Victor came down with polio two weeks before he received notification that he'd been drafted. By the time he recovered, much of the war had been fought, but still, the call came for him to join, and nothing--not even his bout with polio--could keep him safely out of Uncle Sam's reach.
His luck would improve, however.
Following basic training in Texas, Vic was shipped up to New Jersey, whereupon he received further training in mechanical repair. From there, he flew to San Diego, where he was to board a flight to Pearl Harbor. He was to report to the USS Hancock, a mighty aircraft carrier fresh in for repair from its mission in the Pacific theater.
Victor was boarding the flight to Hawaii when word came of V-E day.
"We thought we were done," Vic told me one night over beers. "All the boys were looking around at each other wondering if we'd just get to go home." The war in Japan wouldn't allow it yet.
Vic never talked much about his time on the Hancock, except for a few stories about strange things he'd seen at sea. V-J day came not too long after he arrived in the Pacific, and Vic transferred to a destroyer vessel that took patrol in north Africa. He told me one day they were sailing up a river, passing by a primitive village, when all of the children came wading out into ankle-deep water, removed their pants, and started shouting, "Piss on you, Joe!"
As best as I can intuit, Vic fixed airplanes and preserved freedom as he did it. I don't think he had to man a machine gun and tear the Japanese from the sky before they bombarded him, but I do not know for sure.
The person to ask would be Lazarus, though.
Lazarus Bontifore is a blind black man. He was on the Hancock in Vietnam when a steam piston exploded, shooting boiling vapor into his eyes and sending him into the dark forever. Vic knew him from the VA and made friends with him to trade stories about the carrier they both served upon.
These days, Lazarus mostly sits down at Mary's Cafe. He's pretty overweight now, thanks to Mary's blueberry pie. His teeth are stained as black as his skin. I found him a few days ago and started asking about Vic.
"Mr. Sally," as Lazarus called him," never saw nobody die."
"How can you be sure?" I asked. "Lots of men don't talk about the war."
"Lots of men ain't seen nothin' to talk about," Lazarus said. "Mr. Sally was like a lot of folk, goin' about they business and shinin' up the place and keeping things runnin'. Nawsuh. He never saw nobody die."
"He did meet a woman in the war, though."
This perked my attention. As far as I had known, the young man Victor had only known one young woman, and that was Marilyn. And as my cliffhanger ending telling Marilyn's story clearly illustrates, Vic and Marilyn met in New York.
"Who?"
"Naw I don't remember her name. But Mr. Sally married her sure as I sit here eatin' pie."
I couldn't deny the man was eating pie. "Now wait a minute, Lazarus," I said. "What about Marilyn?"
"This girl was French," he replied. "She was a missionary or somethin' like that workin' up in noth Africa. Mr. Sally said she was fine lookin'. Met her in a town somewhere."
Lazarus grinned his wide, black-toothed grin. "Nawsuh, I reckon' Mr. Sally ain't told nobody but me about that."
I could tell he was proud of his knowledge, an upper hand of sorts. "But he married Marilyn," I said. "Did he never tell her he was divorced? Or even married to begin with?"
Victor's old friend laughed. "He didn't get no divorce!"
"What do you mean?"
"Wasn't really married to begin with."
"You just told me that he married this girl, Lazarus. He couldn't have been married to two women at the same time."
"Lawsah," he sighed. "Ain't no man cut out for that. Naw, Mr. Sally's woman never had the law bless the marriage. It was her daddy married 'em, out in the sticks of Africa. They might not've had a piece of paper to write they's married on."
"What happened to her?"
"What happened to him, more like it," he said. "To put it in a way, his ship sailed. They was only together a couple weeks."
"Why on earth marry the woman in the first place?" I wondered out loud.
"'Cause her old man found 'em in the sack! The only holy thing to do was to make it right in the eyes of God." He paused to let a good belly laugh echo across the cafe. "The old man didn't know he done married her to a GI, though. I reckon they's still a solid load of buckshot someways on that destroyer when her daddy tried to chase it down the river with a shotgun."
This is why I love knowing Lazarus. He's named that way, I should point out, because he came out of his mother as blue and black as his teeth are now--still born by all apparent signs, and according to the preacher who delivered him, unresponsive to the sharp slaps on his buttocks the nurse tried. Who knows what's true and what's not, but the story is that they'd wrapped him up and laid his dead body in his mother's arms when suddenly a bolt of lightning struck outside, its thunder roaring through the tin shack they lived in, and waking Lazarus from his slumber. He belted out a shrill cry. "And that Praychuh," Lazarus loves to say, "he says, 'Missus, this boy done raised up!'"
"Now Mr. Sally done told you about the lady he was lovin' on when he met Mrs. Sally, right?" Lazarus said to me. He didn't need to see to know my look of confusion.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Victor
Victor Salarino is and is not from Confluence.
