Yesterday was my father's birthday. I believe it would have been his 90th. The date struck me as I was scheduling yesterday's post about being able to watch the Sopranos while pedaling on the Peloton and simultaneously scorching the Corona Light's and Chica's tortilla chips, best tortilla chips on the planet.
The shot above (my dad with the oversized Adrien Brody beak on the right) reminded me of a recent episode where Tony recalls his father's run in with Johnny Law and his father beating the shit out of a local hood who hasn't paid the vig.
Though far from the streets of Newark, New Jersey where the Sopranos made a name for themselves, my father inhabited the even scrappier streets of Da Bronx. And as you might suspect, knew and hung out with many guys named Paulie, Tony, Frankie, Other Paulie, etc.
The guy mugging for the camera looks like a Carmine, but what do I know?
I do know that while I was in college, I needed a job and was tired of washing dishes pots and pans in the dormitory dining halls. Not only did it pay poorly, it never helped my dating profile.
"I'm seeing that funny guy who scrapes mashed potatoes off our dinner plates," said no Muffy, ever.
My father, not wanting to get stuck paying my tuition bills, told me to go see his "pals", Paulie and Frankie, who had just opened a bar near Marshall Street on the Syracuse campus.
I didn't know any better but I had the gig before I even walked in the door. In the same way Christopher Moltisanti "supervised" construction workers from the seat of his fold up chaise lounge.
"Want to be a bartender?"
"I don't have any experience. And don't know the ingredients for all the drinks."
"It's a college bar, kid. No one comes in here and orders a Rob Roy or a Rusty Nail. You pop open a Molsen, hand them a glass, take their money and move on. Can you start on Friday?"
Best. Job. Ever.
It also occurred to me that while we lived in Jackson Heights, there were many broken nose guys who lived in our building. Many of them came to our apartment on Tuesday Nights, about once a month. They drank whiskey, played poker and smoked cartons of cigarettes. Probably heisted from nearby La Guardia or JFK airports.
Did I mention all this was preceded by my father's one year stint in an Army prison for smoking pot?
He had a mischievous, not to mention contentious, side.
As I look back on it now, I'm almost certain that once he got his CPA license, he supplemented his income for "friends of his" that needed to hide theirs.
Not sure that having put the pieces together changes the way I view my father and the complicated relationship we once had. But it certainly changes my perspective of watching The Sopranos.
Pass the canoli.
We were both in Da Bronx today.
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