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The Mafia and LGBT

I am proud of my Greenwich Village and my heritage. Just before summer kicked in early June 1969, the Stonewall Inn riots occurred. I’m not sure how many LGBTs know of this riot on Sheridan Square in Greenwich Village. The cops had enough of the gays and decided to raid the gay bar. This was the beginning of the gay movement.

This was actually a big mistake by the local police precinct; the “boys” owned the bar. When I refer to the “boys,” I mean the Mafia. They owned all the gay bars in the village. Gays were an everyday, matter of fact, occurrence in the village. The Italians paid them no mind; they didn’t hurt anyone. Tea Roooms, as they were called, sprung up, “Black Rabbit,” “One Potato,” where I actually worked a couple of bar shifts; it’s a long story how I wound up working there. The manager’s name was Bunny. He was gay and connected to the “boys.” My sisters had gay friends in elementary school. Everything was kept quiet, all behind closed doors, until that night in June, when 1,000 protesters came out of the closet and supported the Stonewall Inn. Not all were gay; many straight Villagers joined the protest.

The cops were brutal with their batons. This was long before “The Gay Officers Action League” was born. The cops and the “boys” always got along until that night. I guess there was a “sit down” between the two, and as expected, the “boys” won the battle. When it comes to money, don’t fuck with them. I suppose the Mafia helped the Gay Rights Movement.

I have always enjoyed the Italian traditions passed down through the generations. Meatless Fridays is a Catholic tradition the Italians practiced. I still try and adhere to the meatless Fridays whenever I can, except during Lent, when there is no meat at all.

Fish was the usual choice on Fridays, and I’ve eaten a lot of good pizza on Fridays. The Campagna Region of Italy, where this dish originated, has abundant fish and lots of great pizza. I’m sharing my recipe for Bucatini Aioli e Olio, with hot honey-seared scallops.

Aioli means garlic and oil. Olio is also oil.

Cook your pasta al dente.

Add garlic, olive oil, salt, pepper, and red pepper.

Season according to preference

Cast iron pan Heat a little canola or peanut oil, not olive oil.

When the pan is hot, place dried sea scallops in the pan

Salt and pepper lightly.

Sear scallops for three minutes each side.

Serve along with the pasta on a bed of spinach

Two-ounce ramekins of hot honey on the side for dipping

Don’t worry if a little honey mixes with the pasta.

This creates an amazing by-flavor.

New Zealand Sauvignon Blancs are dry and loaded with lemon and grapefruit flavors.

The acidity will call the hot honey a little, if not a beer.I have always enjoyed the Italian traditions passed down through the generations. Meatless Fridays is a Catholic tradition the Italians practiced. I still try and adhere to the meatless Fridays whenever I can, except during Lent, when there is no meat at all.

Fish was the usual choice on Fridays, and I’ve eaten a lot of good pizza on Fridays. The Campagna Region of Italy, where this dish originated, has abundant fish and lots of great pizza. I’m sharing my recipe for Bucatini Aioli e Olio, with hot honey-seared scallops.

Aioli means garlic and oil. Olio is also oil.

Cook your pasta al dente.

Add garlic, olive oil, salt, pepper, and red pepper.

Season according to preference

Cast iron pan Heat a little canola or peanut oil, not olive oil.

When the pan is hot, place dried sea scallops in the pan

Salt and pepper lightly.

Sear scallops for three minutes each side.

Serve along with the pasta on a bed of spinach

Two-ounce ramekins of hot honey on the side for dipping

Don’t worry if a little honey mixes with the pasta.

This creates an amazing by-flavor.

New Zealand Sauvignon Blancs are dry and loaded with lemon and grapefruit flavors.

The acidity will call the hot honey a little, if not a beer.

Books that were never written:

“Running to the Outhouse”

by Willie Makit Illustrations by Betty Wont

I am a mirror on a wall in a lobby of a very exclusive, most posh, ritziest hotel in Washington D.C. I have been stared into for a long, long time, 75 years to be exact. I arrived some time before the end World War II. No one really notices me, I mean they gaze at me, but never see me, they look straight through me. The most powerful people in the world have looked into me, never realizing my true worth.

