March 31, 2007--Saturday Story: Found On Staten Island--Part Five

In Part Four, Lloyd Zazlo had the first of his working lunches with President Teitelbaum. He nervously reported to Dr. T that everyone he encountered, from the members of Staten Island’s influential Italian Club to the former head of the island’s Black Panther Party, everyone said the same thing about him—that he was an opportunist who was only interested in his next job, presumably in the Ivy League, and that he would shamelessly do anything, including exploiting and coopting them, to advance his tottering career. But, in spite of this, they were willing to do business with him, especially if by “helping” him it would expedite his inevitable exit. To Zazlo’s surprise, Teitelbaum seemed perversely delighted by this report and, without a struggle, agreed to split the cash that was likely to be raised by raffling off a new Fiat convertible with those he considered to be nothing less than local hustlers. Part Four ended with Zazlo picking up the raffle books in Sal Rizutto’s print shop and receiving the promise from Sal that he would never leave his side at the upcoming Italian Culture Festival to protect him just in case there were any fireworks.

So in Part Five, Lloyd . . .

The following afternoon I took the bus south down Hylan Boulevard to Louie Randazzo’s Fiat dealership. To pick up the car that we would be raffling. It was a glorious day and even the undistinguished strip malls that lined Hylan on both sides benefited from a coating of the slanting sunlight of early autumn. As I squinted into the glow reflected back to me off the faux mansard roofs of the fast-food restaurants and carpet and auto body shops, I felt that maybe I was fortunate to have been cast up onto the shores of Staten Island after my final humiliation at Queens College. This didn’t seem like such a bad place to be after all; and maybe, I thought, I was already beginning to make a difference through my initial forays into the diverse communities that were unique to this distinctive and exotic place.

The bus bumped to a stop, snapping me out of my sun-drenched reverie, right opposite Randazzo’s. It was a typical automobile showroom surrounded by glinting rows of new and used Fiats, all festooned with banners, balloons, and signs proclaiming, “Make Me An Offer And I’m Yours” and “Nothing Down—Take 48 Months to Pay” and “Kiss Me, I’m Italian.”

It was clear, that I had found the place. And as further evidence, right there, at the center of his array of shiny cars, in an equally luminous suit, with capped teeth as radiant as the sunlight that flickered off them, there was Louie Randazzo himself, standing resplendently next to a blood-red Fiat convertible that was perched on top of a platform so obliquely slanted that it looked as if it could be launched into geosynchronous orbit if one were to gun its 300 horsepower engine, slam it into first gear, and pop the clutch. I knew that this was the car set aside for the raffle and that in a few minutes I might be blasting my way in it back up Hylan to the college.

Grinning, Louie, who towered over me, looped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him in a bone-crushing embrace. My head, as a result, became buried among the folds of his suit jacket in his hot armpit, “Can you believe such a day like this?” He squeezed me so hard that I was having trouble breathing and struggled to release myself. But he continued to clutch me to him, “You know, on days like this I don’t give a shit if I don’t ever again sell anyone a lube job.” I grunted to show that I understood and agreed that it was glorious even though I was about to pass out. “You know most of my business is not from sales but from tune ups and body and fender work. Especially because the kids here whose parents buy them these cars get drunk and drive like banshees.” I finally managed to twist out of his grip and needed to bend over to suck in enough air to keep from fainting. Louie didn’t appear to notice, “Every Monday morning when I get to work the parking lot is loaded with wrecks. There’s good money in wrecks. I make out very well, if you get my drift,” he winked at me, “with the insurance adjusters. Workin’ with them there’s enough to go around for everyone. You know—you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”

Finally breathing more normally, I agreed, “You said it—as long as no one gets hurt.”

“That’s the beauty of it,” he said, “But look, I know you’re busy what with everything they have you runnin’ around doing. So I won’t waste your time. You’re not here to learn my business. . .”

“Actually,” I broke in, “I find it very interesting. I really do. You know, I’m supposed to work in the community so the more I can learn about life here the better.”

“Life here,” he bellowed, “well that’s a completely different story. Maybe one night, after a meetin’ of the club, you and me we can go out for a few belts and I’ll tell you everything you need to know about this place. Believe me, I know everything, and I mean everything, including who’s doin’ it to who. If you know what I mean.”

“I think I would enjoy that.”

“I guarantee it. For example, you won’t believe what that little pipsqueak Sal Rizutto has got goin’ on. You’d think from the size of him that he’s got nothing in his pants except that big rod of his, well don’t believe it. You know what they say about those little guys. But we’ll leave that for another time and another place. OK?”

In truth, I couldn’t wait to hear his stories and said, “Sure, any time you say, Louie. I’m yours.”

