I was a kid in the 1950’s. We lived with my mothers parents in their apartment. Sundays meant family dinners, aunts, uncles, cousins. After dinner my brother, my cousins and I would all go out to play. Sometimes we’d head to the Italian pastry shop for lemon ice. The men would play cards. I was fascinated by the way they shuffled the cards and the strategy of the games.
All my uncles and my father had fought in World Two. I heard stories about their experiences.
My mother told me about growing up during the depression, going to Yankee Stadium with my grandfather to see Joe Di Maggio play base ball, and our family history.
I loved those old gangster movies and radio shows. I’d watch the Friday night fights with my Uncle Willie and he’d tell me about the boxers. It was a great time to be a kid.
Years later I would become a professional Magician. I studied with the great Italian Master Slydini. I re-learned Neapolitan, the dialect I heard growing up.
I travel to Napoli each year to perform while speaking Neapolitan, which I love.
I want to remember how things used to be when the family was together. That’s what at the core of my detective stories, family.
Italian American’s have accomplished a lot and we’ve suffered a lot.
None of that should be forgotten.
I’d love to hear from you.