Many times each day I am sprayed and wiped down, this sorta tickles. My gold leaf border is dusted, and no smudges are visible. I weight over 100 pounds, imported from France, created by an artisan glazier for the hotel. I am a portrait mirror, you can check the polish on your shoes and prim your hair all in one look. Every guest must pass by me, either leaving or entering the lobby, you can’t miss me! I stand tall and proud.

Most people look at me to, fix their tie, fluff their hair, smear their lipstick, presently, couples stand in front of me and take selfies, this disturbs me, the glare and the sometimes flash irritate my reflection. So what propose do I serve? I feed the ego, for one. Hundreds of people each day stare at me and wait for my reflection. Am I handsome, pretty, or just fooling them selves? I can recall many presidents checking themselves, they don’t see what I see. I can gaze right back and pierce your heart with MY stare. Politicians can be fake, fake smiles, fake teeth and fake hair. I see who they really are.

I see and stare their sadnesses and their joys, but sometimes their lie directly into me. I can still see truth. If you dyed your hair I can see the roots, if you spin and pirouette I can see all the flaws within you, there is no escaping my truth. The true joys are great to be a part of, the sadness makes me question the person. My heart aches for them, yet I must remain silent.

President Harry S. Truman was my first president. He would stare at me in wonder and awe, I soon realized he was looking for answers. He had to make the most difficult decision of any president, weather or not to drop the Atomic Bomb on Japan. The struggle for this poor man made me believe I was not only a mirror of your image, but a mirror to your soul. Harry would often dine with dignitaries at our restaurant and pass by me, I felt at times he’d wink at me like an old friend. I don’t make decisions, I show you who you really are. His guilt ran deep, but there was no other decision to make to safe our country and our boys.

I felt a part of me shatter when I heard the news of John F. Kennedy, a young man with unlimited potential who really loved America. His death started a decade of destruction. More death of world leaders, a war no one wanted. The Kennedy Family was the backbone of Washington politics. John and Jackie were the most elegant couple ever to grace the White House. When they dined at the hotel all heads turned, I must admit I was taken aback by their appearance. I almost blushed when The First Lady stared at me do adjust her near perfect hair.

Many presidents I have met through my years, my favorite was Jimmy Carter. The kindest and most sincere of all. To this day, and well into his nineties, he still gives his heart and soul to those in need. The Reagan years were a lot of funny, Hollywood moved in. John Wayne, Frank Sinatra, they all came to met and greet me.

Don’t get me wrong my tenure hasn’t been all dreary, I have made friends and there has been many joys I have shared. The countless married couples who have posed with is priceless. The fact that I can see sorrow, doesn’t mean I cant see happiness. Sadness always finds me, but I look for happiness constantly. One couple was married for 50 years. Nearing 80 years old, their reflection was awesome. The love for each other pierced through me like a bright ray from heaven. My fondest memory was when I first arrived at the hotel, it has been my fondest every since. A WW2 sailor and finance met before me just prior to his deployment. They vowed their love in front of me. The sailor swore he’d return and marry her. They set a date to meet again, June 1, after the war in my lobby. No matter where she was she would travel to Washington and patiently wait his return. The war ended and there was no word from the sailor, news travelled slow during the war, she never knew what happened to him. She would wait for a letter, hoping he was still alive. The couple of years passed and still no word. She would to DC every June as she promised. No one ever met her. Finally, in 1947 she received a letter from the US Navy stating he was alive , but a prisoner of war in a German Stalag. He had been seriously wounded and couldn’t get any communication to her. When he was released he was shipped to Oakland, California to a Veteran’s hospital for observation. The Navy’s communication where he was at was late in arriving. She stayed true to her vow.

