HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN. A little time travel today. When Nick Chiarkas was a guest on House of Mystery (NBC) with Alan Warren, he was asked a question he had to think about– the primary inspiration for his novels Nunzio's Way and Weepers.
He had to think about it, he says, because, while both books can stand independently, they are part of the Weepers Series. Nick wanted to show that when he was growing up in the projects, even though life was hard and dangerous, there still was love and cohesion between families, friends, and neighbors.
And so he thought about that a bit more. And today, Nick takes us back to those days in the fifties. And isn't this a great photo (from his neighborhood--mothers on watch) from the time to get you in the mood?
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NICK CHIARKAS: I grew up in the Al Smith housing projects in the Two Bridges neighborhood on Manhattan's Lower East Side. It was late afternoon on a sunny day in 1957. I was 13 years old and sitting on a bench in the small concrete playground near my building.
I was sitting on top of the bench-back with my feet, wearing PF canvas high-top sneakers on the bench seat. That was cool. I was alone reading a Little Lulu comic book.
Sylvester Green, tall, tough, and 16 years old, walked into the playground.
He said, "Whatcha readin', Nicky?"
"Little Lulu."
"Lemme hold your comic book."
"No."
I had to say "no," or I would be a punk.
I put up a bit of a fight, but Sylvester knocked me over the back of the bench into brittle and painful bushes that grew in the projects. He took my comic book and left. I got up and looked around; nobody saw what had happened.
Good. I dusted myself off, wiped a little blood off my face with my sleeve, and went home.
My mother met me at the door when I got to my apartment. She asked me where my comic book was.
"Ah, I must've left –"
She said, “Zitto cetriolo.” Which means "shut up, cucumber" in Italian. Why cucumber? I have no idea.
"I saw that boy, Sylvester, take your comic book."
"It's no big deal, Ma; I –"
"No big deal? Andiamo."
You guessed it, andiamo means let's go.
She grabbed my arm, and off we went to Sylvester's building. This was not good news for little Nicky, but I was counting on Sylvester being out somewhere, enjoying my comic book. As I said, it was a lovely day, and it wasn't supper time or anything—no chance he would be home.
My mother knocked on Sylvester's apartment door. Sylvester's mother opened the door. "Marie, can I help you?"
"Stella, your son took my son's comic book."
"Sylvester, give Nicky back his comic book," Stella shouted over her shoulder.
Let me point out she did not give Sylvester a chance to lie to her; she just told him what to do. Sylvester came to the door, handed me my Little Lulu comic book, and looked at me in a way that made it clear tomorrow was going to be a bad day for me since we went to the same school. My eyes and body language tried their best to explain to him that I didn't say anything. My mom just saw what had happened. No use.
My mother thanked Mrs. Green. Mrs. Green thanked my mother. That was the end of it…except for me the next day.
When I think about that story, I realize no police were involved. No one was really hurt. It seemed to me that the mothers took care of everything going on. Families knew families. Police were rarely called for anything. The benches were usually lined with women and some out-of-work men. They all watched over the neighborhood. This was the inspirational string of the family and neighbors coming together to take care of problems that tie my two novels together. And when they couldn't handle something, they knew who to go to: Nunzio's Sabino.
Despite the poverty, we (the kids growing up on those streets) felt loved and valued. Not just by our family but by our neighbors, not by the greater society, but by our neighborhood. The older women and men told us stories and shared life lessons.
Lessons like: Don't be a bully. Do what's right even if you catch a beating. Be polite (please, thank you, hold a door). Share. Help. Don't self-pity. Accept responsibility. Don't be a sore loser; if you win don't brag. Read at the Public Library. Be a stand-up guy.
Mostly, I learned that it is not about what you get for what you do but what you become by doing it.
HANK: Love this! So, Reds and Readers, what lessons did you learn from your neighborhood?
Nick Chiarkas grew up in the Al Smith housing projects in the Two Bridges neighborhood on Manhattan's Lower East Side. When he was in the fourth grade, his mother was told by the principal of P.S.#1 that "Nick was unlikely ever to complete high school, so you must steer him toward a simple and secure vocation."
Instead, Nick became a writer with a few stops along the way: a U.S. Army Paratrooper; a New York City Police Officer; the Deputy Chief Counsel for the President's Commission on Organized Crime; and the Director of the Wisconsin State Public Defender Agency. On the way, he picked up a Doctorate from Columbia University; a Law Degree from Temple University; and was a Pickett Fellow at Harvard. How many mothers are told that their children are hopeless? How many kids with potential surrender to despair?
