by Joe Corso
“You got that right,” Henri replied. “Do you have any idea how hard I trained when I fought you?”
“Not as hard as I trained to fight you,” Swifty retorted. “That’s for sure.” The three men found themselves laughing and talking for most of the night and from that day on, there was a union – the New York boys unofficial boxer’s union. They became fast friends. In the year and a half that they were in Japan, they toured the Far East with the army boxing team, accrued impressive records, and took home the Far East Armed Forces boxing championship.
It was discharge day – that day that every soldier awaits, the day that said ‘You’ve done it. You’ve done your duty, served your country, and now it’s time to go home to family.’ Henri, Gonzo and Swifty were herded onto a one stacker World War II ship, named the Marine Lynxx, with a load of other men returning to the states. There was one necessary stop before landing in the states – Korea to pick up other men returning home.
The long ocean voyage home provided the three men the opportunity for long, heartfelt talks. The men spent much of their idle time discussing the future. Henri confided to his two friends the real reason that he had begun boxing. It was to pay for his little brother’s education. “Hey guys,” Henri said, “My brother is graduating soon from the Hackley School in upstate New York. How about coming to it? I’d like to have you guys there.” Good thing he won at boxing because Hackley was expensive. Located in Tarrytown, New York, the prestigious prep school was serious about its academics, academics that weren’t cheap.
“Absolutely,” Swifty replied. “I’ll go with ya.”
“I’d love to go too,” Gonzo seconded.
“Great,” Henri continued, “I count you two as good friends, close friends, and I don’t have too many of those. I’d like to really make an effort to stay in touch, if we can.”
One evening, while sitting and staring at the stars, Swifty asked, “Do you guys have good managers?”
“I don’t,” Gonzo said.
“I’m my own manager now,” Henri answered.
“Well then, why don’t you guys come home with me and stay awhile?” Swifty asked. “The three of us have nothing to do right now and I think it’d be neat for us to hang out for a while. Besides, I’d like you to meet Big Red, my manager. The guy is big time. Man, I used to be this loser – just goin’ nowhere in life until Red pulled me aside one day and told me that he had gone and bought out my contract. Seems he didn’t want me to end up being a bum,” Swifty laughed. “Said I was a lazy bum, which I was. The truth was, I only fought when I needed money but Red gave me the motivation to be better. He made me believe in myself, actually. How many people will do that for you? Make you feel like somebody? I’d love for you guys to meet him. Man, the three of us would make one helluva boxin’ team, especially with Red managin’ us.” The men high fived each other and the mood turned from pensive to cheerful. Maybe it was because Swifty was giving them some hope now. Kinda’ neat how Swifty was gonna try to pay it forward.
The ship passed under the Golden Gate Bridge and docked to the music of a military band playing a Souza march. The boys didn’t get a chance to spend any time there in California because they were shepherded aboard a military aircraft that flew them straight to McGuire Air Force base. It was a short bus ride to Fort Dix where they spent the night. With discharge papers in hand, they hopped a cab to the bus stop hoping to find the first bus to New York. No need for that. They never even made it to the ticket booth. As the cab rolled in, Swifty glanced up and there it was – Big Red’s Caddy convertible parked in the lot, with the top down, and Moose standing beside it, smiling ear to ear.
“Looks like our ride is waiting for us,” Swifty smiled and said. He walked over to Moose, gave him a hug and introduced his two buddies.
Moose looked at Henri and laughed as he pointed to him. “Didn’t you get enough of this guy in the ring? You had to spend two years in the army with him, too?” He laughed and slapped Henri on the arm gently. Moose and Gonzo exchanged polite hellos and all four men headed off to the Jersey Turnpike toward the city. The trip to Queens and the Starlight Club took just under two hours. It was a sunny June day and they rode the whole way in that big caddy with the top down. It was the perfect way to return home – wind in their hair, tunes blasting, and stories of the Starlight Club and its cast of characters.