The sailor was released and had no information where his fiancé was living. He travelled by bus one late day in May to DC. When he arrived on Memorial Day, a few days earlier then the planned date, he though she wouldn’t show up in the lobby. He had lost his leg and was wheel chair bound, barely able to use crutches he waited for days hoping to meet her again. He could not afford our fancy, expensive hotel, he sought lodging in a flea bag hotel several miles away. Over the next few days he would find his way back to our lobby. He’d sit in front of me and I saw his sorrow , same sorrow displayed by his girl when she was waiting. June 1 came, and he made camp in front of me. For some strange reason I didn’t see is sadness today, I saw joy! Just as he was began to wheel himself back to the flea bag, she walks in ! I have never and will never see such happiness in two people. Their love appeared in my eyes and I swear I began to cry. They radiated love! I stored their love in mind and think back over the years of all the sadness and love I had experienced. May their love be a reflection for all to share.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mc6v51Nq6Rghttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mc6v51Nq6Rg

If you are looking for a quick, easy sauce for pasta, here is my recipe for Puttanesca sauce. Originally, from the Campagna region of Italy. Literally, Puttanesca means “prostitute,” a fast sauce made in between Johns. From the 19th century bordellos of Naples rose this simple dish that has become popular in the United States.

As I mentioned I don’t follow recipes only time and temp of the protein.

Vermicelli pasta, or any “Spa’getti,” a long, thin pasta.

Cook pasta,drain always reserve a little pasta water to add in. Preferaby cooked Al Dente, “to the tooth,” in Italian.

Add: Roma tomatoes sliced, olive oil, red pepper flakes, anchovies, black olives, and garlic.

The original recipe has capers, [I use olives] chili peppers, [I use red pepper flakes.]

You can add any amount of these ingredients depending on personal preference.

My wine suggestion would be a light, crisp, dry white wine, Pinot Grigio. If you need a little sweetness, try a German Riesling, they are dry with a slight touch of sweetness. Apricot is one flavor, in Riesling, the stainless steel aging of these wines created the fresh, crispness.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0trHQUkUTUU

I could have been tech savvy years ago. I was living in San Mateo, California, near San Jose. I was managing restaurants and my neighbor was working in San Jose. He said to be, “ I got this great sales job and you would be great at it!” I asked what was the job, he replied, “selling chips.” Now I’m thinking chips that was a great job back in New York, if you can get a chip route it paid good money. So I ask, “Lays or Pringles?” He explained micro chips was the latest invention for computers. This was 1988, Silicon Valley was yet to be established. I miss the boat and I never ate potato chips again.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4dsbmKs07I

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARClE4zCUl8https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARClE4zCUl8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPMa4YgZWNQhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPMa4YgZWNQ

On a recent family gathering with my granddaughters, grandniece, and grandnephew and various cousins. Age from 3 to 10, my wife and I thought it would be cool to have them write a book. We came up with an elephant as the main character, then asked the children ten questions: color of your elephant, name, favorite food, etc. When compiled the answers, and this is what we came up with.

The Grapevine…

The last of the great generation.

Are the baby boomers the last of the great generation, perhaps? We were born after World War II. We all heard the stories of the war and the Great Depression. Our parents struggled, especially if they were children of immigrants like mine. They had nothing and gave us everything they didn’t have. How noble. They went from having nothing to giving us their all. I was content in a one-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village. There were five of us squeezed into barely 900 square feet of space. Living quarters were scarred after the war; all returning needed an apartment. My parents eventually moved into a 3-bedroom apartment in the 1960s. Others fled the city for the suburbs, giving us a better childhood.

That’s where it all started! I was spoiled with a basketball and baseball glove; I had it all! Growing up, we were all in the same boat, not having a lot of money. Our parents saved nickels and dimes for that down payment for a house—probably two grand for a twenty thousand dollar house. We watched and learned about the struggles; they stayed happy and taught us respect. Yes, sir; no, madam. They took us to church; we all dressed up for Easter, and we attended midnight mass on Christmas Eve. We traveled on holidays to see our grandparents.

