It’s all right, I just believe God is punishing me for the things I’ve done.

We haven’t talked about that yet but I wondered about it. You know my father loved yours. They were like brothers but he had to get away from the influence. It was a life he did not want to be associated with. It just wasn’t him, Sam.

I understand. I wish things had been different for Clem and me, too, but nothing can change now what was then. I did some pretty awful things and I’m suffering because of them. People suffered under me and now I am being made to suffer for them.

You really believe that, don’t you?

I really believe it. I don’t want my boys to know about it and I’ve done everything I can to keep them from knowing.

Sam, someday they will, you know that don’t you? Some things we have no control over. Someday the truth will out and then what? What will you do then?

I might not be here by then.

Is that what you are hoping for, because if it is then if feel sorry for you. I’ve never known you to be a coward but that is a coward’s way out.

Is that what you think? You think I am afraid to face it and would rather let the fates deal with it?

Well, that’s what I’m hearing.

You may be hearing but you are not listening.

Johnny got down from the ladder, pulled up a chair, and sat at right angles to Sam, recognizing this was a very special moment.

Okay, what did I miss? I would like to know. I know this is hard for you but we have too much behind us and too much going for us to let this slide.

Johnny, I don’t know how to handle it. Don’t you think if I knew I would do something about it? You know me better than that.

Yes, I do and that’s what it bothers me. This is not the Sam I grew up with. It sounds more like Clem, not you. He wasn’t the sensitive one to tackle the hard stuff when it came to intimate and private concerns but that was never you, somehow you could get in where he could not, even at your worst, you were still approachable. He handled most everything but had a hard time with the human element.

Yes, you are right, Johnny. Even at a young age somehow I had that ability but I thought Clem had it, too. Oh, he had his moments, all right, but he eventually came around, but…

Well, you’re talking about when you were grown and I wasn’t around then so, it’s good to hear that changed a little.

No, I think it was always there, it just needed growing. But I am not saying it totally matured, because that was his weakness and he died too young to overcome it, as far as I’m concerned. But, I get your point, in that sense we were different, mine came somewhat naturally where Clem needed help to see it.

Okay, I don’t want to lose sight of the point here, Sam. Now, we haven’t talked about it and so I can only surmise from what I knew in my youth what must have continued on for you and the family after I left with Papa and that’s up to you to tell me about. But what I think is you and Clem eventually were fully involved in the business, and the things that happened and that you did during those years is what you cannot tell your sons.

Yep, that’s right.

And so we’re back where we started. Don’t you think it would do them good to know the truth?

No, I don’t. What difference can it make, but make things only worse? Unless, I have to they don’t need to know about such things. I don’t want to put that around their necks. Maybe one day, when they’re grown I can tell them when I think they’re ready but I don’t know if they’ll ever be ready to hear that and I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready to tell it.

But do you know that for sure?

No, of course not, that’s what I’m saying. I hope they would be ready but how can I know?

You can’t, at least not now. But watch them. Make way for them to hear it as the years go by. Do what you have to do to prepare them to know the truth, Sam. It would be much better coming from you than hearing it from someone else, don’t you think?

In that case, yes. It’s just that I have made them think the other way all their lives. I’ve made a point in making them believe we are true blue and all that, you know red-blooded Americans, law abiding, and specially that organized crime is evil.

Well, that is true, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve come to, that the old life is no longer a part of you, so what you’ve told them is not a lie now, right?

Well, yes, that’s right, it was once a life I led but no longer actively involved with.

That’s all I am saying. Your sons need to know, Sam.

I know, I know. I’ve done my level best to protect them from that life, to give them what I never had, a really happy childhood, and a life respecting the law and civil authority, honoring this great country.

Sam, I know you’re ashamed of those years and what you were involved with but something just tells me it would help to begin to talk about it. Have you ever talked about it?

No, Johnny, I never have. I promised myself I would keep it buried.

Well, it might be time to dig it up.

Yeah, it might be.

Just think about it will you? Talking about it may help give you ideas on what to do when the day comes you’ll need to let them know.

