| Biographical Fiction posted June 16, 2019 |
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Boys, after stealing from family are headed to see Italy.
Passport Predicament
by HarryT
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“Oh my God, Sam, we really blew it. How could we have forgotten about passports?”
“Now what, we can’t go back.” Sam said. “Anyway, I was born in the house, I don’t even know if I got a birth certificate.”
“Same with me, I’ve never even been to a hospital. But, we gotta get ID, find Mott Street and Banca Stabile and fast.”
The boys wandered away from the wharf, each deep in thought trying to figure out what to do. They knew they did not want to give up and go home. They found themselves in a residential neighborhood. Two and three story grey and brown stone houses lined the streets. They walked past a large church and then St. Peter’s High School. They sat on a bench and watched a group of boys playing baseball on the school field.
After a couple of minutes, Harry sprang to his feet and said, “I got it! Didn’t the guy say a baptismal certificate would be good?”
“Yeah, so what, we ain’t got that.”
“Look, St. Peter’s is a Catholic school. I bet all those kids on the field are Catholic and that means they got baptism certificates.”
“So they got them, we don’t.”
Harry said, “No, but listen, we get their names and then go ask the priest at the church for a copy of their baptism certificates.”
“Yeah, smart guy, how’s we supposed to do that?”
“See, one time I was sitting on my front steps, sketching a bird in the tree in front of our house, when this guy comes up to me and says he’s from the Tribune and asks if I want to deliver newspapers. I said maybe. What do I have to do? He said all I needed to do was bring my birth certificate or baptismal certificate down to the newspaper office downtown with a note from my ma saying it’s okay to deliver the Tribune. So that’s what I did and that’s how I got my route.”
Harry leaned close to Sam and said, “See, all’s we have to do is find out a couple of guys’ names and where they live? We pretend we’re getting guys to deliver papers.”
“Yeah!” Sam said standing and clapping Harry on the back.
The game was still in progress, the boys sat and waited for the game to end. The shortstop slammed his fist into his glove and yelled, “C’mon, let’s get this guy, he’s the last out.”
The batter swung and hit a high pop up, which the third baseman easily caught.
“Three outs, we win!” shouted the pitcher, throwing his hands in the air and dancing around on the mound. “Youse guys owes us a soda.”
Harry and Sam walked on to the dirt field. Harry yelled, “Hey, who wants to make some dough?”
“Who the hell is youse guys?” Shouted the boy who made the final out. He wore a sweat-stained Yankee baseball cap and walked menacingly in the boys’ direction carrying a tapped up bat.
Harry and Sam stared at the bat swinging up and down in the guy’s hand.
“Get outta here!” the guy shouted pointing the bat at them.
“Hey, take it easy,” Harry said. “We work for the New York Times.”
“Youse guys is just kids. What the hell you talkin’ about?”
Harry said, “That’s the idea, kids getting kids to deliver newspapers.”
“Get lost,” the bat wielder said. “Delivering papers is little kid stuff.”
“It pays 50 cents a day plus tips when you collect, but you have to deliver mornings and evenings.”
“I said, get lost, before I do somethin’ with this,” he grunted jabbing the bat like a sword. “C’mon, guys, let’s vamoose. I’m thirsty.”
Most of the players followed his direction and headed for a grocery store on the corner. However, two boys hung back, whispering to each other. One of them wearing a blue sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves, stepped forward and said, “Hey, we might be interested. Is there any chance Tony here and me could split? He’ll do mornings and I could do after school.”
Harry looked at Sam, “Don’t know about that. The boss wants one guy on a route, I think. But, how bout I take your names and talk to the boss and see what he says.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, “we need to check.”
“Here,” Harry handed the blue sweatshirt a folded sheet of paper he took from the YMCA along with a pencil.
“You guys write your names and addresses down on this paper.”
“Phone number,” Sam said, “if you got one.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, “we’ll talk with the boss and meet you back here tomorrow and let you know the dope. Okay?”
The boy nodded and took the paper and wrote his name, John Galatti and his address. “Don’t got a phone,” he said.
John handed the paper and pencil to the other boy. Anthony Machelli wrote his name and address. “I give my uncle’s phone; he lives upstairs from us. That okay?”
“Sure,” Harry replied.
“Okay,” John said. “When do we find out if we got the job?”
“Well, you guys have school, right? So, we’ll be here around four-thirty tomorrow. If we’re not here, it means no dice. Okay?”
“Yeah. Hope we see you tomorrow,” John said.
Sam collected the paper from Anthony.
The boys shook hands. Sam and Harry walked through the playground gate.
“Cool,” Sam said, “that was a good idea.”
“Okay, we need to come up with a story for the priest. I’ll be this guy John Galatti, you be Anthony Machelli. Okay?
“Dig it,” said Sam. “I like Tony, sounds tough. Tony Machelli. Yeah, I like it, sounds like one of Al’s boys.” Sam said, pantomiming shooting a tommy gun.