That’s when we blew it! The eighties gave way to greed; corporations grew and grew. Finally, we had enough money for our kids, and we spoiled them. We started the problem that exists today; it is our fault. We were so focused on giving them a better childhood than us that we lost sight of the meaning of living. My wife and I have four children: a doctor, a teacher with a master’s, a Michelin chef, and a savant. We gave them all the tools they needed for a successful future. We thought we were doing the right thing. I love my grandkids very much; they have everything and more. How can a child possibly show appreciation when they have it all?

We shower them with love, affection, and lots of stuff. They forget, “Thank you; you’re welcome.” Respect is long gone. When a kid is bullied in school or cyberbullied, oh, give me a break and delete those unwanted messages. The bully and his prey are called into the principal’s office. “Bobby, you must not say those things to Jimmy; he is offended.” Offended, come on, when we went to school, you settled this stuff after the school bell rang. Outside, down and dirty, with fists blaring and noses bleeding. We coddled our children. I had two older sisters; sh*t, I was bullied right there; they told me I was adopted. When my first sister was born, my parents handled her like crystal. When the second sister was born, she was handled—maybe not like crystal but more like an expensive pair of glassware. By the time I was born, I could go outside and play in the streets at six years old. I played in vacant lots with tons of broken glass. I was on my own. I dodged cars and had strangers hold my hand to cross the street. “Have somebody cross the street with you,” my mother would yell from our fifth-floor window.

I wasn’t abused, but I was slapped for having a wise month by my parents. I needed only one slap to put my buttocks to keep me in order. I lived in constant fear: “Wait until your father comes home.” This scared the crap out of me, and looking back, my dad never hit me.

I realize it is ultimately the child’s responsibility to behave accordingly. You can have two children and spoil them identically, and they may have different results; one can be a spender and cry baby, and the other could be a minamilist.

I worked from the time I was fifteen, and my parents saved money for me. I was never much of a saver when I grew older, but I was taught to save for a rainy day. It was up to me to continue.

Family traditions: what happened there? Holiday meals with relatives—I know the younger generation is trying to establish their own traditions, duh. That’s not traditional. Why must everything be changed? Why? Because they are spoiled and bored. Our generation stopped a war by protesting at the colleges. They protest today because their feelings are hurt. Oh, please.

Wake up, or woke up! Spend more time with your kids; take them to the park. Limit time on devices. They made fun of us in the fifties when I had my plastic cowboy cap gun and holster. They said I would grow up and be violent. Now eight-year-olds are watching videos of mass military shootings, naked women, and who knows what else? Don’t get me wrong. I go to the gun range often and like naked women. I am an adult, so I’m told. I hope that my great-grandchildren, whom I will never know, come to realize that life is more than devices and possessions, so they can forge ahead and be the next great generation.

You heard it through the grapevine.

Every Memorial Day saddens me, not just because of the lives lost during our wars, also my father died on Memorial Day weekend. Is been 55 years since his passing. I mourn each year. Now think of all the family members who mourn their loved ones. I have a friend who posts a picture of her Uncle Patsy, who died in 1943 during World War Two. A relative she never knew who gave his life so we are able to have BBQ’s, camping trips, and picnics. Potential that will never be achieved follows all our lost soldiers. Some soldiers who returned are still battling their demons. Most of my proceeds from my book sales are donated to Wounded Warriors Program. Maybe instead of that extra case of beer over the weekend, make a donation to this program, or any other program that supports our soldiers. Remember they gave their lives for us, its not a joyous holiday. Enjoy your holiday BBQ’s and such, please remember the true meaning of the holiday. When having your first drink salute them for their sacrifice.

