I broke the silence. This was not a night to be downcast. It was time to exorcise Zippie’s ghost. “Pop” I said happily, “Let’s talk money.” My dad smiled broadly and I knew what was coming next. “Joey, you just give me what you think is fair. This was all your doing, son,” He said proudly. I laughed at this. “No Pop, this is our victory, together.” I pulled out the paper I had worked on that afternoon. My father and I went over the deal at dinner that night. I explained how the payout to the neighborhood trust would work, who would administer it. I told him about the new wing at the nursing home to honor Benny and Sylvia. He got misty-eyed at that. I told him about the sports complex in Uncle Tony’s name. He was thrilled with all of this. Then I tipped over his apple cart a bit.
“Pop,” I began, “I’m going to give money to most of the family. Even to the ones who didn’t do anything with the company.” My father put down his wine. I thought he’d be angry or upset but he wasn’t. He leaned forward and asked me directly. “Why, son?” It caught me off guard that he trusted my judgment that much. I told him my reasons, “Because that’s the best way to keep the peace, Pop. It’s so much money. I don’t need all that. I can spread it around a little and that way everyone has something and no excuse to be jealous. I’m not going to give it all away, just a taste to everyone. Full mouths don’t complain.” My dad roared at that. My grandmother says that all the time. “Okay son, whatever you think is best.”
We still hadn’t settled on his cut. It was time to nail that down. “Pop, I think we should go fifty-fifty, after we back out the money we give the family. You deserve this as much as I do. Sixty million, after taxes, and the buyouts at the shop, is about forty million. The gifts we give the family come out before the tax hit so that helps a little. Twenty million dollars, Pop...is that fair?”
My dad choked on his wine. His right hand went up toward heaven. He is such an Italian.
“No! No son! That’s too much. This was your baby. You put us in position where Waste International would want to buy us out. You talked me in to doing the landfill deal. Fifty-fifty isn’t fair.” Now I was stuck. This isn’t a negotiation. Not in the traditional sense. This is egg shells. “Well, what’s fair Pop?” I said, “This isn’t negotiations here, we’re family. Just give me a number.” My dad thought for a second. I suspect he realized the nature of this and so he didn’t patronize me with a lowball figure that I’d refuse. “How about fifteen million. You take twenty-five million for yourself. You have the family and they’re young. You need it more than I do.”
I laughed. “Pop, I’m going to need the extra ten million? Really? For what, building a Saturn V rocket so my kid can be a real astronaut? C’mon dad!” But the old man was adamant. Fifteen million it was. “Okay,” I said. “You win.
I’ll call Mark tomorrow and have the money wired to your investment fund. Now promise me you’ll take Mom and go meet with him right away and get this money placed where he tells you it needs to be.” The Old Man laughed and agreed to call Mark Stimpson, his financial advisor, the next morning.
The rest of the evening was really nice. For the first time in our lives, we were simply father and son, not co-owners of a garbage company. I was glad this happened early enough in our lives that we could have a lot of time together like this. Just hanging out. My dad and I went over the list of family and how much I was giving each one. Of course my brothers and sister would be getting a substantial cut. I gave Uncle Franny a Million and Uncle Tony two Million. My father swallowed hard at that. “Your uncles will not accept this easily, you know. They’re proud men, and proud of you and what you made this company. Neither of them wanted to be a part, and neither of them will expect this.” He was right, and I’d allowed for that. I explained it to him.
“I’m buying Uncle Franny a tractor, and I’m parking it on the thirty acres I’m buying him in Chester County. I’m just going to give him the deed and a checkbook with the rest of the money in it.” My dad laughed loudly at this. “Homer?” he bellowed, “He’ll never set foot on it!” My Uncle Franny’s nickname is “Homer” because he almost never leaves the house. He likes being in his garden and working on his land. The old guys he hangs with come to the house and play pinochle on the back porch. My cousin Toni lives a mile away and her sister, my other cousin Sissy lives with Franny and Aunt Peg...to keep an eye on them. I told my dad, “I figure he’ll get used to the idea. Toni and Nick (Toni’s husband) can drive him out there and he can show Pasquale how to drive the tractor. It’ll be good for him,” Pasquale is my Cousin Toni’s son. His name is actually Nick, like his dad, but he was born on St. Patrick’s Day and so uncle Franny calls him “Pasquale”. It also helps because Uncle Franny has a son also named Nick. At Christmas, when the crowd is in the house, it comes in handy to have little Nick called something else.
