An Early Lesson

There were no polls, and if there were, the four friends wouldn’t have known about them in the years they shared.

None owned television sets and computers were only something predicted by Dick Tracy aficionados.

And of course, like many other things, it was ever so long ago when the four friends met and chatted and yes disagreed daily on a stone stoop in Hells Kitchen.

One of course was The Magician, my Dad, known as Uncle Bill, Don to his workmates, and Bill Donlon to his friends in the legendary NYC neighborhood.

The four men religiously gathered nightly with the exception of Sundays. An unwritten law, or merely something mutually decided? I never knew nor did Joan, my friend and Jim Garret’s daughter.

The conversation between the four was quiet, never a raised voice to my memory, and of course, sacrosanct, never repeated after the evening ended normally about 9 pm.

I doubt that gossip was ever on the agenda, but I do believe the main topic was political and of course, the economy.

All four men worked for others and also, were faithful husbands, good fathers and responsible citizens.

That’s where any similarities ended.

While Jim Garret and Bill Donlon were of similar heritage, there were several differences. Bill was ten years older, and more importantly, Jim had a car, not new, but treasured by all who lived on the block.

It was the chariot utilized for emergency trips to doctors, hospitals as well as family funerals and an occasional wedding

To the best of my knowledge, there was never any suggested or proffered contribution for fuel. Of course Jim would have been quite offended by the mere suggestion. Helping others was simply what a good neighbor did.

Bill, whose expertise was renowned in the automotive world, helped maintain the vehicle’s lifespan.

Another significant difference between the four friends, Bill Donlon was the only one without a son. A loss he never shared with his three daughters, but I realized much later in life.

Their enduring relationship grew stronger until both the neighborhood and life’s inevitable journey intervened, and was never questioned by family or neighbors.

Mr. Veneluez’ wife never spoke a word of English and their older son, Ramon, inherited her unhealthy emotional genes. The young man was institutionalized shortly after his Mother’s death when the neighborhood changed and another chapter of NYC history began.

Mr, Lopez normally arrived at the stoop (or meeting room) immaculate in his distinguished uniform where he was employed as a Maitre d’ at the famed Hotel Roosevelt.

None of the men had a high school education; yet three had children who earned not only college diplomas but additional degrees. Mr. Veneleuz’ younger son gained fame as a psychiatrist possibly motivated by his brother’s illness.

Jim Garrett’s two sons achieved fame as did Joan, his daughter, not only with educational achievements, but further success in life.

Sadly, The Magician could not overcome his wife’s resistance to education for their three daughters. Years after his death his youngest daughter received her Master’s Degree from NYU and the Father she barely knew watched proudly from behind a cloud of stars.

Despite the reputation in Hells Kitchen’s of legendary crowded corner bars, none of the four friends drank, not even coffee on the stoop. It was their home and never defiled with cigarette buts or cardboard cups.

They were different in many ways, the four friends, in heritage, as well as beliefs yet bound together with love and pride in the USA.

And if they disagreed, it was done with civility and respect, and all who passed their nightly meetings on a stone stoop, remember their inspiration well,