That's why Nick wrote Weepers and Nunzio's Way — for them. https://nickchiarkas.com/
I love how the mothers handled things, Nick . . . and what a great way to grow up, feeling loved and valued by those around you.
ReplyDeleteNeighborhood lessons? Play nice . . . share . . . tell the truth . . . always do the right thing.
Thank you, Joan, it was an encouraging way to grow up, and they were good lessons that I carry to this day.
DeleteWhat a wonderful vignette, Nick. Thank you. I also grew up in a neighborhood where other moms looked out for all the kids. Mine was a modest small town outside of Los Angeles, not the city, but we had the same caring and values, and we felt safe. We shared games and bikes and back yard fruit. We were polite to adults, took care of each other, and exercised our imaginations. We were a mix of Latino, Asian, and waspy kids and didn't notice we were different (I had only one Jewish friend and never saw a Black person, but that's a different tale). What has happened to our society?
ReplyDeleteYour last sentence Edith made me think about minorities in my small So Cal community with mostly white middle class military families. I had two Black classmates and two Jewish classmates. But, as I recall (hopefully not through rose colored glasses) it wasn't an issue - what mattered and set people apart (unfortunately) was whether your father was an officer or enlisted.
DeleteOh, that's really a fascinating hierarchy!
DeleteWhen my children were growing up, some organization (?) handed out signs that indicated a house that was safe haven for children who were hurt or lost or frightened. The sign were yellow with a helping hand. What it mostly meant was that there was a mother in residence who was available to help. But more than that, we looked out for the kids, settled battles, mopped tears, and delivered back to their mothers. It was a different time, not a better time. The Tom Lehrer song, “They’re rioting in Africa” comes to mind.
ReplyDeleteTom Lehrer was such a genius.
DeleteThanks, Ann, I don't think it was a better time. But in some ways, sharing the hardships each other faced, not excluding from your care or responsibility someone because of who they were, somehow provided hope and comfort to everyone living in those projects. I recall my father and two uncles taking a neighbor man aside for abusing his wife. No police. just the other men ended the abuse. It was a different time, not better, just different.
DeleteCompletely agree. I didn’t mean to be critiquing you. More myself. I was thinking that times were easier. But only if one was white and at least middle class.
DeleteOh, Ann, I didn't think of your comment as a critique, although I welcome critiquing, not much ego here, my friend. I also think you're right about white and middle class and men. I was unaware, to some extent of what was happening in the rest of the Country, until I joined the Army. After Basic and advanced infantry training I was sent to Ft. Benning, Ga, for Jump School (Paratrooper training). My friend and I were told how proud of us our Country was since we were willing to volunteer to go into combat after training. We were 18 years old and proud. We arrived in Columbus, Ga the night before we had to report for training. It was 1963, and we didn't see the sign that read "Whites Only" as we walked into a diner. We were both in uniform, however, my friend was African-American. After a bit of a skirmish in the diner we were removed by the sheriff and told we could go to jail or to the military base. We decided on the military base. It was an eye opener for me. We were soldiers willing to die for our Country, but in that town, on that night, our Country didn't care. In the projects they cared about both of us.
DeleteLoved your story, Nick. As a kid, I can't even count the times that things were taken away from me. I am off to look for your books!
ReplyDeleteAhh, thanks, Judy. Yep, I remember things being taken away from me, and not just by my parents, by Chico's mom, or another neighbor.
DeleteWhat a fantastic essay - makes me want to run right out and get your book… and wonder if you’ve written memoir or ya?
ReplyDeleteAnother vote for a memoir. Hint Hint!!
DeleteAhh, Hallie, thank you for your kind words. Hmmm, a memoir. It would have to be fictionalized a wee bit, but maybe something like a Roman à clef memoir. Hmm, again.
DeleteWow, that's an amazing story, from beginning to end!
ReplyDeleteGreat story! Our moms too handled stuff and didn't automatically defend their kids. If I complained about something, I was likely to be asked, "What did you do?"
ReplyDeleteSo true, Gillian, "What did you do now?" was one of my father's often repeated questions to me.
DeleteI love it. I grew up in a suburban neighborhood, so it wasn't quite the same.
ReplyDeleteGreat memories, except for that teacher! Glad your mother didn't listen!
