Chapter 2 - November 2007

A dusting of snow gently layered the sidewalk as I walked into Benny’s Diner. Allan agreed to meet for breakfast and talk about the story I was hoping to write. I ordered a coffee and bowl of oatmeal. Allan had two pancakes, bacon and an orange juice.

            We talked for hours, or rather he did, his voice slow and melodic. His words were poignant and I clung to them like a rock climber grips a handhold.

            As I watched him through the steam that rose from my coffee mug, I felt as though I were standing there with him, on the streets of Brooklyn in the summer of 1944.

            “Dust clouds danced in the air as garbage trucks and cars drove down the busy streets. I stared up at the unfinished buildings, the sound of sledgehammers pounding away. It wouldn’t be long before I was up there on those beams myself.” Allan looked out the window and smiled. “This diner’s been here for over sixty years. I’d stop in every day for lunch. Nickel sandwiches and penny sodas.”

            “That was your first job?” I asked, scooping a spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth.

            “Well, I’d done newspaper routes, and cut grass as a boy. But, this was the first job I had that really meant something.” He tugged lightly on the left strap of his overalls. “Once I realized the work would never stop, I decided to stay. Retired just before I turned sixty.”

            “That’s arduous work to be doing for forty years,” I said. The bell on the door rang and a man and woman walked in.

            Allan chuckled, sucking on his teeth. “I’ve never looked at it that way. If you do a job well and you love it, it’s not hard work at all.”

            I thought for a moment about my own job. The years I’d spent arguing and stressing over what font to use, or which story was more important for front page. How ironic, that a man hunched, hips replaced, and walking with a cane had an easier job than the man who writes about it.

            “Don’t get me wrong, there are parts of the job I could have done without. But I’m grateful for what I learned,” Allan said.

            “How is everything Mr. Cauldwell. Mr--”

            “Pitello,” I said to the waitress.

            “Everything is mighty good Jackie. How’s the new house?” Allan asked, turning in his seat.

            “I love it,” she said excitedly. “My husband keeps finding things to complain about, but I think that’s because he doesn’t know how to fix them. Kids love it too. Eloise said just the other day that it’s like living in a castle. Ha. It’s only a three bedroom, but I guess compared to the apartment.” Jackie began to fidget with the pad and pen in her apron pocket.

            “That’s lovely Jackie,” Allan said.

            “How’s Mary-ann doing? We all miss her around here,” she asked, pulling the pen out and twirling it between her fingers.

            “Okay I guess. Doctor says it affects each person differently.”

            “I was so sad when I heard she was starting to forget things. But I’ll never forget that smile. It was your Mary-ann that helped me get this job and get me and the kids out of that shelter. My husband was running all over the city trying to get hired. It’s so hard for someone with a criminal record to find people that will take a chance on them, and he was arrested twenty years ago. I always say it was all that praying your Mary-ann was doing that helped him get the janitor job at the law firm. Now he’s managing his own crew.” Jackie seemed out of breath and her face blushed a soft rose. “Oh, there I go again. Talking up all your time.”

            “Don’t be bothered,” Allan said with a wink.

            I’m not sure if I’d ever seen someone that was so good at listening. Must be why his marriage lasted so long.

            “God is good,” Allan said.

            “All the time,” Jackie said in return. “Enjoy the rest of your meal. Give Mary-ann my love.” With that, Jackie walked to the next table and began cleaning it off.

            “Now that’s the Mary-ann I’d like to know,” I said, pulling my pen and pad from my bag.

            Allan nodded his head slowly, allowing for a moment of silence. “I was walking home from my first day in the iron yard. My hands were covered in grease and I had black streaks running down the sides of my blue overalls. Doc Eckers had said if I worked hard as a cleaner, he’d give me a shot in the assembly. I lived near eighty-fifth and a hundred and fourth, just a block from Forest Park. I didn’t know it at the time, but Mary-ann’s mother worked in the salon on a hundred and third. I stopped here at the diner for a glass of water and a piece of pie before heading home for the night. And there she was, standing outside the salon with two of her friends. Her hair curled and bounced just above her shoulders. She was wearing a red blouse, a blue skirt and white gloves that went almost to her elbows, you know, like the ones girls wear to church. Her lips matched her shirt and I could see her bright smile from across the street as she laughed.” Allan paused. His eyes were closed and he was smiling, the image dancing vividly in his mind.

            I set my pen down and quickly took a picture with my phone.

            “I don’t believe I would have made much of an impression, had I not been hit by the car as I wandered aimlessly into the street.” He stopped to laugh.

            “You were hit by a car?” I asked, quickly making a note.