I will. There’s a lot there. Are you sure you want to know?

Angie opened the screen door halfway and said, Sam, Dave Zallen’s on the phone for you.

Okay, honey, tell him I’ll be right there."

Sam, Johnny resumed, you’re my best friend. Isn’t that what friends are for? Of course I do!

"Okay, then. Let’s change the subject, all right?

"You bet.

Be right back Johnny.

Don’t worry, take your time, I want some peace.

They both laughed, as Johnny went back to work staining the wood before adding the green fiberglass panels to the patio roof.

Sam and Johnny

There are good ships and there are wood ships that sail the sea. The best ships are friendships and may they always be.

~ The Blacklist: S2 E12

While Johnny was making the final touches on the patio roof and Sam was away on the phone, he reminisced of times long gone with his boyhood buddy, and the days after his father, Sam Martese, took him away from the influence of the criminal underworld his father was never directly part of but strictly by association. It wasn’t that he didn’t love and appreciate Vincenzo Stanoli, his compare, it was the life he’d led, and so the separation was mutually amicable.

During the early years after his move to Los Angeles, Johnny, his son got involved in silent movies the last year of the twenties heyday, just before the talkies hit the entertainment scene in 1929. He continued and made talkies for the next two to three years playing minor to supporting roles in over two dozen films. The characters he portrayed, as before, were mostly Latin types, suave, debonair, sophisticated. From ladies’ man to the gigolo, lawyers to heads of crime syndicates, the latter of which was ironic owing to the fact he’d been spared such involvement in real life thanks to his father, Sam Martese.

Hey Johnny! Sam had come back outside but so deep in reverie he didn’t hear him, "Ay Johnny, where are you, you gustafesta?"

"Uh, oh, ay Sam, yes I was thinking about our childhood days and the heartbreak when Papa took me away, and then life in my twenties after he died and I’d moved to Los Angeles and became an actor for a while…

Well, no wonder I couldn’t reach you, ay?

You know, Sam, I haven’t even thought about those things in years?

I know, I know, I’ve had my moments like, too. It seems like a lifetime ago and I guess it was. Oh, Johnny, the things I did in my twenties, things I probably will never live down.

Sam, I was no saint myself, I just went in a different direction so don’t beat yourself up. We all have done things we wish we had never done when we were young. The good news is we learned not to continue when we got older, a?

Sam thought about Johnny’s sincere support and encouragement and took it to heart. Surely, that had been his goal from just before he’d met Angie in his mid-40s and had tried ever since to live a better one. But it was not that complete clean break as he would have liked and quickly reflected on the rare times when that connection was real again through a made guy named Guido to do some dirty work at his behest.

Sam? Hey Sam?

That old prankster came back and Johnny picked up the glass of iced tea he had standing on the ledge and sprinkled it down below over Sam’s head below him next to the ladder quickly waking him out of his own reverie.

Hey, you son of a flee bitten bag of horses***, what the hell are you doing? If I didn’t think you’d fall on your hard head, I’d toss my iced tea into that silly face!

And they laughed and laughed and continued to tease each other.

Note: the following is a trailer where it left off in Stanoli, the second volume of the tetralogy.

Vincent and Marcie, 1970

Many persons have a wrong idea of what constitutes true happiness. It is not attained through self-gratification but through fidelity to a worthy purpose.

~ Helen Keller

Within days of coming home to their apartment in Greenwich Village, Vincent and Marcie applied for jobs Gimbel’s, across from Macy’s on 34th Street and both got them, she in the women’s department and he in the 3rd floor basement. His job was to get merchandise for a group of women, who sorted, tagged, and placed them in large bins. Then when each bin had reached its limit, to deliver them to respective departments upstairs for distribution. It was November 1970.

One may inquire how he could have gotten such a job with long hair in those days. Well, after he and Marcie applied for work at Gimbel’s on Friday, they went to the wig department Saturday afternoon and, in the search, found one that looked just right to look the part for the interview on Monday. To their joy and amazement, they were hired on the spot and would start the next day!