ReplyDelete"I learned that it is not about what you get for what you do but what you become by doing it."
ReplyDeleteI love your quote. So true. And I too look forward to reading your book.
I love the story about your principal - did he ever live long enough to know just how wrong he was? !!
Growing up in the 50's in a beach/US Navy community our fathers were on deployment so our mothers ran the ship at home so to speak. We had a lot of freedoms to roam and learn from our mistakes.
Thank you, Karen. It was a fourth grade teacher who took the time to talk to me, she gave me a book of poems ("Yesterday and Today" I still have it), who inspired me. Many years later when I got my doctorate, I tracked her down, and sent her a copy of it with a note that simply said, "Look what you did." Sometimes just talking to a kid will give him wings.
DeleteExactly! We need to be careful what we say to kids because you never know what tidbit will stick with them, positive or negative.
DeleteI grew up in a rural area and since my mother worked we were cared for by babysitters and hired girls, some much better than others. My grandparents were across the field, but they worked too. There were two other houses fairly close, one with 3 boys a lot younger than I was and the other had a girl about my age, as well as younger kids. Mostly what I remember was that we were left to our own devices. I've always envied those people whose mothers were always on hand, watching out.
ReplyDelete'How many mothers are told that their children are hopeless? How many kids with potential surrender to despair?' When you feel loved and cared for--like in your neighborhood, you can overcome a lot of a-holes like this principal. Write that memoir, if you haven't already!
ReplyDeleteSo true, Flora, in many ways "Weepers" is a fictionalized memoir. But maybe, I'll give it a shot. Thanks.
DeleteIt is so touching and inspiring to read all of these today! I am on my way to the airport, and will answer you all when I get where I’m going… To be a guest of honor at Writers Police Academy!
ReplyDeleteMeanwhile, I have nudged Nick to come chat, too, and he will be here soon!
Keep those comments coming…
I love this. It is the way we grew up. I was in New Jersey in a tiny town in the shadow of NYC, but when I smoked my first cigarette in public, my mother got 30 phone calls. Apparently, she counted. Adults all took a hand in raising children. Parents enforced integrity and honesty, even if kids weren't big fans. It was a golden time, no matter what the circumstances.
ReplyDeleteLook forward to reading your books.
That is hilarious!
DeleteKait, same with my family. My mom was the middle kid of nine, and my grandparents on both sides were well known in our town. My mom always used to warn us that she would hear about any misbehavior, and time after time she was proven right!
DeleteAnd when you play cops and robbers, you have to take turns in the roles. Taking turns--that was a BIG deal. And that "dibs" was sacrosanct.
ReplyDeleteYes, taking turns, was a must, Hank. And choosing up sides for the games, and if someone called dibs (we called it haggies - don't know why) you had to share.
DeleteI grew up in the suburbs but the neighborhood moms kept an eye on things. If I was bullied I knew my big brother would have words with the culprit and that would be that.
ReplyDeleteNick, welcome to JRW. At first, I thought of the movie West Side Story (the original) movie.
ReplyDeleteHank, what lessons did I learn from the neighborhood? I grew up in an idyllic neighborhood in a small town near Berkeley. The high school students either went to Berkeley High or El Cerrito High. The town, Kensington, looked as if it could be a village in the Cotswolds. Imagine my surprise when learning about another Kensington as in London, England!
My happiest childhood memories was coming home from school and playing with friends who lived on my street. For some strange reason, I did NOT go to the same public school as my friends did. I remember that all of my friends on my street Learned Sign Language. I was blessed that they learned sign language. They all learned because they wanted to communicate with me. I remember one friend who delivered the afternoon newspapers. Some of us would get together after school and help her tie up the newspapers before delivering the papers in the neighborhood. I learned Kindness and patience from them. I remember a friend wearing a t shirt with Greek letters and learning that there were more alphabet letters in the Greek language than in the English language.
And we are still in touch today. Growing up, I lived in three different neighborhoods. The neighborhood in the idyllic town is the one that I remember the most.
Diana
Thank you, Bibliophile, it sounds like a wonderful way to grow up. As a kid, I always wished I lived next door to the Andersons (Father Knows Best). It always seemed like the perfect life.