My dad bought the idea for the farm. “Maybe he’ll go for it. I know he won’t take cash, but you can never give him enough dirt.” Dad was right about that. We teased Uncle Franny all the time, he doesn’t have veins, he has a root system. He was happiest working in the soil.
Uncle Tony was going to be a bigger deal and a harder sell. But I figured my way around this too. I told my dad about it. “Pop, I went to the courthouse yesterday after we finalized the deal. I had Uncle Tony added to the deed for the landfill. Richard Green knows about it and he’s going to play along. The day of the actual closing, we’re going to call Uncle Tony and tell him he has to come by and pick up his check. The title company will do the calling for us. They’ll explain that he was a part owner of the landfill. He’ll go for that. He’ll never take the money from me, but he’ll pick up a check from a lawyer.” My dad laughed. “You know your family, Joe. That’s for sure.” he said. “Okay but you know...Tony will want to do something for you to thank you. And it will be something gaudy. You can expect a pissing cherub within a week.” We both laughed at this. “What the heck,” I said, “I’d be getting one for my anniversary soon anyhow.”
We finished our dinner and talked. We talked about my sons and my daughter and my wife. Was everyone healthy? Were Angie and I happy? The boys are getting big. Was Peter going to play hockey this fall? Is Jack going hunting with us this winter? Was David adjusting to his braces? My dad loved my boys. He doted on my daughter but he loved being with my sons. He’d been so busy when I was their age, and now he was making time to see what he’d missed. It was okay with me, I understood his hard work.
Our waiter brought the check and I left him a $200 tip with a note telling him how I enjoyed his service tonight. People remember things like that. I called my mother and told her we were on our way back. The Old Man and I drove home in silence. We’d talked it all out of us at dinner and now we were really feeling the enormity of what we had done. Yes, we were rich. Fabulously rich beyond what we ever could have dreamed. But as we drove down the streets of Little Italy, past the Italian Ice stands and the Hoagie shops, we felt like the final chapter of a book was closing. Everything that the Mezilli family was known for was going away. It felt odd.
We pulled up in Pop’s driveway. We got out and I walked to the door with him, past the peeing cherub, and the concrete front yard. We walked inside and my mom was sitting at the table drinking coffee. My dad sat down next to her and took her hand. He wasn’t the most tender guy to the rest of the world, but he was with my mom.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek and showed her the paper we’d been working on at the restaurant. He pointed to the number at the bottom and smiled. “Annalisa, this is what our son has done for us.” he said. My mom looked at the paper and her hands started to tremble. She broke down into tears. “Mah-donn!” she whispered. She drew in a deep exaggerated breath, “Guiseppe...this is for us? This is what we’re worth?” I paused. “Yeah Ma,” I said softly. “And while you’re still young enough to enjoy it, ya know?”
My mother came around from the table and hugged me a long time. “My boy...my good boy.” she cried. Oh God... I thought, Here it comes
. This is where she recounts my birth, second by second and reminds me how the nuns said I’d been born with a “mask” and it meant I was blessed.
But she didn’t do that. She said nothing for a long time. Then she stood away from me and said “My son. What a good, fine man you are.”
I have to tell you, I had nothing after that. My dad came over and put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye and said, “Joseph. I’m so proud of you. Not for the money, son. But because you did this whole thing the right way. I’m proud of the man you are.” Now I was crying. My dad doesn’t say stuff like that. We stood there for a moment and then I kissed my mom on the cheek, turned and left them. It was time to go home and I was worn out from the emotions of the day.