“Okay, tough guy. Let’s figure out what we gotta say to the priest.”
Chapter Two contest entry
“Oh my God, Sam, we really blew it. How could we have forgotten about passports?”
“Now what, we can’t go back.” Sam said. “Anyway, I was born in the house, I don’t even know if I got a birth certificate.”
“Same with me, I’ve never even been to a hospital. But, we gotta get ID, find Mott Street and Banca Stabile and fast.”
The boys wandered away from the wharf, each deep in thought trying to figure out what to do. They knew they did not want to give up and go home. They found themselves in a residential neighborhood. Two and three story grey and brown stone houses lined the streets. They walked past a large church and then St. Peter’s High School. They sat on a bench and watched a group of boys playing baseball on the school field.
After a couple of minutes, Harry sprang to his feet and said, “I got it! Didn’t the guy say a baptismal certificate would be good?”
“Yeah, so what, we ain’t got that.”
“Look, St. Peter’s is a Catholic school. I bet all those kids on the field are Catholic and that means they got baptism certificates.”
“So they got them, we don’t.”
Harry said, “No, but listen, we get their names and then go ask the priest at the church for a copy of their baptism certificates.”
“Yeah, smart guy, how’s we supposed to do that?”
“See, one time I was sitting on my front steps, sketching a bird in the tree in front of our house, when this guy comes up to me and says he’s from the Tribune and asks if I want to deliver newspapers. I said maybe. What do I have to do? He said all I needed to do was bring my birth certificate or baptismal certificate down to the newspaper office downtown with a note from my ma saying it’s okay to deliver the Tribune. So that’s what I did and that’s how I got my route.”
Harry leaned close to Sam and said, “See, all’s we have to do is find out a couple of guys’ names and where they live? We pretend we’re getting guys to deliver papers.”
“Yeah!” Sam said standing and clapping Harry on the back.
The game was still in progress, the boys sat and waited for the game to end. The shortstop slammed his fist into his glove and yelled, “C’mon, let’s get this guy, he’s the last out.”
The batter swung and hit a high pop up, which the third baseman easily caught.
“Three outs, we win!” shouted the pitcher, throwing his hands in the air and dancing around on the mound. “Youse guys owes us a soda.”
Harry and Sam walked on to the dirt field. Harry yelled, “Hey, who wants to make some dough?”
“Who the hell is youse guys?” Shouted the boy who made the final out. He wore a sweat-stained Yankee baseball cap and walked menacingly in the boys’ direction carrying a tapped up bat.
Harry and Sam stared at the bat swinging up and down in the guy’s hand.
“Get outta here!” the guy shouted pointing the bat at them.
“Hey, take it easy,” Harry said. “We work for the New York Times.”
“Youse guys is just kids. What the hell you talkin’ about?”
Harry said, “That’s the idea, kids getting kids to deliver newspapers.”
“Get lost,” the bat wielder said. “Delivering papers is little kid stuff.”
“It pays 50 cents a day plus tips when you collect, but you have to deliver mornings and evenings.”
“I said, get lost, before I do somethin’ with this,” he grunted jabbing the bat like a sword. “C’mon, guys, let’s vamoose. I’m thirsty.”
Most of the players followed his direction and headed for a grocery store on the corner. However, two boys hung back, whispering to each other. One of them wearing a blue sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves, stepped forward and said, “Hey, we might be interested. Is there any chance Tony here and me could split? He’ll do mornings and I could do after school.”
Harry looked at Sam, “Don’t know about that. The boss wants one guy on a route, I think. But, how bout I take your names and talk to the boss and see what he says.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, “we need to check.”
“Here,” Harry handed the blue sweatshirt a folded sheet of paper he took from the YMCA along with a pencil.
“You guys write your names and addresses down on this paper.”
“Phone number,” Sam said, “if you got one.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, “we’ll talk with the boss and meet you back here tomorrow and let you know the dope. Okay?”
The boy nodded and took the paper and wrote his name, John Galatti and his address. “Don’t got a phone,” he said.
John handed the paper and pencil to the other boy. Anthony Machelli wrote his name and address. “I give my uncle’s phone; he lives upstairs from us. That okay?”
“Sure,” Harry replied.
“Okay,” John said. “When do we find out if we got the job?”
“Well, you guys have school, right? So, we’ll be here around four-thirty tomorrow. If we’re not here, it means no dice. Okay?”
“Yeah. Hope we see you tomorrow,” John said.
Sam collected the paper from Anthony.
The boys shook hands. Sam and Harry walked through the playground gate.
“Cool,” Sam said, “that was a good idea.”
“Okay, we need to come up with a story for the priest. I’ll be this guy John Galatti, you be Anthony Machelli. Okay?
“Dig it,” said Sam. “I like Tony, sounds tough. Tony Machelli. Yeah, I like it, sounds like one of Al’s boys.” Sam said, pantomiming shooting a tommy gun.
“Okay, tough guy. Let’s figure out what we gotta say to the priest.”