For the weeks leading up to the Christmas holidays, their lives were just about normal again, rarely got high and, from mutual interest in J.R.R. Tolkien, began a new chapter in their lives, purchased The Lord of the Rings series, and each night sat side by side on the couch as Vincent read Marcie the exciting stories, portraying the characters as well as he could, cold, of course, no time to study and rehearse beforehand as he normally was wont to do. She enjoyed his reading more than he doing it and probably got more out of it, too.

After the first of the year, Vincent got word from friends that Mr. Gazdag, his fencing coach back in the AADA years, was forming a professional fencing team for the stage. It would be a feature in various shows he had already lined up throughout the Five Boroughs and fancied Vincent a member of the ensemble. Within the week he went to see Gazdag, busy giving someone instructions on fencing techniques at the time, but dropped everything and unreservedly came over giving Vincent, what was known as, his Hungarian hug. He could not fill him in on the details right then but he would love Vincent to be part of a four-man/four-woman fencing team. It would not pay enough during the months of training so it would be wise to keep his position at Gimbel’s but it would pay enough once they were on tour to be able to quit his job at that time. Vince heartily accepted and was hired on the spot. They would begin training in four days.

Marcie was thrilled about the possibilities that might await him. If this thing did get off the ground, there was no telling where it might lead. She’d longed for him to get back into the performing arts and this she saw as a valuable first step, something he could learn to do well and perhaps other doors to open, too? In New York, the thing for performers is to work. That’s the definition of success. When you’re working in the business, other doors naturally open up. For those on the hunt for talent, nothing speaks louder than a performer working his craft.

So, the future was looking brighter for these two people together and so much in love that spring of 1970, she bred and born in Queens and he born in Michigan, bred in California and back again to Michigan before moving to New York, sheltered, green, and naïve to become a gadabout town and no town better than New York. Vincent never had a thought of life without Marcie nor she for him.

New York Life

If the way to heaven be narrow, it is not long; and if the gate be straight, it opens into endless life.

~ William Beveridge

One of Vincent’s friends and fellow alumnus from The American Academy of Dramatic Arts, Bob Gerardi, had his own musical ensemble for years. The summer after graduation they were playing at a club in Flushing for a month and one night Vincent took Marcie to enjoy his gig of pop and light jazz. After the second break, when Bob sat down with them, he got up and introduced Vincent and girlfriend asking if he would like to come up and do a couple of solos. Surprised and honored, humbled and a bit scared, too, he accepted, walking up to the platform with the joy and confidence he’d gained thanks to his training and a few live performances since graduation. Since his forte was light opera, ballads, standards, and such he wondered what type of song to perform. Bob suggested why not a couple of Cole Porter tunes, he knew Vincent would relish and knowing his propensity to carry them big with the ensemble, gleefully agreed.

You Do Something to Me, he sang to a blushing Marcie, and that stimulated his verve to go from a straight standard performance into a lively, I’ve Got You Under My Skin. He’d connected with the audience and, to his surprise, they asked for more. Uh no, he thought, this is Bob’s band and didn’t want to take him for granted, meekly declining going back to his seat. But a beaming Bob stepped up and stopped him with an arm over his shoulder, whispering in his ear,

When they want more never turn it down or it may be your last. When you’ve got it, when they’re with you, when it’s all come together, let it ride. Get back up there, Pal!

Asking the band if they had I Get a Kick Out of You to a happy yes, asked for it in C-major to another resounding applause, when Bob jumped up on the stage and said This is my show, what’s the hell’s going on here? to teasing boos and, teasing back, excused himself, telling Vincent to do another or more! After that, there was no looking back doing Some Enchanted Evening and This Nearly Was Mine, and in each of the next three sets of the night, Bob featured him, doing Begin the Beguine, Prisoner of Love, Summertime, Ol’ Man River, Ghost Riders in the Sky, Wagon Wheels, Tumblin’ Tumbleweeds, If I had You, Tennessee Waltz, Make Believe, and The Very Thought of You.

