Chapter 8
Jumped and Dumped
The Project is a cluster of low-rise brick buildings that are much nicer than the tenements and apartment buildings that surround it. A small park with a playground and benches sits behind the buildings. There’s a brass plaque on a wall that tells the reader that construction was completed in 1936: and, that It was the first public housing built for low income and poor people in New York City. Trees and hedges planted in 1937 were in full leaf providing shade and greenery that complimented the buildings’ simple box like shapes. Two of my best friends that I went to school with lived in the Project Patsy and Angie.
Patsy’s parents were having a small end of the school year party for the three of us. The project was a few blocks away from 7th Street where I lived. It was night time when I stepped onto the Project walkway as I headed towards the building Patsy lived in
Suddenly a gang of older boys came out from an opening in the hedges shouting, “Jump him, dump him.”
Kids that lived in the Project knew to run when they saw this gang. I didn’t, my feet were glued to the walkway by confusion, fear and my memory of the killing on 4th Street. In seconds they surrounded me escape was impossible. They were going to beat me up and I was helpless to do anything to stop them, I was so frightened I soiled my underpants. At first they played with me like cats play with a mouse they’ve caught. Pushing and shoving me back and forth between them. All of them were bigger, leaner and more muscular than me. I was a chubby kid who preferred reading and eating to working out, the perfect prey for this pack of street sharks.
When they got tired of playing with me, their leader sucker punched me knocking me down onto the walkway. Instinctively, I covered my head with my hands and curled up into a ball to protect myself from the kicks, punches and belts hitting me. While I was getting pummeled, I had my first and only out of body experience. I watched myself on the ground being beaten by the gang.
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Then I heard Angie shout, “Tony, you-and-your fucking asshole buddies better stop hitting my friend, cause you’re all, in deep shit now,” the violence was over. Angie had rescued me. I He was supposed to be at Patsy’s for the party. I found out later Angie had gone to Jake’s for cigarettes for his mom on his way back he saw Tony’s gang beating me up. Had he gone straight to Patsy’s instead of Jake’s, for sure I’d have ended up in the hospital with broken bones and missing teeth.
The gang didn’t move, they just stood there as if they were frozen in place around me. Angie pushed some of them out of his way to get to me.
Confused and crying, I stuttered, “Wha-wha-t,” did I do? What did I d-do to them? “Wh-why did they beat me up?”
Angie grabbed Tony the leader by the collar, pulled him down to his height and slapped his face hard a few times, then said, “Listen up Scipio, you’re finished on the Don’s turf, the same goes for the rest of you-no-good pieces of shit. You’re all going to pay for hurting my friend, I’m going to tell the Don to kick your families out of the Project.”
In a whiny voice, Tony started pleading, “Angie, I’m begging you, please don’t tell your father, Don Cantera to do that. If he kicks us out of the Project, all of us will be living out on the street. We got no other place to go, please don’t do it.”
The gang picked up on Tony’s whiney pleading with, “Angie we didn’t know he was your friend. If we’d of known we wouldn’t have touched him, really, we’re so sorry.”
Tony came back in again saying, “Angie, I swear on Jesus and Mary it’ll never happen again.”
Angie growled back at him, “You’re right, it’s never going to happen again, you ass-holes are finished, you’re not a a gang anymore. Don’t let me see or hear that you fuckers are still together as a gang, if I find out otherwise, you’re out on the street. Now all of you get the fuck out of here.”
The gang split up, slinking away into the night like beaten dogs. I just didn’t get it, why were they so afraid of Angie and his father Don?
Angie looked me over and said, “You don’t look too bad, but come home with me so my mom can check you out and fix you up. She used to be a nurse during the War, she fixed up some of my dad’s friends after they got hurt bad and they’re okay now.”
I was really worried what my parents would think and do if I came home with my clothes torn, covered in dirt and blood. The thought of them rushing me over to Doctor Klein’s office, or taking me to Beth Israel hospital didn’t sit well with me. Having Angie’s mom fix me up before going back home seemed like a very good idea.