            “I sure was. Stepped right out in front of it, eyes glued to that girls pretty smile and smack,” he said, clapping his hands together. “When I came too, she was crouching over me, fanning my face. She asked if I was alright and I told her it would take all the pain away if she let me take her to a movie. I’d believed for a long time that she only said yes because she’d felt bad. But, after so many years of marriage and six children, I’d say she fell in love. Don’t know why, the clumsy fool I am. But hey, I’ll forever be grateful she did.”

            Allan slid his plate to the end of the table. The diner had a steady stream of people in and out. Some sat for meals, others jawed with the owner at the front as they drank their morning coffee before work. It was everything I thought a diner should be.

            “How long was it before you got married?” I asked. My coffee had gotten cold so I set it to the side.

            “About five months is all. I knew I had to scoop her up before she changed her mind. My mama was real happy the first time I brought her around the house. Told me she was an angel sent from heaven and if I screwed things up, God would strike me dead where I stood.” Allan itched the back of his neck and smiled.

            “Well you aren’t dead yet,” I said playfully. Allan nodded.

            “You all finished?” Jackie said as she walked back to the table.

            “Yes ma’am,” Allan said.

            “You should stop with all that ma’am nonsense. Make me feel old.” Jackie giggled, a curl of her brown hair falling out from under her hairnet and over her left temple. She took our plates back to the kitchen and returned with the bill. “Mitch said enjoy your day. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Pitello,” she said as she left.

            I was about to pull my wallet from my pants when I noticed the bill. It was just a piece of paper that said, ‘We love you Al, and we are praying for you and your family.’ I sat back in the booth and exhaled. Part of me wanted to jump up and down. I had found a jackpot story and I was only a few hours into my investigation. But there was something else tugging at me. Something real. Something that told me, this would be more than just a story.

I thanked Allan for taking the time to meet me and he agreed to meet again at the end of the week.

“Come by the house and I’ll introduce you to my wife and one of my sons, Aaron. He has his own business selling antiques, but he’s been helping me take care of Mary-ann,” he said with a handshake.

“I can’t wait,” I said as I waved goodbye.

New York City is filled with stories. Walk a half-block and you’ll have passed a dozen. Some as simple as, ‘this is the place where so-and-so found a five-dollar bill.’ Others as heartbreaking as, ‘this is where so-and-so got shot,’ and some as profound as, ‘this is where Malcolm X stood when he was recruiting for the Black Panther Movement.’

I walked the city for an hour, trying to imagine what some of those stories were, while also watching other stories develop. People were climbing on and off buses. Some bought food from kiosks and others listened to music, ignoring their surroundings.

 

<>

            Allan greeted me with a hug when I got to the porch outside their small, two bedroom, brick home. I walked into the house to the smell of apple pie and Aaron waving a small, white towel through the air, hoping to avoid the fire alarm from going off. He threw the towel over his shoulder and met me halfway down the hallway.

            “How are you doing? I’m Aaron,” he said, thrusting his hand into mine.

            “Sal Pitello. I’m well, thank you,” I said.

            “My pops told me a little about what you’d like to do. You know, my mother means a lot to me and a lot to this community. So, don’t go around shaming her in any way.” He threw a friendly smile in at the end but I knew he wasn’t joking.

            “You have my word,” I said quickly, my palms beginning to sweat. Aaron talked through a few of the photographs on the wall and led me into the living room before returning to the kitchen.

            Mary-ann sat in the love seat, wrapped in a blanket with her hands on her lap. She was watching Let’s Make a Deal and mumbling, ‘mm, he’s so fine,’ whenever Wayne Brady was on the screen.

            “I keep telling myself that she thinks that’s me.” Allan laughed and motioned for me to sit. It wasn’t until I did that Mary-ann noticed I was there.

            “Hello darlin, are you here to fix the roof?” she said. Her voice was soft and pleasant.

            “No, Mary-ann,” Allan said, grabbing hold of her hand. “This is the man I was telling you about. The one who is going to write a story about you. Do you remember?” Allan leaned in and kissed her cheek.

            “Oh yes. Right. The one from the newspaper. Mr. Pitello. You didn’t tell me he was bald. Not that it makes much of a difference, but it would have been nice to know.” Allan looked at me and shrugged. “Is that apple pie I smell? I better go in the kitchen and make sure it doesn’t burn.” Mary-ann threw the blanket off, climbed to her feet and walked into the kitchen.

            “She’s always been good with names but I only said yours once, and that was three days ago.” Allan smiled widely. “It’s moments like that, that get me excited.”

            From the other room, we heard a plate crash against the floor. “Don’t worry about it mom. Just go back into the living room and sit with dad and the man from the newspaper.” Aaron held her arm as he led her back to the love seat.

