At home, dad did not talk much. Even when the phone rang for him, he did not talk much. Dad carried a small notepad in his back pocket into which he wrote notes and numbers. Dad taught me the meaning of "small time bookie." I also surmised, from his racetrack successes, that being a bookie helped you win on the ponies, especially on the daily doubles.
My dad also hid his emotions pretty well, except for the many times my sister suffered debilitating surgeries due to diabetes. Dad was a hard worker who only once raised his hand to hit the bigger me, because I made my sister cry.
Unfazed by the mob of 50 plus, my dad strides into the crowd and tells Roz to get in dad's Oldsmobile. With that, the other chief gang leader, let's call him Demko, bounds up to the shotgun window and says, "Rozman, you are the yellowest M_ _ _ _ _ F_ _ _ er I know!"
Then this buffed gang leader punches Roz square in the mouth through the open window. Teeth crack, blood gushes, Roz cries, roles to the floor. The crowd cheers and jeers and runs down the road from the baseball field.
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Months later I am standing in the courthouse hall with my dad, who is wearing one of his slickest suits,. I'm looking down proudly at the reflector shine that I put on his French toed shoes when the father of Demko comes up to shadow the shine and asks, "You, ya George Hunn?" The questions start and continue in Mafioso staccato style.
As if second nature to him, my dad immediately parries God Father staccato gang talk as though he's lived it all his life.
Mr. Demko keeps reminding my dad that his son is a "Gud kid" Has never dun nuthin wrong" Has never bin in no trouble" Has a clean recurd and I wants to keep it that way" Ya know what I mean? Ya understand?"
He pesters my dad about how he will testify in court today. My dad banters with him as though this kind of intimidating talk is blather that he just brushes off the sleeves of his slick suit.
One of my dad's repeated replies went something like, "So, whad you wan me ta do?... Whad ya askin me ta do? Ya want me to make sumptin up? " Tell some lies?...
"I'm just goin to go up there and tell the judge what I saw" Just going to tell the truth" So, what xactly did ya wan me ta do?"
I do not remember dad ever talking about that court case. I wish I had asked my quiet, hardworking, poker playing, smooth dancing, brawling dad more about his life. My sister thinks "Georgie," as she called him, was quiet because he thought a big part of his life was too "insignificant" to mention.
Let me close with some questions.
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