“I like that ‘I’m yours.’ I know we’ll get along just fine.” He winked again, this time in such an exaggerated fashion that I felt certain that even people all the way on the other side of the Boulevard would think we were participating in a major conspiracy. “But let’s go inside. We have a little business to transact.” He grabbed hold of me again and tugged me toward his glass enclosed office.

It was festooned with pictures of him with various members of the Italian Club, interspersed with others of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. Again, I thought that I was being drawn into a living cliché.

“Like I said, I know you’re busy but do you maybe got a minute for another matter?” “Of a personal sort. If that’s OK.” From the other side of his spotless dark wood desk he looked at me with now softer eyes.

I tried to adjust to this change in tone and said, “Sure Louie. For you, like I said, ‘I’m yours.’”

He smiled, “It’s maybe not what you’re thinking. It’s not that personal. I don’t have Sal’s problem, if you want to know the truth, or for that matter his equipment. This is about my son, Louie Junior. You’ll have to meet him one day. I think you’d like him. That’s him, in that picture over there. With Frank in Atlantic City.” He was a virtual clone of Louie, only younger of course and without the moustache. “He’s a good kid. He goes to Curtis. He’s in 11th grade. And he’s smart, very smart. He gets straight As. In everything—math, English, science, even art. You name it and he gets As. And he’s on the soccer team. He’s big enough for football but he prefers soccer. Which is fine with me.”

“He sounds terrific Louie. You must be very proud of him. But what’s the problem? It sounds as if he’s pretty perfect.”

“I am and he is. To tell you the truth, I don’t have any problems with him but his mother does. We’re divorced, Marie and me. It’s all amicable and everything but about Junior we have our problems.”

“What kind? He sounds as if he can do anything he wants.”

“That’s my point exactly—he can do anything he desires. But Marie she still treats him like her baby. You probably haven’t heard but we also had a daughter. She was younger. Two years. But she got cancer four years ago and suffered something awful. It also nearly killed poor Marie. She was her dream. And it destroyed the marriage. Marie wanted to cut off everything from the past. Anything that would remind her of her Rosa. Who was an angel. It broke my heart too.”

He turned away from me for a moment to compose himself. And then he swung around to face me again. “So when little Rosa finally died Marie, wouldn’t let go of Louie. She tried to turn him back into her baby. By keeping him close to her she thought she could protect him from harm and pretend that nothing had happened. And he’s such a good kid, and since he was probably a little scared from what happened to his kid sister, he allowed her to. I have custody of him every other weekend and we get along fine. And when we’re together I try to talk with him about his future. And that’s where you come in. At least I hope so.”

He looked across at me so pleadingly that though I didn’t have any idea what he might be wanting of me, I said, smiling back at him, with arms akimbo, “As I told you, anything.”

“Like I said, Marie and I have a problem. She knows how smart he is, how talented, and that he wants to go to college. But she wants to keep him close to home. So she doesn’t want to let him go off the island to school. She feels that if he decides to go to college he should go to the community college, your place, commute back and forth and live with her. So she can take care of him. Continue to keep him safe.”

“And so you want me to help him get admitted to the college? That shouldn’t be a no problem. Not with his grades. He really doesn’t need me. He’ll get in on his own. But I’m happy to help. Whatever you want.”

“You’re missing my point here.” I gestured that I was sorry and he continued. “Like I said, he’s special and I want to see him go to a good college. Not that shithole. Sorry. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m sure it’s an OK place. A good place.” I waved at him and shrugged to indicate I was not upset. “But I’m being honest. It’s not the best place for him. It’s fine for those other kids who need to figure out what to do with their lives or don’t have the money to go anywhere else. But look around you. I may not have had much education but I’m doing pretty good here. As I said, I do a lot of lube jobs.” He chuckled. “So for Louie Junior money is not gonna be a problem. But what will be a shame is if he doesn’t go to a college like the one I’m sure you went to.”

I mumbled, “I went to Columbia.”

“In the city, right? That’s the kind of place I mean. But to be honest with you, no offense, I’d like to see him go to a better place. You know, one of them New England colleges with a real campus. Like maybe Yale. I been through there once or twice on my way to Rhode Island, we have family up there, and since then I’ve dreamed about my kid going to a place like that.”

“Yale is a great school Louie. I’m sure he’d be very happy there.”

“To tell you the truth, it’s not just about him bein’ happy because he’d be happy staying here with Marie and me. He’s that kind of kid. But I want to see him in a place where he could become a different kind of person. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a wonderful person already. But I don’t want to see him turn out like his old man.” He made a gesture to take in all of his realm.