            “His name’s Mr. Pitello,” she said sharply as Aaron walked away. Aaron threw his hands in the air and laughed.

            “I’d like to start by saying thank you for allowing me to come here today,” I said, extending a hand to hold hers. “Amy, my chief of staff, agreed to a three-page spread in our May release, but I spoke with K&A Publishing and they agreed to fund a project up to sixty-five thousand words.”

            Mary-ann’s eyes opened wider. “And you’re going to write all that, about me?” She pulled her hand slowly away and gazed off to the side. “I never thought my life would be interesting enough to write about.”

            “Think of it as your journey through life. The connections you’ve made, the impact you’ve had on others and what other families who are dealing with the same--” Allan’s grip on my arm was like a vice. The pain shot through my forearm in both directions, my fingers tingling and my elbow going numb.

            My head snapped to him as I tried to wrench free. His eyes were wide and teeth clinched in anger. If I hadn’t known how old he was, I would have thought he was in his thirties and part of some professional athletic team the way he dragged me to the kitchen.

            “What the hell is going on?” I said, rubbing my arm.

            “She doesn’t know,” Allan said.

            “Why did you all leave?” Mary-ann shouted.

            “Don’t worry sweetheart. We’ll be right back.”

            “What do you mean she doesn’t know? She was found on the stoop of a friend’s house four blocks away. You’ve taken her to doctors. She has to know something.” I looked down at my arm and could see the marks his fingers made.

            “The doctor said that the easy part would be telling her about the condition. But the hard part would be convincing her that it’s true. So, we left it alone and are dealing with it in our own way.” Allan leaned against the wall, his head glistening with sweat.

            Aaron shook his head. “I tried to convince him that we should at least try, but he wasn’t hearing any of it.”

            I took several deep breaths and said, “I understand that it’s a family decision, but don’t you think it would have been a good idea to let me know before I arrived? I would have gladly avoided nearly losing an arm.”

            “Mr. Pitello. I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have told you the other day at the diner.” Allan walked to the fridge and poured two glasses of ice water, handing one to me.

            “Thank you. Now that that’s settled, I’d like to go back in there and ask her a few questions.” Allan nodded and we returned to the living room. Mary-ann’s focus was back on the television.

            “I’m going to turn this off now. Mr. Pitello would like to ask you a few questions,” Allan said, clicking the remote.

            “Mr. who?” Mary-ann asked, tucking the blanket under her legs.

            “Mr. Pitello. The man from the newspaper,” Allan said.

            Mary-ann nodded her head as if she remembered.

            I took a small recorder from my bag and placed it on the coffee table. “November twenty-fourth. Nine fifty-three a.m. Tell me, Mrs. Cauldwell. How many children do you have and what are their names?”

            Mary-ann thought for a moment, her lips curling into a tender smile, as if remembering what it felt like to hold each one for the first time. “Well, there’s Paul,” she started. “He’s my eldest son. Such a nice boy. Kind to everyone.” She paused, her brow coming together at the bridge of her nose. “I should have been paying closer attention that day. I should have--” She cut off, tears beginning to form. Allan stood and wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, whispering in her ear.

            “Luke, he was next,” she continued after she calmed. “Bossy too. He always had his brothers and sisters in line. Made it easier on me and Allan. Then there was Carol. She loved to be in everyone’s business. Her favorite thing to say was, ‘um, you won’t believe what such-and-such did.” Mary-ann laughed, slapping her thigh. “Stacey was the fun one. Could spin your frown upside down. She didn’t care much for nothing but a laugh and a shout. Now Aaron, he’s the, ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead type.’ I swear if he was paid for every minute he was actually working, he’d be a millionaire. He got my smile though, and people just fell in love.”

            Aaron stuck his head around the corner and shared a bright, white smile.

            “They say the last one always gets forgotten. But not me. Not my Prince. He’d strut around the house like he owned the place and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t true. He just kept growing too... Prince didn’t have it easy though. Being the youngest of six can be hard, especially when your brothers are that much older than you. But boy could he sing.” Mary-ann sank down in her seat.

The strain of remembering stretched across her face. I leaned forward and stopped the recorder. “This is really going to help me get started,” I said. “I will call you soon to set up another time to meet.”

“You’re not going to stay for a piece of pie?” Aaron said in the doorway.

“I wish I could, but I have three stories to revise and a meeting at eleven.” I stood and made my way to Mary-ann’s side. Kneeling, I squeezed her shoulder gently and thanked her for her time.

“Take one for the road then,” Aaron insisted, placing a slice into a ziplocked bag.

“Thank you. And thank you again Allan. This is a great start. I’ll be in touch.”