all o’ your stores and spend lots o’ money. Now how’s that sound,” said Louie.
“Say, you know what? It’s gettin’ late out here,” said Bill. “I think we best be leavin you, Louie. Oh, wait…before I forget, what all happened to Anthony’s son? You was sayin’?”
“He died in Korea and Ant’ny junior was his only kid.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It took a while, but he finally found a way to deal with it. So now he has a new son. He’s a happy man again.”
One of the houses where Bill and Diego worked trimming the back yard and sweeping the front of the building, belongs to a newly appointed assemblyman, James Richards. He lives in a brownstone in Park Slope, a twenty minute walk from Boerum Hill.
“You fellows did a nice job in the yard the last time you were here. When was that, Monday?”
“Yes sir,” Diego said.
“Well…after you’re done, I’d like for you both to take a look at my living room. I need to have it painted.”
“We can do that for you, Mista Richards,” said Bill. “It’d be our pleasure.”
The job took two days. When it was finished, Bill and Diego stepped back to admire their handiwork.
“Looks damn good, don’ it?” said Bill.
“Sure does.” Diego checked the clock. “It’s near five o’clock. Mister Richards is going to be here any second, now.”
No sooner did they start the cleanup, when in walked the assemblyman, and right on time. He was pleased with what he saw. On top of the twenty five dollars, he added another five and handed it to them.
“How about a soda, boys?”
“That is fine by me,” said Bill.
“Thanks, Mr. Richards,” said Diego.
“Say…I’ll be needing help to clean up the leaves in the fall and someone to shovel snow. Can I count on the both of you?”
“Sho ‘nough,” said Bill.
“You know what, fellas? I noticed something about the both of you that I really like…your manners and show of respect. Now, I know where a southern gentleman like yourself gets it from, Bill, but it’s both surprising and refreshing to see a young boy in the neighborhood speak so well for himself. What influenced you? I’m curious.”
“My father, sir. Poppy came from an upper middle class family in Puerto Rico. They had a lot of land wealth and a few businesses in San Juan.”
“So why didn’t he stay?”
“My father dropped out of college to join the army. He was very patriotic and wanted to do his part in winning the war. Roosevelt and General McArthur were his heroes. It was appreciation, I guess, a thank you of sorts for the success of his family, you might say.”
“So, was he an officer in World War two?”
“A sergeant. He got his leg blown off at Juno beach. The Normandy invasion, I think. He lost a kidney, and had some other internal wounds that I’m not too sure about.”
“So he’s a military type of disciplinarian?”
“To a point. Poppy was actually easy going and soft spoken. He liked to say he was a man of values and of proud Spanish heritage and fine upbringing. He also liked to say, ‘We come from a cultured background and I don’t want you to ever forget that, Hijo.’”
“You keep saying was. Isn’t he still around?”
“Oh, no, sir. Poppy died a couple of years ago. I guess those old war wounds finally caught up to him.”
“My goodness! So what happened to all of that family wealth?”
“It’s still there. His stepmother grabbed it years ago when my grandfather died. My father was still recuperating at Downstate Hospital after the war when a letter from her attorney arrived. She had the legal rights to everything and used the excuse that my father abandoned the family so she could keep it all for herself. Poppy often talked about taking her to court, but never seemed to find money or the energy to fight it.”
“What about his education? Wasn’t he able to get a good job?”
“He tried, but with so many soldiers coming back at the same time, he kept getting passed up
“Say, you know what? It’s gettin’ late out here,” said Bill. “I think we best be leavin you, Louie. Oh, wait…before I forget, what all happened to Anthony’s son? You was sayin’?”
“He died in Korea and Ant’ny junior was his only kid.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It took a while, but he finally found a way to deal with it. So now he has a new son. He’s a happy man again.”
One of the houses where Bill and Diego worked trimming the back yard and sweeping the front of the building, belongs to a newly appointed assemblyman, James Richards. He lives in a brownstone in Park Slope, a twenty minute walk from Boerum Hill.
“You fellows did a nice job in the yard the last time you were here. When was that, Monday?”
“Yes sir,” Diego said.
“Well…after you’re done, I’d like for you both to take a look at my living room. I need to have it painted.”
“We can do that for you, Mista Richards,” said Bill. “It’d be our pleasure.”
The job took two days. When it was finished, Bill and Diego stepped back to admire their handiwork.
“Looks damn good, don’ it?” said Bill.
“Sure does.” Diego checked the clock. “It’s near five o’clock. Mister Richards is going to be here any second, now.”
No sooner did they start the cleanup, when in walked the assemblyman, and right on time. He was pleased with what he saw. On top of the twenty five dollars, he added another five and handed it to them.
“How about a soda, boys?”
“That is fine by me,” said Bill.
“Thanks, Mr. Richards,” said Diego.
“Say…I’ll be needing help to clean up the leaves in the fall and someone to shovel snow. Can I count on the both of you?”
“Sho ‘nough,” said Bill.
“You know what, fellas? I noticed something about the both of you that I really like…your manners and show of respect. Now, I know where a southern gentleman like yourself gets it from, Bill, but it’s both surprising and refreshing to see a young boy in the neighborhood speak so well for himself. What influenced you? I’m curious.”
“My father, sir. Poppy came from an upper middle class family in Puerto Rico. They had a lot of land wealth and a few businesses in San Juan.”
“So why didn’t he stay?”
“My father dropped out of college to join the army. He was very patriotic and wanted to do his part in winning the war. Roosevelt and General McArthur were his heroes. It was appreciation, I guess, a thank you of sorts for the success of his family, you might say.”
“So, was he an officer in World War two?”
“A sergeant. He got his leg blown off at Juno beach. The Normandy invasion, I think. He lost a kidney, and had some other internal wounds that I’m not too sure about.”
“So he’s a military type of disciplinarian?”
“To a point. Poppy was actually easy going and soft spoken. He liked to say he was a man of values and of proud Spanish heritage and fine upbringing. He also liked to say, ‘We come from a cultured background and I don’t want you to ever forget that, Hijo.’”
“You keep saying was. Isn’t he still around?”
“Oh, no, sir. Poppy died a couple of years ago. I guess those old war wounds finally caught up to him.”
“My goodness! So what happened to all of that family wealth?”
“It’s still there. His stepmother grabbed it years ago when my grandfather died. My father was still recuperating at Downstate Hospital after the war when a letter from her attorney arrived. She had the legal rights to everything and used the excuse that my father abandoned the family so she could keep it all for herself. Poppy often talked about taking her to court, but never seemed to find money or the energy to fight it.”
“What about his education? Wasn’t he able to get a good job?”
“He tried, but with so many soldiers coming back at the same time, he kept getting passed up
Similar Books
