BLOG NUMBER 79; MAY 10, 2013; THE YOUNG ITALIAN; CHAPTER 2

THE YOUNG ITALIAN:

CHAPTER 2:

Gerardo sold the store on Yonge Street in 1947. The family moved during the summer into a  2 story house on Hillhurst Blvd.  Our new home was located between Eglinton and Lawrence west of Avenue Road. I was approaching my eighth birthday. I am not sure why I remember birthdays, as there was no party or special attention given. It was an exciting time but I cannot recall the details of moving day.  Cristina and I were shipped to the empty house with mom and were too excited to look for moving vans or new furniture. There was a big grass covered back yard and a recreation room! We began to dream of new horizons.

Here's Blackie!
When the moving vehicles arrived at Hillhurst the only image that I remember was Blackie, ears flapping, bringing up the rear. He was as excited as we were. When dad showed up he ordered Jonny to get on his bicycle and take him back to Yonge Street. A rope was tied to the dog's collar and we watched sadly as Jonny carried out his orders. About an hour later, as we sat on the front porch, we were surprised and excited to see those flapping ears once again. This time it was Blackie in front with Jonny bringing up the rear.  This cycle was repeated two or three times until Mr Ellias finally said "Keep the dog". Jonny arrived proudly, side by side with Blackie who was home to stay.

Original house 65 years old today

After the first week, we were pleasantly surprised with the new freedom that came with the neighbourhood. Gerardo's 'Law of Strict Obedience and Control' was somewhat relaxed. We could actually play up and down the street with the other kids on the block and avoid the constant scrutiny of Tina's supervision. There were 6 friends who lived on our block. We played all day, often without lunch and after supper until the call came for bedtime. Someone always had a new game that lasted for weeks before it became stale.

Blessed Sacrament Catholic School

Our new school was Blessed Sacrament Catholic, about a 3 kilometre walk from home. The environment seemed more complicated; the boys more sophisticated, the girls less pretty. Sister Stella morphed into  a shrew of a lay teacher named Miss Krabway. Gone was the patient, caring approach of Sister. Miss Krabway had her favourites. I was not among them. I found myself in one pickle after another. I looked forward to recess and lunch breaks and my mind would wander to yesterday's activities that were so much fun. I payed little attention to the blathering Krabway and my grades began to suffer. I went from a very good student to a lazy lout. Krabway gave up on calling me out and largely ignored my existence. Bummer, I would end up having to repeat grade five under that tyrant.

Blessed Sacrament Church

As bad as Miss Krabway was, the Principal, Mother St Vincent, was worse. We used to call her 'Blimp' without any fear of damnation. She would enter the classroom each Monday for our weekly lesson on Catholic doctrine. She was a terrible speaker and I always felt badly for the kids in the front desks. Her loud emphasis on a salient point was always accompanied by the liberal spray of spittle from her mouth. She played no favourites and on occasion would wander up and down the rows of desks just in case there were others in need of her form of baptism revisited. She was particularly enamoured with the Crusades of the 11th to 13th centuries. Blimp often referred to Pope Urban II as a 'true disciple of the Lord'. We were taught the battle hymn of the holy soldiers that had a chorus beginning with "God wills it was their battle cry....". Were these Crusaders the Terrorists of yesteryear? I wonder what today's jihadists would say. I tried to find the complete version of the battle hymn but had no luck.

THE NEIGHBOURHOOD:

Ace Bailey

Across the street from 108 Hillhurst lived the former Captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs, Ace Bailey. He was a wonderful man and I remember sitting on his porch listening to hockey stories or following him up and down the yard as he tended to the lawn with his old push mower. He always greeted me with a smile and a loud "Hey chief".

Ace had a daughter named Joyce. She became my best friend ever. We were inseparable. She was pretty, athletic and smart. I fell in love with her and proposed marriage several times. Joyce would always smile and say "Anthony, I am five years older than you." Bummer.

One Saturday, we were invaded by a group of boys from the block 4 streets north of ours. They were led by a scruffy kid named Jamie. He was an aggressive, loud-mouthed bully. They came, I presume, out of boredom with their own neighbourhood and constantly carried on a mocking play-by-play account of our stick ball game. Finally, Joyce would have no more of it. She got into Jamie's face and ordered him to shut his yap. Jamie pushed Joyce to the ground and called her a 'pussy'. I only remember being on top of the bully and swinging madly at his pudgy face. At the end of the encounter, Jamie and his buddies retreated up the street. We could hear the occasional "we'll be back" as they left. The gang never came back and I was rewarded with a big hug from Joyce.