3
The End of
An Era
I awoke the following morning at the same time I always did. I made coffee like I always did and sat at the kitchen table drinking it and mentally reviewing the day’s “to-do” list. I did this every day since I can remember. Being the early riser has its advantages and the morning quiet is one of them. Maybe it’s my favorite one. Nothing felt different. I didn’t have the urge to just blow off the office today and go plan how I would spend my money. I did what I always did. The only thing I did differently was I wore a suit to the office this morning. We were meeting with the attorneys today and signing papers and it was useless to change later in the day.
I pulled up to the office and saw Nonno’s old Ford garbage truck had some red roses in the grille. “The Crusher” looked odd with those delicate petals sticking out of that menacing metal scowl. Word was getting out already. Somebody knew what was up and the flowers were a means of portraying sadness. “I had better tell the boys right away.” I thought to myself after seeing the roses. “The rumor mill will blow up with this if I don’t.”
I walked into the office and went to my laptop and sent out an instant email. Now, all our trucks are equipped with a GPS system so we can monitor location, speeds and -in case a new customer is added to a route- directions. I can also send an email alert if a driver is needed and doesn’t have his cell phone with him. “IMPORTANT STAFF MEETING THIS AFTERNOON AT 5:30PM. MANDATORY. DON’T CLOCK OUT UNTIL AFTER. FOOD SERVED. CALL YOUR WIVES AND BRING YOUR FAMILIES. JOE”
This was going to be big news for my guys. Life changing news. I wanted their families there if possible.
I called Khalif, our pressure washer / truck detailer. “Khalif,” I said, “It’s Mister M” Khalif could never say my last name, and his Syrian upbringing wouldn’t let him call me by my first name. He was a political refugee. His father was an Orthodox priest and that put him at risk with the new regime. Christians weren’t beloved, to say the least. “Come by the shop tonight at 5:30. Bring your family Khalif. I have some news to share with my friends. “I’ll be there promptly, Mr. M.” he answered. It was 6:45 AM. I laughed into the phone, “Khalif, how many cars have you detailed so far this morning?” If you can hear a smile, it sounds like the voice of Khalif Mousany. “Three already, Mr. M! And four more to go before lunch. The warm weather makes it easy to start early.” Khalif worked as hard as Giuseppe did when he first got here. He was going to go far, this kid. I liked him a lot.
I hung up with Khalif and called my wife. “Anj...” I said, “Can you get a party together here at the shop for the boys and their families tonight?” She knew instantly what I had in mind. “Sure babe...what do you want?” I told her not to worry about cost. “Let’s do this right,” I said “Just run with it, honey. We’re looking at 5:30, is that okay?” Anj laughed softly. I love the sound of her laugh. Drives me wild, you know what I mean? “I’ll be ready by four, Babe. Love you...” She hung up and I listened to the silence. I am an incredibly blessed guy.
I spent the day writing out letters to each of my guys. I had decided to go above and beyond for each of them. By the end of the next year, they would have the option of retiring, I took each guy’s current salary, multiplied it by the years of service, with a minimum of five years and that was going to be their “lifetime performance bonus.” The guys who had been with us the longest could easily retire. The guys who had been with us for just a few years could at very least pay off their house or start a business or sock it away for their kids’college. I wanted them to have options beyond the day Waste International took over for good. They’d promised to keep everyone on board, but those agreements are never permanent. I wanted my guys to be secure no matter what happened. They were as responsible as anyone else for our success.
By lunchtime I was done with the letters. The boys weren’t getting the money today. I was going to ask them to think about their futures and what they wanted to do. If they decided to leave, I would ask them to hold off for three months to give me time to find and train their replacement. I figured employee decisions would have to be run through Waste International from now on and who knows how long that would take. I didn’t want Waste International getting cold feet and letting them go early if they found out what I was doing.
This afternoon, each man would receive an envelope with the amount he would be receiving on a piece of paper inside. The money would be transferred into an interestbearing, ninety day bond. After that it was out of my hands. I included Khalif in this. He wasn’t on our payroll officially, he was a subcontractor. But he was one of us, regardless. I was almost certain that Waste International would either cut back on the frequency of his servicing our trucks, offer him a full-time job at a far reduced rate, or eliminate the position altogether. He’s a good kid and deserves a future. After today he’d have one. I made a call to a banker friend of mine and got some information about Khalif I needed. Another call and his part was done.