Just months from thence he was part of an AFTRA (The American Federation of Television and Radio Arts) showcase one midweek evening and chose to do a tune from Carousel, If I Loved You and a Willie Lowman soliloquy from Arthur Miller’s A Death of a Salesman, receiving a rousing applause. Asking for more he switched moods again, performing the tune from Wildcat, Hey, Look Me Over. The applause kept going and so he went for another style and great tune from International Revue, On the Sunny Side of the Street. After he sat down, the MC came up and, as the applause kept humming, he asked for just one more if he were willing, and immediately Vincent came back up and, chuckling, said that’s why he was there for that one more, and the crowd laughed along with him. All Through the Day, and Prisoner of Love, made a happy and sweet ending. A few people he’d met while at auditions over the past year came up to their table to give him their congrats and, with humble thanks, immediately turned to introduce his girlfriend to them, a gleeful and cheery Marcie. In fact, Reen Dusk, Marcie’s first cousin was supposed to be there, too, but had another engagement.

Late into the evening, an older diminutive woman, dressed in quite an attractive professional attire approached him. She had a quiet but commanding personality, introducing herself as a theatrical manager, inquired may she have a couple of minutes with Vincent at the bar across the room and then, with sincere congeniality, asked respectfully, if it was okay with his adorable female companion. Marcie graciously smiled, of course, and said she was going to the ladies’ room anyway.

Vincent - is that right? she asked.

Yes, he said, Vincent Stanoli. You are…I’m sorry I’m not good on names but once it sticks it stays."

Naomi Elman. Vincent, I am an entertainment manager. I normally don’t come right out like this until after I’ve seen more of an actor’s work but I have to say I am interested in you. I like your style. You grabbed my attention but, then, I wasn’t the only one, was I? Would you be willing to consider signing with me?

I don’t know what that means, Naomi. I am too new to the industry to sign with anyone especially someone I know nothing about.

I like that, that’s good. It’s very good in this business not to jump to conclusions. Well, let me help you. I am having a party for my clients two weeks’ tomorrow in my Manhattan apartment. There will be many people there in entertainment, actors, directors, producers, and the like. Please be my guest. Come for an evening and get acquainted and see what you think.

I’ll think about it.

Okay, right. Well then, here’s my card and I hope to hear from you. I believe you have a lot to offer and I believe I can get you work and help you realize your potential and great career. Thanks for your time. Good luck.

Thanks, you too.

Later that night and for the next few days he and Marcie discussed the idea and finally decided, What the f*** why not? Since he and Marcie had been living together, his language had changed, too, fitting more personally into the New York scene and the language of New Yorkers, par for the course. He adapted to the assumptive custom prevalent everywhere where What the f*** was used like What the hell every other place. It is what the f*** this and what the f*** that. Rather than the preemptive derogatory term he grew up understanding, in New York it was a totally different ballgame. That ugly word was like any other.

Marcie went to visit her parents, Fred and Flo, the evening he went to the party at Naomi’s. Sure enough, the spacious apartment on the upper eastside was packed wall to wall and found no one he knew or even heard of. Naomi was a tactful hostess kindly introducing Vincent to a few of her clients, both male and female, supposedly having either starring roles on soap operas or regular guest spots on TV series, as well as, minor roles in movies, and on the New York stage.

An hour or two into the gathering, however, things changed for him when Irwin Allen walked in, a very successful movie and TV producer, writer, and director, currently producing the TV series The Land of the Giants, and had had three series running simultaneously in this the mid-60s. Now that was impressive. She introduced him to Mr. Allen explaining how she thought Vincent should audition for a guest spot on The Land of the Giants as his introduction into TV work. Mr. Allen said he should have Naomi set it up to come by his office concerning that. It turned out he and Naomi had been old friends and the visit had been a show of support. After making the rounds with a few others he was gone within the hour.

Not long afterward, another sobering surprise was when Sheldon Leonard walked in with a couple of colleagues. Like Allen, he was there for a show of support for Naomi, they, too, being longtime friends. An even bigger surprise came when she introduced Vincent to Mr. Leonard. In the midst of the moment, Danny Thomas was brought up, Danny and Sheldon having been longtime friends, too, and Naomi had been a part of many moments they’d shared behind the scenes in their joint ventures.