Further up the street,lived a girl named Deanne. She was lots of fun, a tad portly and a good sport. She took it upon herself to convince her mother to go to Jamie's home and rat him out. Jamie later became a close friend and often came over to our block for a game of stick ball. Joyce eventually forgave him and accepted Jamie into our group but not before several apologies and take backs.  Two brothers separated by 2 years in age, lived another few houses up the street past Deanne's.  They were somewhat un-athletic and always the last 2 chosen for stick ball teams.  It was not unusual to see one or the other of them trip on a curb, smash into a parked car, or get hit on the head with a batted ball.  These two, Carl

and Simon Gould,  provided us with numerous opportunities for howls of laughter. They would always laugh along with us at the unfortunate brother. In the other direction was the home of Dickie Colletta. He was the biggest and fastest of our group and a natural athlete. No one ever laughed at Dickie. He referred to himself as 'Duke' after the Dodger great Duke Snyder. I claimed to be 'Mick' after the Yankees' Mantle. There were some other kids on the other side of Mona Drive, who would join our group from time to time. I don't remember their names. We always had enough guys for teams of 5.

Cristina convinced me that we should build a fort in the basement. It was constructed from old chairs, a refrigerator, box scored from a neighbour's garbage, some trusty orange crates along with other boxes and an old tarp. We were quite surprised at the finished product. It became a hangout for after breakfast activity and role playing. Cristina made up the roles and story line. I was a door-to-door salesman. Deanne was my wife. Joyce was a cop and Cristina the judge, Horrors (Did I mention that she was a shit-disturber!) The salesman always found himself in trouble with the law for various minor infractions. In order to receive the indulgence of the court, He was ordered by the judge to kiss Deanne. I would refuse in deference to Joyce, who always chuckled, and was required to serve time in the orange crate cell.

Gerardo had mellowed somewhat. He had changed from an ass-kicker to a threatener. He accepted our basement fort as long as we were quiet. We seldom noticed that he was gone for long periods of time each day. He always took Uncle Joe with him.  We were never told of the reason but his absence was welcomed as a respite from his wrath. If one of us did anything stupid or objectionable we were told by mom: "Waita for udad comme homa!" This never failed to correct the behaviour and the perp would always beg forgiveness and promise to never again offend.

108 Hillhurst Bvd. today

Often on our trips to visit cousins, we would leave Blackie in the garage. Dad left the door slightly up to allow for fresh air. Halfway up the block we would look out the rear window; soon enough those flapping ears came into view. Dad would be forced to stop and we happily opened the car door to let the dog in.

On one occasion dad insisted that Blackie would remain in the garage as we were going on two separate visits to relatives. This time there was no accommodation made for any fresh air. We stopped for gas on the way and upon our arrival at Uncle Val's, there was Blackie, on the front porch, tongue out and tail wagging.

One day I went out to the back yard to bring Blackie some 'remnants'. He was nowhere to be found. Gerardo, who by this time was enamoured with the dog, loaded us into the car and we searched the streets in vain. Blackie had disappeared and we never saw him again. I cried for a week.

Cristina and I always believed that if he was alive somewhere he would come home. We would rise early each day to search for him and this routine continued in vain for several days.

Uncle Giuseppe (Joe) 

In the fall of 1949 our family was blessed with the arrival of Uncle Joe, dad's brother. Joe had been in a POW camp in England for 5 years. Somehow dad sponsored him to come to Canada and he moved in with us. He spoke Italian with a British accent and some English with an Italian accent. He was an incredible person and I loved him dearly. One morning, after a wicked blizzard, I was unable to walk through the deep snow in order to get to school. I was quite happy to stay home and not have to face Krabway for a day. Mom asked Uncle Joe to help me get to school and he piggy backed me for about a block through the snow. After much pleading, Joe relented and back home we went.

I was to learn soon of the real reason Joe left his wife and 2 children back in Italy.

                                                Uncle Joe's favorite song!

QUESTION: Who is more fun than people?

QUOTE: Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down. - OPRAH WINFREY

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