DeleteActhe difference was that both parents had careers. It was rare for the mother to stay home full time because it’s very expensive living in California
DeleteI love this so much, Nick. I grew up on military bases, which operated in the same fashion - back in the sixties all the mothers were at home, we kids were entirely free range, and if you got spotted misbehaving - well, there was a slim little phone directory with everyone's number in it. If you came home from school with a report, your parents didn't make excuses for you - they made sure you did whatever it was right the next time.
ReplyDeleteGood God, I sound like I'm a hundred years old!
Oh, and I have a cousin whose mother was told, due to a childhood illness, would most likely be what we would now call mentally disabled. He has a PhD in mathematics. Predicting the outcomes of children is about as much of a science as betting on the ninth at Belmont.
Ahh, thank you, Julia, you are so right, there were no excuses and no good reasons to quit or give-up on anything. When I would come home with a black eye and some bruises, my mother would ask, "Are you Okay?" and my father would say, "Did you fight back?" and then they would want to know who started it, and it better not have been me.
ReplyDeleteNick, I love this story so much. I remember as a kid that if my brother and I got up to any shenanigans on one side of our town, our mom knew by the time we got home. It did make you feel as if the entire village was raising you. I'm so looking forward to reading NUNZIO'S WAY!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jean, and they did it without cell phones, they just all knew, primarily, I think, because they all felt responsible for all of us. We were their kids, all of us.
DeleteThanks so much for this time trip, Nick. I grew up in a similar way, and feel incredibly fortunate for having done so. We lived in the same neighborhood from the time I was four until I left home at 18, and it was definitely a small village vibe. I'm fortunate to still be in touch with friends I've known since 1954. My friends and I knew that if we misbehaved at someone else's house, we'd be disciplined by those house rules. No complaining, no excuses.
ReplyDeleteBetween the other moms (and often dads) and my church family, I knew to do nothing that would embarrass or anger my parents. Even though I wasn't always successful, it was a point of pride to be known as Pat and Tom's daughter, and to this day (they've both been gone for decades) I often think of how my behavior lines up with the solid values I was raised with, and I'm deeply grateful for having grown up when and where I did. ~Lynda
Thanks, Lynda, yes, you brought back my memory of being proud of being the son of Nick and Marie. They were tough, everyone was, but we learned important values and felt loved. When doing a recent book talk abot Weepers, I was asked, "Why didn't anyone call the police?" the answer was, of course, we didn't have to, we got it.
DeleteWow. Hank you’re always making me add books to my TBR because of the authors’ interesting life stories, including these two. I grew up in the country and a time where Moms watched with eyes in the backs of their heads. We didn’t get away with a thing and after they were done with us we had to wait for Dad to come home to have his ‘say.’ I still say please and thank you and get laughed at, but I don’t care. It’s part of how I was raised.
ReplyDeleteSo true, Pamela, I remember the long wait for my father to get home. And, yes, I still say please and thank you, I still hold doors, I still lend a hand, and I still say I'm sorry when I make a mistake, but I learn from it.
DeleteI grew up in a suburb where my parents were the first people to move onto the newly built street. We had the same neighbors until I went into high school (and the one family that moved away were older) and beyond. In the 60s, almost every mom was home and they had eyes on us. But we also had the freedom to hang out at the creek catching pollywogs or hiking up a hill to go to the big park nearby.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing today, Nick. — Pat S.
Thank you, Pat, to me this sounds like an idyllic childhood. I grew-up watching Father Knows Best and The Beaver, and always dreamed of growing-up in such a neighborhood.
DeleteNineteen Sixties and Seventies urban renewal projects had a tendency to destroy such neighborhoods. I learned about that in one of the best courses I took in law school, taught by a Madison alderman. There is actually a tort called "loss of community," first formulated in a court decision when a dam destroyed a community in Tennessee. It was one element that figured into the reparations paid to the Japanese Americans incarcerated during World War II. You destroy a neighborhood, and who's watching the kids? Who even cares?
ReplyDeleteMy uncle found his aunt (whom he had never met) in Philadelphia by asking at the kosher butcher shops if they knew a woman named Goldie from Berdischev. (They probably knew a hundred, but one was the right one.) Why we didn't value such urban communities in the mid twentieth century is a lasting puzzle. I think the world would be a lot better if we had.