Back at the club, Red paced back and forth in his office waiting for Swifty. He was like the anxious Papa, trying to act cool but the truth was, he had missed Swifty, missed him a lot. Every few seconds, he glanced at his watch, checked the time and then he’d check the screen that monitored the front door just wishing that the minutes would pass faster. He hadn’t realized it when Swifty left for the army but he realized it now – Swifty had filled the void that Jimmy the Hat had left when he died. Red thought that could never happen. Red loved the Hat like his own son and now he found himself caring for Swifty in much the same way. The kid had no family, no one to come home to. No one would tell Swifty they missed him. It was sad, you know. They were good for each other. This kid had lifted Red out of the emptiness and sadness that he felt. Swifty had given him something to get excited about, to care about, but Red would never let on. No one in his organization knew that because he never allowed them to. All they saw was the boss man, always stern, always in charge, and forever leading his men.
The big caddy arrived to find Big Red waiting out front of the Starlight Club. Red grabbed Swifty and gave him a huge welcome home hug. Swifty introduced his two friends. “Red I’m sure you recognize this guy,” he said as he put his arm around Henri Valesques. “You remember him. He’s the guy who wouldn’t let me win a single fight!”
Red laughed and said, “How could I ever forget the man who taught Swifty the fine art of the jab? How you doin’ Henri? Has my man been treatin’ you all right?”
Henri smiled and said, “If I taught him the fine art of the jab, then I guess he taught me the fine art of the right hand.”
“And this is Gonzo. Your new heavyweight fighter,” Swifty interjected.
Red smiled. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you Gonzo. . . and I would be proud to manage you, that is . . . if you want me to . . . and if you’re good enough.”
“Oh don’t worry, Mr. Red, I’m a pretty good fighter. I never had a good manager before so, hey, why not you?” he teased. “Swifty tells me that you’re the best, that you’ve done wonders with him so I think that maybe I’ll take boxin’ a little more seriously from now on, and who knows, maybe I’ll make a few bucks along the way?”
“Don’t worry about making money. If you’re a friend of Swifty’s, you’ll make money, a lot of it. But at the risk of talking shop too soon, I would tend to treat you just like I have Swifty. You win, you invest a part of your earnings so that when you retire, you’ll have money.” The boys just looked at each other. Red didn’t pull any punches. They kinda’ liked that.
Red directed the boys to place their gear in the room upstairs that Trenchie and Jimmy the Hat always used and excused himself for a minute, went into the kitchen, and in typical Red fashion, ordered his chef to prepare a meal fit for a King, at least fit for three strapping boxers. He led the young men into his grand ballroom where they sat at a private table and talked for hours about the past two years and what it had meant in their lives.
A couple of days passed. The men had had time to relax, sleep late, and just take in their newfound “freedom”, if you will. Swifty decided that it was now time for a little fun.
“Come on guys. Get dressed,” Swifty announced one morning. “We’re going to the Aquacade”. The Aquacade was located on Horace Harding Boulevard and was a famous aquatic entertainment arena where the locals could swim during the day for .75 cents and the famous aquacade show spectacle was presented in the evenings. The boys spent the day there, celebrating their homecoming and just being silly boys. Wine, women, and song was the credo – a little too much wine, well beer, to be exact. Just around midday
while sitting outside around the pool, a beautiful young lady in a flaming red bikini strolled by. She was working that bikini, swinging her hips in a tantalizing way. Swifty, in his less than sober state, decided to show off a little.
“Hey, are you a working girl?” he asked.
“Could be,” she answered.
“How much?” Swifty asked.
“You tell me,” she replied.
“How about seventy–five dollars for a BJ?” Swifty continued. And just like three young soldiers returning from the isolation of war zones, the boys laughed like schoolboys.
“How much?” the girl asked.
“Seventy–five,” Swifty repeated.