“Now what, we can’t go back.” Sam said. “Anyway, I was born in the house, I don’t even know if I got a birth certificate.”
“Same with me, I’ve never even been to a hospital. But, we gotta get ID, find Mott Street and Banca Stabile and fast.”
The boys wandered away from the wharf, each deep in thought trying to figure out what to do. They knew they did not want to give up and go home. They found themselves in a residential neighborhood. Two and three story grey and brown stone houses lined the streets. They walked past a large church and then St. Peter’s High School. They sat on a bench and watched a group of boys playing baseball on the school field.
After a couple of minutes, Harry sprang to his feet and said, “I got it! Didn’t the guy say a baptismal certificate would be good?”
“Yeah, so what, we ain’t got that.”
“Look, St. Peter’s is a Catholic school. I bet all those kids on the field are Catholic and that means they got baptism certificates.”
“So they got them, we don’t.”
Harry said, “No, but listen, we get their names and then go ask the priest at the church for a copy of their baptism certificates.”
“Yeah, smart guy, how’s we supposed to do that?”
“See, one time I was sitting on my front steps, sketching a bird in the tree in front of our house, when this guy comes up to me and says he’s from the Tribune and asks if I want to deliver newspapers. I said maybe. What do I have to do? He said all I needed to do was bring my birth certificate or baptismal certificate down to the newspaper office downtown with a note from my ma saying it’s okay to deliver the Tribune. So that’s what I did and that’s how I got my route.”
Harry leaned close to Sam and said, “See, all’s we have to do is find out a couple of guys’ names and where they live? We pretend we’re getting guys to deliver papers.”
“Yeah!” Sam said standing and clapping Harry on the back.
The game was still in progress, the boys sat and waited for the game to end. The shortstop slammed his fist into his glove and yelled, “C’mon, let’s get this guy, he’s the last out.”
The batter swung and hit a high pop up, which the third baseman easily caught.
“Three outs, we win!” shouted the pitcher, throwing his hands in the air and dancing around on the mound. “Youse guys owes us a soda.”
Harry and Sam walked on to the dirt field. Harry yelled, “Hey, who wants to make some dough?”
“Who the hell is youse guys?” Shouted the boy who made the final out. He wore a sweat-stained Yankee baseball cap and walked menacingly in the boys’ direction carrying a tapped up bat.
Harry and Sam stared at the bat swinging up and down in the guy’s hand.
“Get outta here!” the guy shouted pointing the bat at them.
“Hey, take it easy,” Harry said. “We work for the New York Times.”
“Youse guys is just kids. What the hell you talkin’ about?”
Harry said, “That’s the idea, kids getting kids to deliver newspapers.”
“Get lost,” the bat wielder said. “Delivering papers is little kid stuff.”
“It pays 50 cents a day plus tips when you collect, but you have to deliver mornings and evenings.”
“I said, get lost, before I do somethin’ with this,” he grunted jabbing the bat like a sword. “C’mon, guys, let’s vamoose. I’m thirsty.”
Most of the players followed his direction and headed for a grocery store on the corner. However, two boys hung back, whispering to each other. One of them wearing a blue sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves, stepped forward and said, “Hey, we might be interested. Is there any chance Tony here and me could split? He’ll do mornings and I could do after school.”
Harry looked at Sam, “Don’t know about that. The boss wants one guy on a route, I think. But, how bout I take your names and talk to the boss and see what he says.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, “we need to check.”
“Here,” Harry handed the blue sweatshirt a folded sheet of paper he took from the YMCA along with a pencil.
“You guys write your names and addresses down on this paper.”
“Phone number,” Sam said, “if you got one.”
“Yeah,” Harry said, “we’ll talk with the boss and meet you back here tomorrow and let you know the dope. Okay?”
The boy nodded and took the paper and wrote his name, John Galatti and his address. “Don’t got a phone,” he said.
John handed the paper and pencil to the other boy. Anthony Machelli wrote his name and address. “I give my uncle’s phone; he lives upstairs from us. That okay?”
“Sure,” Harry replied.
“Okay,” John said. “When do we find out if we got the job?”
“Well, you guys have school, right? So, we’ll be here around four-thirty tomorrow. If we’re not here, it means no dice. Okay?”
“Yeah. Hope we see you tomorrow,” John said.
Sam collected the paper from Anthony.
The boys shook hands. Sam and Harry walked through the playground gate.
“Cool,” Sam said, “that was a good idea.”
“Okay, we need to come up with a story for the priest. I’ll be this guy John Galatti, you be Anthony Machelli. Okay?
“Dig it,” said Sam. “I like Tony, sounds tough. Tony Machelli. Yeah, I like it, sounds like one of Al’s boys.” Sam said, pantomiming shooting a tommy gun.
“Okay, tough guy. Let’s figure out what we gotta say to the priest.”
Story takes place in 1930. The boys stole money from their families so they could run away and see Italy. Harry has a special reason for wanting to go. Sam wants to go fishing with his grandfather and uncle who are fisherman in Italy.
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