Thanks for your comments, and I must agree with you Ellen. Before moving into the Al Smith projects we (my parents and we 3 kids), lived in a two room tenement (large living room with a small kitchen and a bedroom. The toilet was in the hallway shared by all neighbors. When we moved into the projects we had 3 bedrooms and a bathroom in the apartment for the same rent. BUT, the projects displaced an entire Spanish community, and our extended family and friends were still spread out in the tenements. We did make new friends in the projects, but slowly people moved out of the neighborhood. Today builders are negotiating with the city (NYC) to purchase the Al Smith projects (which sit along the East River), to order to create condos and "gentrify" the neighborhood. This will, of course, once again crumble a community and destroy a village.
DeleteI grew up in a small farming community in California's Central Valley. It was a mix of Italian and Portuguese farmers, descendants of Dust Bowl refugees, and migrant workers. One Chinese family, no Black's or Jews. Families supported each other and reported any misdeeds to your parents before you got home. Our street was a dead end. We were in the center of American Graffiti car culture - George Lucas grew up nearby. Teenage brothers across the street enforced a no hot rodding rule because of all of us playing in the street. Their big collie, Rusty, was the dog enforcer. He put new dogs on the block down on the ground, put a big paw on their chests, and we never had dog fights.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Anonymous, very similar feelings and foundations. We had gangs, we had fights, we also watched out for each other, not based on race, ethnic, religion, or anything else, other than we felt a connection to each other. I was a gang member and an Eagle Scout. That was not inconsistent in my neighborhood. We grouped together for support, protection, and playing stickball. We all (all gangs) protected the little guys against bullies.
DeleteNick, I grew up in Washington, D.C. I wouldn't call the street I lived on a rough neighborhood, but I had a hard time. My mother and I were about the only protestants in the neighborhood. Everyone else was Catholic. It was just my mother and I and she worked a lot. The lady next door basically took care me. She was Catholic too. Actually took me to a Catholic Church on a few Sundays.
ReplyDeleteThe family, who lived across the alley from her, had three sons. Onw was younger than me, one was about my age and one was older. I got into fights with one my age and the older brother would beat me up. There was another family further down the block that had ten kids. I was more friends with them and frequently went to the movies with them on Saturdays, when they weren't restricted by the church publication which banned certain movies.
Although we were not well off and I was an only child many times I had to bribe kids with my toys or soda to play with me. It was pretty lonely life.
I was a patrol boy at my public school. Directing kids to safely cross the street. In the fifth grade a black kid, who sat next to me, really didn't like me. He taunted me and called me names. I didn't respond, but then he started calling my mother names. I jumped up and started pounding on him. The teacher stopped it, but he swore he'd get me after school. A ran all the way home before he could find me. The next day I was afraid to go to school. When my mother learned what happened she insisted I go. I took my patrol post and waited. The black kid, who's name was Richard, came up the street toward my corner. He was leading a group of kids. He confronted me and I gave him two punches, which didn't phase him. He started beating on me and I ran. I fell and skinned my knee and then kept running. My mother went to the school the next day and the fighting stopped.
For the longest time I thought of myself as a coward even into my adult life. There were a number of reasons why I wanted to be a police officer, but one of them was to prove to myself that I wasn't a coward. I spent 27 years on the streets of Washington in uniform and as a vice detective. I was shot and shot at, had a few fights, faced a few criminals with weapons and put a number of criminals in jail. I was recognized by the group Children of the Night, which I believe is the best program in the country for rescuing children from the prostitution streets, as one of the top ten police officers in the country for rescuing children from the D.C. streets. Being a police officer was challenging and rewarding and I proved to myself my self worth.
Thanks for the comment, Haggerty. We walked similar streets, my friend. And thank you for your service as a police officer. I believe, (like Gregory "Pappy" Boyington, a US Marine fighter during World War II, who received the Medal of Honor and the Navy Cross), that both the hero and the coward are scared, the difference between them is one minute, but in that minute the hero controls his fear long enough to do the right thing while the coward looks for reasons not to. The right thing is different than the foolish thing. Sometimes running away is the smart and right thing to do. Other time facing the bully is the right thing to do. In 1969 I was one of a handful of NYPD cops sent to Woodstock to provide security on the grounds of the music festival. We were unarmed and wore khaki pants and red jackets with PEACE on the front and the Woodstock symbol on the back (yes, I still have my jacket), it changed my view of policing and how I policed forever. I became more committed to talking to people, de-escalating, and working with kids on the street. It worked. So, bravo to you for working with kids, helping so many that will never forget you, putting yourself out there. I believe what we do for ourselves die with us and what we do for others lives forever. Bravo to you again, my friend
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