Marcano / Davidson Shadows From My Past

1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 979-8-3509-7678-6
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 268 Seiten

Reihe: Shadows From My Past

We live in a violent and turbulent world. Perhaps the world has always been like that and always will be. We have witnessed such violence and total disregard for human life from decade to decade. The 1950s and 60s were no exception. 'SHADOWS FROM MY PAST' is no exception.

D. Davidson was born in New Jersey. In his early years, he grew up in Sunnyside, Queens, N.Y., and attended P.S. 150. Dan moved to Farmingville, Long Island, in 1955. After high school, at age 17, Dan enlisted in the United States Air Force. He met his co-author, R. Marcano, while stationed in South Korea in 1963. Presently, D. Davidson resides with his wife, Kathy, in San Tan Valley, Arizona. The couple has three sons, eight grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Marcano, R.

Davidson, D.

Leseproben

Chapter 2 The row of two-family brick houses on Evergreen Avenue was in the Soundview section of the South Bronx—the homes built with tiny spaces between each house. The Romano house sat smack in the middle of the row. Thirty-two-year-old Angelina Romano was cooking in the kitchen. She was sniffling as she slipped the roasting pan back into the oven. She heard the front door open and then closed. Fourteen-year-old Rocco came into the kitchen. “When’s dinner, Mom? I’m starving.” Angelina turned her back on her son to compose herself and dry her eyes. Then she twirled around, wiped her hands on her apron, and forced a smile. “Oh, not for another hour. Eat some breadsticks.” Rocco tracked to a bread basket on the counter and took two breadsticks. “Where’s Johnny?” He bit into a breadstick but suddenly sensed trouble. “Something wrong, mom?” Angelina’s eyes peeked past the kitchen. Rocco turned to look. He quickly figured it out. Rocco raced out of the kitchen. Angelina chased after him in panic. “He was drunk, Rocco. He didn’t mean to do it. You know what he’s like when he’s drinking.” Rocco pushed the bedroom door open. Twelve-year-old Johnny was sitting on the edge of his bed, pressing a rag against his mouth. Johnny’s striped Polo shirt had blood on it. Rocco bit down on his fist. Angelina pushed past Rocco and entered the room. Johnny took the rag away from his mouth. The cloth was bloody. Rocco’s eyes filled with rage. Angelina sat next to Johnny and put her arm around him. “He only hit him once, Rocco. It was an accident. The belt buckle nicked Johnny’s lip.” Rocco turned and stormed out. “It’s his temper, Rocco,” Angelina shouted. “His temper when he drinks!” Rocco was long gone. Angelina hugged Johnny. At that moment, the only thought that passed through Angelina’s brain was how she could hurt her husband, as he had done so many times to her sons. Rocco was fuming as he trekked down Evergreen Avenue. He seemed oblivious to everything around him. He passed by two Caucasian girls leaning against the side of a dark blue Oldsmobile coupe. They were both about the same age as him. The two girls appeared dressed in denim jeans, rolled-up cuffs, and tight sweaters. The petite little blonde smiled teasingly at Rocco. “Hey there, cutie. What’s your hurry?” She and her brunette companion giggled, but Rocco just kept walking. A little further down the block, five Hispanic youths between the ages of fourteen and eighteen were hanging out in front of a candy store. They were all wearing jeans and gold-colored jackets with the word “SCORPIONS” etched in blue across the back. A sizeable portable radio sat on the cement stoop blasting a slow Doo-wop song, “Pledging My Love,” by Johnny Ace. Rocco tried to pass by. Two of the Scorpions blocked his way. Rocco attempted to go around, but they stopped him. “Where you think you’re going, boy?” A voice called out from the stoop. Rocco turned. The Scorpion leader, eighteen-year-old Puerto Rican Hector Sanchez, was sitting on the concrete step of the candy store. A Latino girl with flowing brown hair sat at his side. The eighteen-year-old wore a thin cotton dress, and Hector had his hand halfway up the flower-print garment, rubbing her thigh. Her enormous coffee eyes seemed glued to Rocco. A younger member of the gang, Emilio “Cocoa” Sanchez, stood next to Hector. The fourteen-year-old was Hector’s younger brother. He was mean-spirited and hated everyone who wasn’t Puerto Rican. Two Scorpions pushed Rocco towards Hector Sanchez. Hector gawked at Cocoa. “Turn that shit off!” Cocoa clicked off the radio. Hector took a drag from his cigarette. “I asked you a