Did I ever tell you about the time that a man rang the bell where I was living on the Northside of Syracuse? There was an old car in the driveway that had been there for a time. The fellow said to me, “Whaddya want for the old car?” I told him that it was not for sale. Quite indignant, he turn and turned back to say, “Well, then, you should have a sign on it that says ‘Not for Sale.'” In truth, I had not thought of that one.
This was the same street where one of the neighbor ladies had struck and killed a child with her car. Each time she drove by everything would stop … children stopped playing, women stopped hanging laundry … men came up from under the hoods of cars … and they all yelled, in unison, “Murderer … murderer … murderer” until she passed by.
This was an old Italian neighborhood where all living things were named “Antony” …
There was an old fellow who walked his dog without a leash. The dog would invariably chase our cats up the front tree. I had a little Come to Jesus meeting with him of a day suggesting that should this happen again that his dog and I would be having a serious conversation. The next time he and the pooch came by, the cat flew up the tree and the dog sat under the tree barking. As I came out on the stoop, I heard this …”You Daddy’s badda boy … Daddy say no chasah da pussy cat upppa da tree … You Daddy’s badda boy.” I had all I could do to contain myself and exited back into the house. I think that Daddy said all that was necessary to the badda boy!