For the Duration: The War Years (10 page)

We were let out early, so we Catholic kids went to St. Joseph's Church for Friday Sunday school. There were about twice as many kids there as usual. As the Sisters called our names, we formed two lines. “Look and remember who your partner is,” the Sister said. Oh, boy. My partner was Jean Minor, my first girlfriend from first grade.

The Mercy Sisters seemed to be fussing over the St. Joseph kids more. “They know them better,” whispered Jean.

We marched from the downstairs of the church across the street to the school, and into the front hall. We were divided into smaller groups and went into different classrooms.

The head Sister said, “This is where you will come on the Thursday morning of June fourth at seven A.M. We will then line up and have a procession over to the church for the First Communion mass. We will do a practice twice today and then again on Wednesday afternoon after school, when you will also make your First Confession.” And she clicked a little clicker that she called a CRICKET.

“When I click the Cricket once, stand up.” She did. We did. “Now, when I click the Cricket twice, form your line.” She did. We did. “When I click the Cricket again, go out into the hall and wait. Then I will click the Cricket for you to move in unison.”

The Sister clicked that Cricket for everything: to march across the street, to march up the church steps, to march down the aisle, to stand, to kneel, to go up to the altar rail or to come back from the altar rail, to file out. It seemed to me that there were an awful lot of clicks.

We did it twice, like the Sister said we would.

Then, I walked down Linsley Avenue to catch the bus home.

Chapter Twelve

The next day, we were up early to go down to the Bronx to visit my dad's sister, Aunt Kate, and her husband, Uncle Tony. My dad's brother Uncle Nick and his wife, Aunt Loretta, were going to meet us there, too. There was going to be a special Memorial Day mass for Blackie.

It was a long drive down to the Bronx and there were lots of cars on the road. This would be the last holiday before gas was rationed and we would not be able to get as much as we wanted, so a lot of people were traveling.

The Bronx was so different from Meriden. Above the streets were elevated tracks for the subway, which came out of the ground nearby and clattered on the tracks above your head. It made the streets noisy and kind of dark. There were always lots of people on the streets. There were lots more stores and shops than in Meriden, too. Many of the stores had all the things they sold right out in front, especially the fruit and vegetable stores.

Aunt Kate and Uncle Tony lived on Powell Avenue in a big five-story building that took up the whole block. In the center of the building was a courtyard with a fountain and a garden. The garden had a sign on it that read, “Home of the future Victory Garden for the residents of this building.”

I looked up from the courtyard and saw a lot of flags with blue stars on them in the windows. I didn't see Aunt Kate's. They lived on the top floor, but I think their apartment looked out on the street instead of the courtyard.

We started climbing up the stairs—up, up, and up There at the last landing was Uncle Tony waiting for us. My cousin Terry (whose real name was Theresa) was there, too. Aunt Kate was resting, so we had to be quiet.

Uncle Tony said, “Why don't you boys come up to the roof with me?” We climbed some more stairs. Uncle Tony opened a door, and there we were on the big roof of the apartment building. There were clotheslines with clothes and sheets flapping in the wind. People were sitting in deck chairs like they have at the beach, getting the sun. Uncle Tony showed us how we could walk all around the big square roof with the space in the middle that looked down on the Victory Garden and the fountain—five floors down!

(I'm a little afraid of heights, so I hung on real tight to the wall before I looked down into the courtyard.)

When we got back downstairs, the grown-ups were all in the small living room. Aunt Clothilda and Uncle Mo and Cousin Frankie were there, too. They lived in the Bronx as well, not too far from Powell Avenue.

Terry took us kids, Buddy, Frankie, and me, into her small bedroom so the grown-ups could talk. (THAT never changes. They don't let us hear anything.) She turned on her radio and we listened to the singer she called her “HeartTHROB”—Frank Sinatra. Lots of girls liked him.

After a while Uncle Tony called, “Come out, kids. Dinner's ready.”

The living room had a lot of tables put together. Uncle Nick, Aunt Loretta, and Cousin Helen had arrived. There were so many people, but frankly we were used to this on the Italian side of the family.

We kids sat at the far end, so (of course) I couldn't hear everything the grown-ups were saying. Aunt Kate kept crying very quietly. But I understood that. I wanted to cry, too. Because Blackie, Anthony, was my favorite cousin.

Just like at Nana Fall-River's house, we had food-food-food. Then the dinner was over. Suddenly, lots of sirens began to blow.

“Well, it's an air-raid drill,” said Uncle Tony.

The grown-ups began to turn off all the lights and close the blackout curtains at the window.

“Hey,” said Uncle Tony. “Why don't you boys come back up to the roof with me to see the searchlights.”

“Sure!” we answered.

Buddy, Cousin Frankie, and I went with Uncle Tony to the roof. He had a small flashlight so we could find our way up the flight of stairs.

When we stepped out onto the roof, sirens were blaring all around. There were no lights anywhere. Bling, bling, bling. Suddenly, the sky was filled with searchlights moving back and forth. Oh, boy—this was exciting.

“This is only an air-raid drill,” Uncle Tony said, “so they're just practicing. But if enemy planes did come here, the searchlights would find ‘em and the anti-aircraft guns would shoot 'em down.”