The girl smiled and calmly reached into her little purse. The boys were all smiles until they got a clear shot of what she was holding in her hand. The bikini-clad girl flashed her badge and announced, “The three of you are under arrest for soliciting.” The boys, drunken stupor and all, continued to laugh as they were herded into the police wagon, seemingly not caring at all about what had just transpired. “You’ll have to wait here in the van for the others, until the van’s full,” one officer announced and it wasn’t long before they were joined by another group of kids, also in a convertible. They had made the same mistake – they had whistled at a pretty girl, made some remarks, and had found themselves in the same paddy wagon as Swifty and his friends. I guess the van, or the police, whoever it was, had made quota now, so off they went to the police station. Between the drive there and the wait in the lobby, the boxers seemed to sober up a little. Reality began to settle in a little and they decided that this situation and the idea of spending the night in a dirty jail cell was no longer funny. Swifty informed the desk sergeant that he wanted to make the one phone call which he knew he was allowed. Of course he called Big Red.
“Red, this is Swifty. I’m at the Queens County Courthouse. They got me for soliciting a prostitute. It was a case of entrapment, it really was. No lie, but I want you to come down here because I’m gonna have a little fun with the judge.”
“Swifty, don’t do anything foolish,” Red ordered. “I’ll get Doc and we’ll be down there as soon as I can.”
Swifty’s two buddies were released because they didn’t actually proposition the cop, but they remained in the courtroom, had to, because they were visiting Swifty. Hours passed and finally Swifty’s name was called to appear before the judge. The judge asked for his plea – innocent or guilty.
“Guilty with an explanation Your Honor,” Swifty said with a smile.
The judge looked at him, saw the smile, and replied with another question. “What’s your explanation?”
Swifty smiled and said, “Your Honor, me and my two friends just returned from spending two years in the army and a year and a half of it in the Far East and we were just havin’ a little fun celebratin’ our discharge. We were at the Aquacade enjoyin’ ourselves when this beautiful girl, with a dynamite figure I might add, passes us in a bikini, so as a joke I asked her if she was a working girl and she told me maybe. So I asked her, ‘How much?’ And she said how much would I give her, so I told her about seventy–five dollars for a little head. Now Your Honor, you and everybody in this courtroom know that I had to be joking because every guy knows that you can get a blow job, anywhere in the city, for five bucks so . . . I had to be one of two things – jokin’, or just plain stupid. I haven’t seen a girl yet that deserves seventy–five dollars for a BJ, maybe for other things, Your Honor, but not for a BJ. Nope. No way. ” And with that the whole courtroom erupted into laughter, including the judge, who then tried hard to contain himself but still managed to let a smile creep across his face as he shook his head. The district attorney was just about to bust a gut and break through the seams of his nicely tailored suit. The personable cockiness of Swifty was apparent and his likeability factor soared off the charts. It worked. The judge brought down his gavel and declared, “That was one helluva story son but you told it well. Case dismissed.”
Red managed a little smile too, but all the way home, Swifty had to listen to him lecture about his career and staying out of trouble. Secretly, Red had been just as entertained as everyone else. He told the story to each of his buddies at the club and some of his favored patrons, but ordered them all not to glorify Swifty’s behavior, at least to his face.
Chapter six
When the Gallo crew became part of the Genovese family, Tarzan didn’t join with them. Instead, he joined Red’s organization, but before leaving the Gallo’s, he told Kid Blast that he’d like to purchase the Gallo vending machine route. Since Joey was now dead, Kid Blast agreed to sell. Once Tarzan officially joined Red’s team, he moved Margaret and their son to Queens to be closer to the central workings, the headquarters, if you will. Tarzan could have joined any of the crime families but he preferred Red’s. He liked it there – Red’s generosity, and the way he took care of his men. Red was the polar opposite of Profaci. His men loathed Profaci, because of his greed. When the Gallo – Profaci war began, Crazy Joey Gallo split his mob up into small groups so they wouldn’t be in the same place at the same time. This was a precaution so that harm wouldn’t come to all of them at the same time and wipe out the whole family. Gallo sent his men to various clubs throughout the five boroughs for extended stays. Tarzan, Gibby and Ralph were sent to The Starlight Club. While there, Red began to depend on Tarzan and likewise, Tarzan became accustomed to working with Red and his crew. Tarzan was a lot like Red. He was tough, reliable, yet fair in his dealings. Joey had made Tarzan a capo in the Gallo mob and he put him in charge of all of his vending machines. Tarzan handled the route for The Starlight Club, so as the Gallo’s were inducted into the Genovese family, Tarzan mentioned to Red that he’d like to join him and his family. Red welcomed him with open arms.