Yes, it is indeed true that he was born in this town, but before he was even a year old, his mother and father, both Italian immigrants, and his three brothers fled their one room apartment below what is now Porter Park, and moved to New York City. There they reunited with Vic's mother's family. Mrs. Salarino, as Vic himself told me, was a strong woman. Mr. Salarino worked at a factory near the water, where he drove a lift truck for a dry goods company.
The family was poor, but they managed to survive. Vic's three older brothers helped around the house. Their mother often wished out loud that it was a shame her eldest wasn't a girl, because she could use the help.
Just before Vic started grade school, the family had saved enough money to try to strike out on their own again, so they moved back to Confluence. Our sleepy little town was in a bit of a boom at the time; lots of people were moving into the valley because there was plenty of work. Mr. Salarino went into business with another Italian who lived here (whose name I've never been able to discover), and together they imported grapes and made communion wine, which was one of the few kinds of alcohol still legal under prohibition.
Mrs. Salarino raised the boys, and when time allowed, she worked as a seamstress for the men's store downtown. The boys were always well dressed for mass.
In the summer of 1929, as Vic was finishing the first grade, Mr. Salarino announced he was taking a trip to Italy to visit family. He could not take the entire family, but he would take one son, the eldest, Michael.
The entire family went down to the train station to see them off. Vic told me he still remembers the steamer trunk his father took with him. More than anything, though, he remembers the jealousy of not being the one chosen to go with his father. "It's just two months," his mother told him. "He'll be back before you know it."
That October, the market crashed and the Depression began. A postcard came that fall from Italy, saying that they were waiting for things to get better before traveling overseas. Another card came at Christmas. Vic's father and brother were not coming back. With three boys and a disappeared market for tailoring, Mrs. Salarino packed up once more and went back to New York.
Life there wasn't much better. One of Vic's brothers was able to get a WPA job, which helped. They lived in a cramped apartment, which they shared with an aunt and uncle and their two children. Everyone contributed in one way or another, and when Vic turned twelve, his mother told him he needed to find a job and do his part.
Vic hadn't a clue what he ought to do as a school boy looking for work. Plenty of grown men, skilled workers, couldn't find a job. It was a terrible time.
His first job was delivering groceries from the store his uncle ran. It was the job that gave him the keys to explore one of the world's most incredible cities. Vic loved the trains, he loved exploring, and suddenly he had the license to indulge all of his curiosities.
One afternoon, he delivered groceries to the house of a well-to-do businessman who happened to be rushing out of the door just as Vic was knocking on it. "Where are you off to, sir?" he asked.
"Ebbets Field! I'm already late for the first pitch," the man said.
"What's Ebbets Field?"
Vic said the man looked at him incredulously. "Why, son, it's where the Dodgers play."
"Who are the Dodgers?"
The man grabbed his hand. "Come on. I'll show you."
Now, the humor in this story is that Vic knew the entire time who the Dodgers were and that they played at Ebbets Field. Still, the Salarino family didn't have the money to waste on baseball games, and although Vic had once seen the arched facade of the stadium from the street, he had never been inside to hear its roar.
The game was against Philadelphia, and the Dodgers won. It was like being in a gleaming palace, a place where regular life evaporated and all that was left was the beauty of baseball. The men wore ties; the cheers were guttural, the passion, real.
Vic noticed there were boys hustling peanuts and other concessions up and down the aisles. Suddenly it hit him: the boys' job was to go to the baseball park every day and sell peanuts--and, at the same time, they were able to see the greatest game played in the most amazing place. He snagged one of the boys walking up the aisle, and soon he was sitting in the office of Mr. Martin Jacobs, one of the Jacobs brothers who ran all of the food operations at the park. Vic negotiated his first job, which paid him ten cents for every game he worked.
He kept his job delivering groceries and arranged his schedule around baseball games. Still, he hid his new job from his mother, telling her that he was going off to play with some of the other boys in the neighborhood. He'd run down the street, three or four blocks down, and cut the corner to the train station, which he rode to the stadium.
Vic was great at selling peanuts. He still had a child's voice, but he had a knack for working his section hard and remembering customers. He'd learn their names and what they liked, and if they brought their sons to the game, he'd sometimes give them free cotton candy. Soon Mr. Jacobs put him in charge of the other boys. He was thirteen years old and already a manager.
The attack on Pearl Harbor sent a shock wave across the country. Both of Vic's brothers enlisted immediately. Vic was too young to be drafted, but he was determined to join up and fight in Europe.
His mother was beside herself with grief. She suspected her husband and son had joined the Italian army, and the idea of brothers fighting brothers tore her apart. Vic and his mother shared the apartment for an entire year. Mrs. Salarino spent mornings at the breakfast table in tears. Vic counted down the days until his birthday. Then, about two months before he would be able to join the army, Vic came down with polio.
It turns out it saved his life.
