Chapter Two: Where did you go...

Stinging sensations stirred him from his faint. Joe fought to recall why he was lying on the floor while a multitude of arms, hands and assorted extremities reached for him! Through this mass of determination his mother's face appeared. She was pleading with this benevolent apparatus to make way.

"Move over! Out of the way," he could hear her wail. "Is he breathing? Is he breathing?"

'Is he breathing?!' He thought to himself. 'Am I dead?' The prospect that he was among the departed did not alarm him -- an eternity of Medusa-like hoards did. 'This must be what Purgatory was like.' He thought to himself.

"Mom, I'm all right, I'm all right." He yelled towards her.

"Oh! My Joe! My Joe! My poor little Joe! Are you O.K....?" She asked as she lifted him up and into her arms.

"I got a headache." Was all he could reply.

"Just lay down awhile. Mommy's gonna get something for your head," She said while placing him on Angela's bed.

"Angela! Angela, where are you Angela!" She yelled across the flat -- which by now had assumed the identity of a rush hour train crammed with mourners.

"I'm right here, Mommy," Angela said, standing no more then two feet from his mother.

"Go get your brother some aspirins and a glass of water. And, when your done, put some coffee on and see if anyone is hungry," she commanded.

Reality returned with his mother's request: "...and see if anyone is hungry." It was bizarre to say the least. How could anyone eat with father and Uncle Carmine heaven?" Joe thought.

He wanted to ask her: What is Father and Uncle Carmine gonna eat today? Did they have food in heaven? What happened to them? Did they feel any pain? Did you go to heaven with your earthly injuries? Is it cold in Heaven? The mortifying consequences of these questions kept his silence. On the verge of tears, he firmly recalled his fathers words: "MEN OF RESPECT DO NOT CRY."

Angela diligently placed a coaster on the tired, archaic night-stand, then set the glass of water and aspirins down. The night-stand, its spindly legs fatigued from ceaseless quests at permanent mooring, held an elaborate and ornate silver frame containing a photo of Joe's father. It depicted a powerful man with hard, chiseled features, dressed in suit, overcoat, and fedora. A look of strong-willed determination was written on his face as he boldly posed for posterity.

"Here are your aspirins," she said, averting her eyes from the portrait. "I have to go and put the coffee on."

She turned and walked to the kitchen. The only sign of her crippled emotions was the lethargy with which she performed her assignment...

Harry, Angela was a child whom was always cheerful and optimistic, yet her father's demise would cause an obsessive devotion to her mother -- a devotion which would cause much torment and tribulation throughout her life. She was blessed with beautiful shoulder length brown hair which became her most cherished asset... and ultimately a constant source of irritation: She was forever in the bathroom -- much to the dismay of the rest of the family -- "fixing her hair". Eventually, a day would not go by without a skirmish between her and Jeanette mother concerning such trivial items as hair spray, brushes, and time spent primping in front of the mirror. The family would start the battle, but she would eventually win the war. Intellectually, she possessed a wisdom far exceeding her years. Being the only daughter of a household of a "man of respect", she inevitably received more than her share of the responsibilities, chores, and hardships. Yet she never complained because she had this remarkable perception of the adversities that her mother had to endure. The great and demanding burden of assisting her mother in the rearing of her brothers began immediately following Joe-Pep's death. The day he passed away became the day her childhood passed away. From that day on, she never had the time to cultivate friends like the boys did. When they were playing, she would be cleaning house, when they were watching television, she would be washing clothes. Selfishness and hatred never became a part of her vocabulary, on the contrary, the times you would expect her to be angry, she would convey goodwill and harmony -- always mending the fences. Eventually, while the "boys" were out gallivanting the countryside, she would quit school to help with the bills. It would be many years before the boys became aware of the fact that without her, their mother would have been lost. It would be with a combination of amazement, compassion and sympathy, that they acknowledged the loss of her childhood and the way she masked her feelings...

As Joe watched Angela serve coffee to the grieving relatives seated around the dining room table, huge, dense, plumes of smoke arose from the habitual chain smoking which had replaced conversation. It was as if someone brought the Con-Edison power plant into their flat, turned it on full steam, and allowed its huge chimney to belch all day. The eerie scene brought back the memory of Joe's first cigarette episode:

Joe's father was seated at the dining room table savoring a demitasse of espresso. As he sipped this strong, sweet brew, he held his ever-present Camel, non-filtered cigarette. Joe watched him smoke this contraption with fascination. Wanting desperately to emulate everything this illustrious man did, he waited impatiently until he went to the bathroom. Then, he pounced from his hidden spot behind the sofa (with an eagerness he was to regret), grabbed that burning symbol of maturity and took a heavy drag. The response was immediate -- he coughed, spat, turned colors and nearly threw up. In a blink of an eye, his father was standing in front of him.

"So you wanna smoke, do you?" He demanded.

'Uh-oh...here it comes', Joe thought.

He instantly set him down at the table and produced a cigar that looked like twelve people could smoke it and still have some left for later. He lit it with flair and stuck it in Joe's mouth. "Let's see you smoke that," he said seriously (while trying to conceal his own amusement).

Harry, Joe's father was over six feet tall with black hair and gray eyes. He liked to smoke Camel cigarettes and an occasional cigar. He dressed as sharp as a "ten dollar razor" in a suit, fedora, and diamond pinkie ring. Beget from a long line of Sicilian racketeers, his education consisted of one class: "street smart 101". The most realistic character representing his father was "Sonny" in The Godfather -- down to his mannerisms and temper! "I'm Joe-Pep and my business is giving people what they want," Joe could hear him say -- It was a term he borrowed from "Mr. Capone". Now if giving the people what they wanted meant breaking some heads, he would chalk that up to business. He always had a pocket full of cash -- even if it meant no food on the table -- and drove a late model Caddy. To the men he was a dominating presence and would back it up with a left or right hook... or a combination of both. To the women he was trouble -- which became the cause of considerable misery to Joe's mother. It was his lack of attendance at the home front that made them use the term father rather then dad, pop, daddy and so on. It was always, "When your father... Your father is... Your father will..."

When it came to the children, Joe-Pep demonstrated his love with gifts of emotion. Those gifts of emotion were dispersed in such tiny fragments, he kept them hungry and thirsting for more. Every word spoken would resonate to Joe's very soul. He loved him. He was his father and could do no wrong. His Knight in Shining Armor wore a trench coat, and carried a .45.

It was that .45 which always held his attention, and thus, it was the day before his seventh birthday that his father brought home the gift that he would cherish until his death: Wrapped in bright, colorful paper, the box felt heavy. Holding it up to his ear, Joe shook it in his determination of it's content.

"You can't open it until tomorrow," his father informed him with a delightful yet serious look.

Wondering what was in the box caused Joe to roll and toss in his bed that entire night. The following morning, Joe arose and excitably went to the living room to check the box again. There sat father, fully dressed, white-on-white silk shirt, old creased leather shoulder holster strapped and ready, talking with several other men whom also wore holstered guns. He stood in fascination at these men of respect! Boy, they looked cool!

Joe's father turned, saw him, grabbed the box, and tossed it towards him... "Open it, go on, open it..." He said, a smile beginning to break upon his face as Joe tore through the paper and ripped open the box...

A colt .45 six gun... and holster! His first response was to attempt to wear the holster like his father wore his.... It would not work -- a six gun western style was to be worn on the hip!. Joe's father came over, unbuckled the belt and strapped in on him..."When you get older, I'll buy you one like mine, Happy Birthday!"

Never in his limited time with his father was he more proud! From that day forward, he believed that no one, even GOD himself, could defeat his Knight in Shining Armor... that is until his death