Moose knocked on Red’s door. “Come on in,” Red bellowed.
“Red, Angelo is back and his son is with him. Do you want to see them or should I tell him to come back later?”
“No send them in. It must be important for him to come here with his son.”
Angelo and his son took a seat and Angelo began the conversation. “Red, this is-ah my son-ah Roberto and he has-ah a problem-ah that I can’t-ah help him with. We come-ah to you. Go on-ah Roberto. Tell-ah Mr. Red what-ah happened.”
Red looked at the young man. The kid was one big purple bruise. His eye was almost completely shut and his lips were swollen so badly he could hardly speak. “Who did this to you … and why?” Red asked, clearly annoyed by what he saw.
Roberto spoke slowly though his pain. “I think the men who did this were from Staten Island but I’m not sure. The trouble started when my three friends opened a small brokerage house in the financial district in lower Manhattan. They’re only in their early twenties but they’re sharp kids, nonetheless. They’re pretty ambitious and hard–working and they were excited about opening a little business for themselves. They started at first with their own money and then added some money they received from a small group of people who wanted their money invested. The boys invested carefully and pretty conservatively and even in a slow economy, they managed to give their clients a twenty–two percent return. Well, news like that travels fast and these clients told other friends and so on until the firm began to grow into a sizable company. Soon, the kids, the owners, were driving expensive cars and doing what young boys, who never had money and who suddenly find themselves rolling in it, do – they spent it. All that flashiness was getting them attention and they loved it but apparently, some wise guys with their own agenda were watching them. They wanted to know how these kids could afford the fancy cars they drove and the fancy suits they wore. So one day they stopped into their office and they gave my friend Tommy fifty thousand dollars to invest. Tommy invested the money and the man was surprised when he received a twenty–five percent return on his investment. That man, who calls himself Reilly, returned the following week with two of his friends and told Tommy and his partners that they were takin
g over the brokerage business and informed them that they, my friends, would now be considered their employees. Well that didn’t settle too well with Tommy so he came to me with a proposition. He knew that I wanted to open a smoke shop slash coffee house and needed investors, so he gave me the one hundred fifty thousand dollars I needed. Tommy didn’t want the money in his account because he was afraid that these guys would discover it and claim it was theirs. Well, somehow they found out about Tommy giving me the money and they worked him over. They even showed up at Tommy’s wedding. They did it just to intimidate him. To make a long story short, these men came to see me and told me that Tommy had no right to give me their money and they wanted it back. I told them I didn’t have it. The following day they returned and asked me again for their money. I told them again that I didn’t have it so they roughed me up and told me to find it. They left with, ‘We don’t care if you borrow it or if you steal it, but the money better be here waiting for us when we return in one week. One week – that’s all you get.’ So my father took out a loan on his house and I borrowed as much as I could but all I could come up with is a hundred thirty–five thousand and I’m still short fifteen grand.”
All throughout the story, Red could feel his body getting hotter and hotter, swelling with anger. Tarzan, too, was steaming. It was obvious ‘cause he kept opening and closing his fists like he was ready to lay someone out.
It was Red’s turn now. “Do these guys think that they can lean on my friend’s son and get away with it?” he said to Tarzan. He looked back at Roberto. “When is this guy supposed to be comin’ back? Where? The office?”
“He’s going over to the brokerage house, the one they took over, on Wall Street at nine–thirty tomorrow morning. Told me I’d better be there waiting for them.”