I had a one-hour meeting with the Waste International lawyers and got back to my office at Two PM. I watched the clock from about two-fifteen until four when Angie showed up. She had boxes of paper plates and plastic forks and knives and napkins in her Escalade. She walked in my office and came over to my desk and sat on my lap, facing me. She put her hands on my cheeks and kissed me and smiled. “You’re such a softy, Joseph Mezilli, I love that about you.”
Angie is beautiful. No kidding. I’m not saying this because she’s my wife or whatever. She’s a frickin’ gorgeous woman. She’s pure Italian like me. Her grandparents had known each other “back on the Boot” and their families came here together. Her maiden name was Amalfitano. She has jet-black hair. So black it looks like it has blue in it. She reminds me of Angie Harmon, with a touch of the old country, like a little Sophia Loren thrown in. She’s fiery and intelligent and drop-dead, make-your-eyes-pop-out stunning beautiful. I’ve known her since the fourth grade, and by the seventh grade, I knew I was gonna marry her. There was never anyone else for me but Angie.
She leaned in and laid her head on my chest. “You okay with this, Chief?” she said. I chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose so, Babe. I don’t think I saw this coming. Not this soon anyway. I knew we’d sell someday. God knows our boys don’t want to work here and I want them to go their own way and all, but I didn’t see it happening like this.” I said all this in a sort of wistful, lost-in-the-enormity-of-it way. “Well look at it like this, Joe, you’ll be able to be with the kids full-time before your forty-fourth birthday.
Not many men can say that. And you’re leaving every person in this company in a position they would never be in without you. I’m very proud of you Joey Trucks.” Anj was smiling at me and there were tears in her eyes at the corners. Here we were, my wife and I, barely in our forties and in the position to literally do anything we want from now on. I really am blessed.
Margie buzzed my phone. “Joe, the food is here.” Angie and I got up and walked out to the lobby. Chris from Di Bruno’s was there waiting for us. “Pull around the back, Chris,” I told him, “We have tables set up in the open area. Chris went outside to get in his truck and Angie and I followed behind. As we walked out, Nick Mariello was pulling up in a small box truck. He jumped out and ran over
and playfully gave me a hug. Nick and I are old friends and I love the guy like a brother. “You’re hand delivering the pork Italiano these days? Business must be slow.” Nick laughed. “No, brother,” he laughed “Word is already out what you’re doing here.” My face fell a little. “Your grandmother told my grandmother at Mass this morning...” Nick said, “Don’t worry” he continued, “I put the word out for everyone to keep this stifled until tonight. I wanted to stop by and congratulate you, mi fratello. I’m so happy for you. You deserve this, Joe. Seriously.” Nick engulfed me in a bear hug and slapped me on the back. Nick Mariello might be the most Italian man I have ever met.
My mom and dad pulled in. Margie had called them and told them to come over, because I had forgotten in the emotion of the moment. The Old Man walked over to me and put his arm around my shoulder while Mom went to help Angie finish the last minute decorations. My dad smiled at me. “This is a wonderful thing you’re doing Joe. These men will never forget this, not as long as they live.” Pop was fighting back tears.
In a few minutes the first of the trucks had started to roll in. The guys were puzzled. It was Wednesday; we didn’t usually do this sort of thing until Friday evenings. They parked their rigs in the annex yard and started heading to the locker rooms. Most of the guys showered before heading home anyway. Tonight was no different. The families began showing up not long after. Angie had everything looking beautiful and before long, we were standing by the doorway to the big conference area / meeting hall we had built in the back of our offices when we expanded the building twelve years before. Not many of the wives and children had any real idea why we had asked them to come out for dinner. But impromptu get-togethers were not entirely unheard of for Mezilli Trash Hauling and Cartage. Even Giuseppe had softened a bit in his latter years. The Old Man and I had built a Bocce court in the back lot for him, and Zippie relished in teaching the game to the children.
The Legend of Joey Trucks: The Accidental Mobster Page 6