question, white boy. Where do you think you’re going?” “Just down the street,” said Rocco. “You’re new around here?” asked Hector. “Moved here in August,” Rocco replied. “August?” Hector smirked. “Well, you should already know this block belongs to the Scorpions. We own it. No one walks it less; we say okay.” Rocco grinned. “No one owns this block. It belongs to the city.” Hector shook his head, slid his hand out from under the girl’s dress, and got up. He crushed the cigarette with his foot and turned to his younger brother, Cocoa. “You hear that, Cocoa. The guero (whitey) says we don’t own the block?” The Hispanic girl, Maria Vacas, spread her legs apart. Maria was not wearing underwear. Rocco glimpsed the shaded area between her legs. Maria smiled teasingly at Rocco and then remarked, “Ah, let him go. Maybe he doesn’t know any better.” Much shorter than his older brother, Cocoa moved out from the shadows. He had a menacing smile. “So, maybe we teach the white boy the fucking rules. So, he knows better next time.” Hector hopped off the stoop and confronted Rocco. His eyes settled on Rocco for a long moment, and then he spoke. “Nah, he’s still new around here. Maybe we cut him some slack?” Then Hector went nose to nose with Rocco. “Why don’t you turn your white ass ’round and go back to where you come from, hey? Then everything be cool.” “I can’t do that,” said Rocco. “I’m headed that way.” Rocco pointed forward. One of the other Scorpions provoked Hector. “Fuck me, man! You gonna let him talk to you like that, Hector?” Hector glared at the Scorpion member and then eyed his younger brother Cocoa. “Cocoa, maybe you teach guero a lesson, hey?” Cocoa grinned and headed straight for Rocco. Rocco knew what was coming next. As Cocoa moved closer, Rocco reacted quickly. He threw a right cross and caught the young Scorpion on the chin. Cocoa dropped to the sidewalk. Hector hollered out in Spanish. “Mamabicho! (Cock sucker!) Take him!” The three other Scorpions swarmed Rocco. Rocco swung wildly at the three Puerto Rican delinquents. He connected several times but got pummeled with fists and fell to the ground. The three Scorpions kicked at Rocco’s curled-up body. Rocco covered his head with his arms. The Hispanic girl sprang up from the stoop. She was afraid for the white boy. “Basta ya!” (That’s enough!). The young Scorpions ignored her and continued to batter Rocco. A Puerto Rican man in his late twenties stepped in and peeled the Scorpion gang members off Rocco one at a time. Miguel “Baby” Huertas was still in good shape. His one hundred-and-sixty-five-pound brown body was toned and chiseled. His red hair made him stand out from most Latinos. “Get off him!” The three Scorpions backed away. Hector recognized Miguel Huertas. “Miguel, this guero asked for it. He got no business here. It’s Scorpion turf.” Miguel inched up to Hector and gave him a defiant stare. “This is my block, and I say who walks here, not you.” Miguel helped Rocco to his feet. “You okay, kid?” “Yeah, I think so.” Rocco shook the cobwebs from his head. Miguel hollered at Hector and the other Scorpions. “Vamonos!” Hector helped his younger brother to his feet. Cocoa Sanchez was bleeding from the mouth. Cocoa gawked at Rocco and spat some blood onto the concrete. “We finish this some other time, Guero. I promise.” Hector Sanchez picked up the radio off the stoop and took off with the other Scorpions. As Maria Vacas passed by Rocco, she showed her concern. “Are you okay?” Rocco grinned slightly and nodded his head. Miguel Huertas gave the girl a very sharp look. “Does your old man know you’re hanging out with the Scorpions, Maria?” Maria lowered her head and hurried to catch up with Hector. Miguel put his arm around Rocco. “I watch you fight, kid. You got heart. You throw good right, but you still have much to learn about fighting.” “What do you mean?” asked Rocco. “You swing like a wild man,” said Miguel. “You have a bad temper, hey?” Rocco took a deep breath and nodded. Miguel danced and threw punches into the air. “You throw a punch. You land a punch. Hit the mouth, the nose. You draw blood!” “Are you a boxer?” Rocco wondered. Miguel beamed proudly: “I’ve been a sixth-ranked middleweight for three years straight. I fought Tony ‘Pretty Boy’ Costa twice and lost twice on a split decision.” “Say you’re Miguel Huertas,” said Rocco. Miguel smiled, “Si.” “Damn,” said Rocco. “I saw you fight Costa on television. You were great, but you got robbed.” “Maybe,” said Miguel. “Do yourself a favor, kid. Go home and stay away from here.” “I ain’t afraid of them,” said Rocco. “No? Well,” said Miguel. “You got guts, kid, but guts ain’t...