Yes, it is indeed true that he was born in this town, but before he was even a year old, his mother and father, both Italian immigrants, and his three brothers fled their one room apartment below what is now Porter Park, and moved to New York City. There they reunited with Vic's mother's family. Mrs. Salarino, as Vic himself told me, was a strong woman. Mr. Salarino worked at a factory near the water, where he drove a lift truck for a dry goods company.
The family was poor, but they managed to survive. Vic's three older brothers helped around the house. Their mother often wished out loud that it was a shame her eldest wasn't a girl, because she could use the help.
Just before Vic started grade school, the family had saved enough money to try to strike out on their own again, so they moved back to Confluence. Our sleepy little town was in a bit of a boom at the time; lots of people were moving into the valley because there was plenty of work. Mr. Salarino went into business with another Italian who lived here (whose name I've never been able to discover), and together they imported grapes and made communion wine, which was one of the few kinds of alcohol still legal under prohibition.
Mrs. Salarino raised the boys, and when time allowed, she worked as a seamstress for the men's store downtown. The boys were always well dressed for mass.
In the summer of 1929, as Vic was finishing the first grade, Mr. Salarino announced he was taking a trip to Italy to visit family. He could not take the entire family, but he would take one son, the eldest, Michael.
The entire family went down to the train station to see them off. Vic told me he still remembers the steamer trunk his father took with him. More than anything, though, he remembers the jealousy of not being the one chosen to go with his father. "It's just two months," his mother told him. "He'll be back before you know it."
That October, the market crashed and the Depression began. A postcard came that fall from Italy, saying that they were waiting for things to get better before traveling overseas. Another card came at Christmas. Vic's father and brother were not coming back. With three boys and a disappeared market for tailoring, Mrs. Salarino packed up once more and went back to New York.
Life there wasn't much better. One of Vic's brothers was able to get a WPA job, which helped. They lived in a cramped apartment, which they shared with an aunt and uncle and their two children. Everyone contributed in one way or another, and when Vic turned twelve, his mother told him he needed to find a job and do his part.
Vic hadn't a clue what he ought to do as a school boy looking for work. Plenty of grown men, skilled workers, couldn't find a job. It was a terrible time.
His first job was delivering groceries from the store his uncle ran. It was the job that gave him the keys to explore one of the world's most incredible cities. Vic loved the trains, he loved exploring, and suddenly he had the license to indulge all of his curiosities.
One afternoon, he delivered groceries to the house of a well-to-do businessman who happened to be rushing out of the door just as Vic was knocking on it. "Where are you off to, sir?" he asked.
"Ebbets Field! I'm already late for the first pitch," the man said.
"What's Ebbets Field?"
Vic said the man looked at him incredulously. "Why, son, it's where the Dodgers play."
"Who are the Dodgers?"
The man grabbed his hand. "Come on. I'll show you."
Now, the humor in this story is that Vic knew the entire time who the Dodgers were and that they played at Ebbets Field. Still, the Salarino family didn't have the money to waste on baseball games, and although Vic had once seen the arched facade of the stadium from the street, he had never been inside to hear its roar.
The game was against Philadelphia, and the Dodgers won. It was like being in a gleaming palace, a place where regular life evaporated and all that was left was the beauty of baseball. The men wore ties; the cheers were guttural, the passion, real.
Vic noticed there were boys hustling peanuts and other concessions up and down the aisles. Suddenly it hit him: the boys' job was to go to the baseball park every day and sell peanuts--and, at the same time, they were able to see the greatest game played in the most amazing place. He snagged one of the boys walking up the aisle, and soon he was sitting in the office of Mr. Martin Jacobs, one of the Jacobs brothers who ran all of the food operations at the park. Vic negotiated his first job, which paid him ten cents for every game he worked.
He kept his job delivering groceries and arranged his schedule around baseball games. Still, he hid his new job from his mother, telling her that he was going off to play with some of the other boys in the neighborhood. He'd run down the street, three or four blocks down, and cut the corner to the train station, which he rode to the stadium.
Vic was great at selling peanuts. He still had a child's voice, but he had a knack for working his section hard and remembering customers. He'd learn their names and what they liked, and if they brought their sons to the game, he'd sometimes give them free cotton candy. Soon Mr. Jacobs put him in charge of the other boys. He was thirteen years old and already a manager.
The attack on Pearl Harbor sent a shock wave across the country. Both of Vic's brothers enlisted immediately. Vic was too young to be drafted, but he was determined to join up and fight in Europe.
His mother was beside herself with grief. She suspected her husband and son had joined the Italian army, and the idea of brothers fighting brothers tore her apart. Vic and his mother shared the apartment for an entire year. Mrs. Salarino spent mornings at the breakfast table in tears. Vic counted down the days until his birthday. Then, about two months before he would be able to join the army, Vic came down with polio.
It turns out it saved his life.
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