It seemed a good opportunity of mentioning his dad and so Vincent said that Danny Thomas and his father, Sam Stanoli, had been friends when they were young in 1930s Detroit, working at WMBC radio. Danny was then known as Amos Jacobs in The Happy Hour Club, and Sam as Sam Franklin singing and doing comedy skits and wound up by popular demand to become a soloist. Of all things, Sheldon said the name rang a bell that Danny had spoken about the time he’d crossed paths with his old pal when he and his wife had gone to a performance of Porgy and Bess in the early ’50s adding Danny spoke very highly of your father.

– -— -— -— -— -— -— -— -— -— -— -— -—

Vincent vaguely remembered hearing others tell of a very different story, how his father was offended and blue that at the same event Danny had snubbed him. So, this was a real thrill, verifying the stories his dad had told to friends and relations, overheard during his growing years. What was going on here? And then it hit him! The one who’d said such things was none other than Uncle Vico, forever the one to undermine him when he wasn’t around. How could he have believed it when it flew in the face of his father’s own words - especially from this man! Well enough of that, it was too good to pass up and he wrote his father about the cheering conversation the next day.

And oh was there more…no sooner had he written the letter and read it to Marcie than the scene he’d blocked out came back to life and as it did, he revealed it to his engaging and delightful significant other. He hadn’t used fiancé for some time and she never said anything about it one way or the other. And they never would again…but for now things, their lives couldn’t have been better. As the recollection came to light, he was thrilled to have her there to hear it…

The night was a night. When Sam had seen his old pal, after all those years, he came home exhilarated almost euphoric. Vincent was still up with his Aunt Josie playing 500 Rummy on the kitchen table when his parents walked in the door beaming. Typically, when Italians get excited the first thing that comes to mind is food and the more excited the more of it. Immediately, they went to the kitchen counter, cupboard, and refrigerator, pulling out everything but the kitchen sink, Italian bread, cold cuts, cheese, produce, they percolated a pot of coffee to have with, of course, pastries, pizzelle, sfinge, zeppole, cucciddati, angel wings, anise biscotti, sesame seed cookies, pignoli cookies, all homemade, of course, by Sam, Angie, and Josie, over the previous weekend when they had guests over from the ICF (The Italian Catholic Federation).

It was time to gorge themselves, and all the while, Sam was talking about Danny and Rosie, his wife, an Italian-American and also a singer in 1930s Detroit who gave up her career when she married Danny. It was then, and for the next two hours, when Vincent heard the stories about Danny Thomas and his dad, as illustrated above. Was it any wonder that one of his dad’s favorite TV shows he hardly ever missed was The Danny Thomas Show that became Make Room for Daddy?

If that ugly story perpetrated by Vico had actually been factual, knowing Sam, would the other have been true? Would Sam have so enjoyed pal, Danny, and his success, eager to watch the next episode, and spoke of a friendship that meant so much to him, played out when friends and relations got together? Absolutely not.

– -— -— -— -— -— -— -— -— -— -— -— -—

Gasbags typically have their holes, too, and such was the case with the story about the fallout of Sam Stanoli and Danny Thomas. But remember a lie has to have an amount truth to it in order to be believable. Yes, there was a falling out. However, the characters were just a little bit different. So, we go back to the times when Sam Stanoli was that up and coming heartthrob in Detroit radio. In those days, through underworld associates, he became acquainted with Gaspere Biondolillo and for a time they were friends. Gaspere was his birth name but in showbiz it was Jack LaRue. Up until that time, Jack had been a B movie actor going on to make scores of movies some of which were better, some worse.

Years later, while in a fund raiser for the ICF (the Italian Catholic Federation), returning from a pit stop in the men’s room, Sam happened to see him at one of the tables. Excitedly, he went up to shake hands with the old acquaintance but instead got the cold shoulder. Jack didn’t know him from the man in the moon, that if he wanted his autograph just ask for it and don’t be one of those silly starry eyed fans, uncouthly excused himself,