Florida the land of retirees, oranges and Mickey Mouse. For years Florida has been a safe haven for old folks. The weather is ideal once you get passed hurricanes and alligators. Every state requires acclimation. When I lived in the mountains the air was thinner so it took time to get acclimated. Water takes longer to boil. When I lived in the city everything moved fast. Florida you think moves slow, well let me inform you it doesn’t. Maybe back in the day, but lately the traffic is out of hand. The influx of norther people has changed the state. No longer grandma and grandpa, big corporation set up shop. During Co-Vid when we were isolated, working remotely seemed to be the answer. It’s true the weather is great in the south. But where is the south? The Mason Dixon Line actually borders Pennsylvania. I guess south Philly is really the south. Whereas Florida is really in the south, Key West being the southern most point of the USA. How about the Deep South? Alabama and Mississippi, you can’t get anymore south as far as culture. You know you’re in the south when you start saying, “Y’All.” The food is different, the music is also different. My big acclimation has been the bugs. Have you ever seen mosquitoes in Louisiana? They can swoop down and pick up a little dog. Being Italian and loaded with that wonderful aroma of garlic I thought I was immune. No way! Roaches as big as mice, you’ll always know when its humid, they suddenly appear everywhere. Rats, yep we got them too, fruit rats, sounds much nicer than sewer rats. Lizards are everywhere, they used to be a bright green color like the Geico lizard. Then black northern lizards moved in and ate the green guys, evolution? Housing prices have doubled in the past five years, gas and food are at an all time high. The cost of living is so high for us elderly that we see every mouth our savings dwindle. $500.000 for a shack, but it has location. I have been checking the prices of houses in Pennsylvania lately. Some Florida half million dollar shack is $250,000. Maybe I’ll trade in my suntan lotion for a snow shovel and retire up north.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jd5PfO4P6g4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cfu8nsPlglY

The Grapevine…

I have always liked reading weekly or daily columns by Earl Wilson, Herb Caen, Jimmy Breslin, etc. This will be the first of a weekly column, mostly about real estate-type businesses. Here are my two cents.

I heard that buying or selling a house right now is as difficult as putting a square peg in a round hole. All y’all know better than me. My wife and I have been working with a realtor in Tampa, Donna Davidson. Bless her Irish soul! She is great to work with. My wife and I found a house in Ocala, Florida, and called Donna with two other listings, all within ten minutes of each other. Donna was, at the time, visiting her sister on the opposite coast and said maybe if she called ahead to the listing realtor, that’s exactly what she did, and she spoke to Ortiz, who was handling one of the listings. Donna asked if he could possibly show the two others; his response was yes. ”We realtors have to stick together.” He was more than happy to do so and contacted my wife. They spoke briefly on the phone as I chimed in that I would give him $50 cash for his trouble. He agreed at 10 a.m. Friday morning, just before 10:30, the time we were leaving, to make the hour and a half drive to Ocala for a noon appointment. At ten minutes to twelve, he calls my wife—mind you, we are ten minutes away—and changes his mind. He now says he wants Donna’s 3% commission on the two other listings, and, get this, he wanted 6% on the house he was showing! He wanted me to screw my realtor broker and collect fifty bucks. Being the New York City boy as I am, I said, Well, you really don’t want to know, and I cursed at him like I was a drunken sailor who hasn’t been on shore leave for two years. We immediately made a u-turn and headed back to Tampa. I turned to my wife and said in my best mafia voice, “Now he’s got nothing.” I’m supposed to be buying from this guy and trusting him, and he’s screwing me even before we meet. I will only give you one chance to be trusted; if you fail, there is no second chance. He had a one-in-three chance of us buying his listing, plus he would have a crisp Grant in his pocket. Now he’s got nothing. Is this common? Also, while I’m at it, who determines the percentage rate for the realtor? Some realtors state 1.75% or 2%. What’s that all about?