“There’s nothing wrong with this, Louie, or you.” I meant that.

“Nice of you to say. You’re a classy kid yourself, Lloyd. Like I said, I like you. But you’re wrong. There is something wrong with this, and, I gotta admit, me too. Not that I’m a bad person. I did well with my life, true, except of course for what happen to Rosa and then with Marie. But my time is passing. It’s not what you’re thinkin’, I’m healthy as a horse. Knock on wood,” which he proceeded to do as well as on his massive chest, “I’m built for the past. But I want my boy to be prepared for the future. To tell you the truth I don’t know what I mean when I say that. Which is precisely my whole point. I want him to get the best possible education so he can figure out where the world is headed to and get ready to make his way in it. Maybe even make a contribution.”

“What do you mean by that Louie?’ I wasn’t sure what he was saying.

“To contribute to making it a better place. To give something back from all that God gave to him. As I said, he’s gifted and with that comes obligations. I know your people, the Jews, believe that, right?”

“I’m not an expert about that but I do know that Jews are thought to be very charitable.”

“I’m not talking about charity, though I believe in that too, all real Catholics do. And you know I’m Catholic. I’m talking about him maybe devoting his life, or a part of it at least, to humanity. I know what you’re thinking--that I’m goin’ soft after what happened to little Rosa and so maybe I’d like to see Louie become a priest. That would be OK by me if you want to know. But I’m thinkin’ maybe he could study literature or, better, philosophy. He loves Plato and those other Greeks. And don’t look so surprised,” he smiled. I suppose I was at the reference to Louie Junior studying philosophy at Yale. “And maybe he could even become a professor like you.”

He folded his hands on the desk and, satisfied with himself, grinned at me, waiting to see what I might say. “Well, Louie, as you say—to be perfectly honest, I am surprised.” I paused for a moment to allow that to sink in; and, as I anticipated, his expression hardened as if he was upset by this. “Really surprised. But not for the reasons you’re thinking. I’m surprised that any young person these days has any interest in Plato or Aristotle. But I’m not surprised that Louie Junior does. He sound like a terrific kid. Just as you say. And I do understand what might be at issue between your wife and you. I mean your ex-wife. But having said this, I’m still not sure what you want me to do. How can I possibly help?”

“Simple,” he resumed his beatific smiling, “Just talk to him a little. I can arrange for that. No problem. Just talk with him about colleges like Columbia and Yale and what happened to you when you went there. How, I assume, it turned you into a different kind of person. A better one.”

“I can do that though I’m not sure how much ‘better’ I am as a result. At times I wonder if it wouldn’t have been preferable if I had gone into my family’s construction business. Maybe I would have been happier.” I thought back on those days when I worked so proudly and happily on some of the company’s big jobs in the city. “But what about your wife? I mean Marie. Won’t she be upset that I, a stranger, am talking to her son about leaving home? Leaving the island? Placing him, as she would see it, in danger?”

“I can handle that. I’ll figure out what to say and how to make it right by her.” I thought I could see in the slanting light that his eyes had become dewy.

Clearly not wanting me to notice that, he jumped up and grabbed my hand, “So you’ll talk to him, right? Do we have a deal?” I nodded with as much understanding as that gesture could communicate. “Now let’s take care of the other business—the little matter of the car that we’ll be raffling. The red one out there in the lot.”

“That sounds great. I can’t thank you enough for being so generous. I see that you do believe in charity and put your money where your mouth is, so to speak.”

“Well,” he said as we walked out to the car, again with his arm around me, “it’s really no big deal. After all, we never know who’ll win the raffle. Could be a friend of the family, if you know what I mean.” He was winking again. I chose to ignore that, thinking that would be unlikely since we would undoubtedly sell thousands of tickets.

He tossed the keys to me and told me some of his men would lower the platform on which the car was propped so I could drive it off and then take it up to the college. “Won’t I need the papers for the car? You know, in case I get caught speeding,” this time I winked at him, “And so we can sign it over to whoever wins it?”

“Nah, I know all the cops on the island. If anyone pulls you over just tell them you’re delivering it for me and they’ll let you go.”

“But what about for the person who wins the raffle? Won’t we . . . ?”

He cut me off and said somewhat ominously, “I told you that’s not gonna be a problem. That I can promise you. But just so you don’t get too nervous on me, here they are. Take them along with you and lock ‘em in the glove compartment. I have to protect my investment in you, don’t I? You know, if you’re gonna talk to Louie Junior as we discussed I don’t want to have to bail you out or anything.” With a blazing grin he extracted the ownership papers from his jacket pocket and tossed them to me as I climbed into the car.

To be continued . . .