Let’s get back to realtors: who do they work for? I am always confused about the buyer or the seller; they can’t sell a house without the owner, right? That’s where the cash is being generated. So they work for you, the owner. However, they play footies with the buyer, saying, “Don’t worry, we can get them down in price.” When my wife and I sold her previous house, we used. Nice people, so I thought they just wanted the listing. When we had a prospected buyer, I knew right away by the sidebar conversations that something was brewing and it was rotten. They asked me if they could have someone inspect the roof, and I agreed. The buyer brings one of his drinking buddies, wearing sneakers and a roofer. They ascended the ladder; they had no tools, had a little pow wow, and left without saying a word. People must think I’m a complete idiot; I am street smart! I have an IQ of 185 on the street! I look and sound like I came out of central casting for a mob movie. You are not pulling any wool over my eyes. Within minutes, our realtor, remembering the person working for me, calls and says in an excited voice, ”You need a new roof; the next strong wind will rip it right off!” I’m smiling and saying to myself, Are they for real? I responded to her, sort of like the drunken sailor, and told her to pick up her sign,For Sale,” which would be in the street. I pulled that sucker out of the ground as if it were a strong man’s cement or wood post and tossed them far in the street. They never came back for the sign, so I kept the 4×4 post and trashed the sign. So I ask again: who does your realtor really work for?

You heard it through the grapevine.

Veterans and Credit Diversity: The Importance of a Mixed Credit Portfolio

Welcome to Day 9 of our dedicated series aimed at empowering our nation’s veterans with comprehensive credit knowledge. Today, we venture into the realm of credit mix or credit diversity. As veterans embark on their civilian financial journeys, understanding the value of a diverse credit portfolio becomes a cornerstone of creditworthiness.

Unraveling Credit Diversity: More than Just Cards

A diversified credit portfolio refers to having various types of credit accounts, such as:

• Revolving Accounts: These are accounts like credit cards where you have a set limit, and you can borrow up to that limit as you wish.

• Installment Accounts: Loans with fixed payments over a specific period, like mortgages, auto loans, or student loans.

• Open Accounts: Accounts that require full payment every month, like some utility bills.

Why Does Credit Diversity Matter to Veterans?

Credit mix contributes to 10% of your FICO score. While it might not be the most significant factor, lenders like to see that you can handle different types of credit responsibly. For veterans, especially those who might be building or rebuilding credit post-service, diversifying credit sources can be a strategic move.

Strategies for Building a Diverse Credit Portfolio

• Start with What You Need: Don’t open credit lines just for the sake of diversity. Start with what’s necessary, like a credit card for daily expenses or an auto loan if you need transportation.

• Gradually Diversify: Over time, as your financial needs evolve, consider different types of credit. This could mean taking on a retail card, personal loan, or mortgage.

• Stay Informed: Some veterans benefits or programs offer favorable loan terms. Being informed can help you make credit decisions that not only diversify but also benefit your financial health.

Veterans’ Unique Position: Challenges and Opportunities

• Relocation and Home Purchases: Many veterans, post-service, consider purchasing homes. A mortgage can be a significant addition to a credit mix. Plus, VA loans offer some unique benefits for eligible veterans.

• Education and Training: Post-service, veterans might pursue further education or vocational training. Student loans, if managed well, can contribute positively to credit diversity.

• Starting Ventures: Veterans with entrepreneurial aspirations might consider business loans. This not only diversifies credit but also fuels economic ambitions.

Potential Pitfalls and How to Avoid Them

• Overextension: While diversifying credit is beneficial, overextending and failing to manage repayments can hurt your credit score.

• Unnecessary Inquiries: Each time you apply for new credit, a hard inquiry is made, which can lower your score. Be strategic and limit unnecessary applications.

• Ignoring Account Management: Simply having diverse accounts isn’t enough. Regularly review each one, ensure timely payments, and keep an eye on overall debt.

Closing Thoughts for Day 9: Diversity as a Strength

In the military, strength often stems from unity in diversity – different roles, skills, and backgrounds coming together for a shared purpose. Similarly, in the credit landscape, diversity can be a foundation of strength.

However, just as every role in the military requires diligence and responsibility, every credit account demands meticulous management. The goal isn’t merely to diversify but to manage that diversity adeptly.

As we conclude today’s exploration into credit mix, our mission remains steadfast: to guide our nation’s veterans toward a future where their credit portfolio is not just diverse but also robust and resilient.

Join us tomorrow as we delve deeper, equipping our veterans with the insights and strategies they need to thrive in their financial endeavors.