Читать книгу The Kid from the South Bronx Who Never Gave Up - John Giordano - Страница 8

My family used to take me to Florida on vacation and I loved it. I believe what drove me there were all the women, at least ten to one. This was my kind of odds. It was also the spirit of adventure and living on my own. I always liked challenges even though sometimes I was afraid of the outcomes. I was always a risk taker.

I only knew one person in Miami. He was a car hop, which is someone who parks cars. His name was George. When I told my parents I was moving out, my mother started crying and my father got angry. I expected these responses, but I was headstrong. I had saved up enough money to almost get a plane ticket. Going back in time I can remember the last time my mother and father got angry with me it was when I quit school at sixteen. Looking back at my high school experiences, I realize how impulsive I was in making snap decisions without thinking things through. When I was a freshman in high school, having jut started at DeWitt Clinton, I didn’t feel like I fit in. I always had felt like a loner and most of the students hung out in groups, but now with me.

One day I was eating on the senior side of the lunchroom when a senior came up to me and asked, “What are you doing on this side?”

“Eating my lunch,” I replied.

He threw my lunch on the floor, thinking he was intimidating me, but it was not so easy to do. I stood up and punched him in the face. He dropped like a sack of flour, so I jumped on him and beat him up. Little did I know, he was the leader of one of the gangs in the school. Talk about being fortunate; it just so happened that the rival gang saw what had happened and decided to take me under their wing which ended any further problems. I basically stayed by myself the rest of the year. I was really into martial arts at this point and I did not want to be part of any more gangs.

Then I transferred to St. Helena’s business school, a two-year school. I was there for six months. The kids in the school acted like children. Most of them were preppy-type kids, not my style. I did well in school without studying but the teachers treated us like children. I did not act like these kids, so I did not want to be treated like them. Some of my friends were as old as my teachers and I resented the way I was spoken to, so I quit. My teachers could not believe that I wanted to quit school as my grades were very good and besides, the teachers liked me. But it did not matter to me.

I wanted to work and make money so I could move to Florida. I became a bricklayer with my grandfather and uncle, but I hated it. I guess I really did not like to do labor, especially in the winter when it was really cold. I did not like the cold (another reason I wanted to move to Florida). Besides, I was very into my karate. My grandfather was the foreman and my uncle was the shop steward. When it got cold, the mortar would freeze and everybody had a go home, which meant they did not get paid. But if you were connected like me, you would work washing down the bricks and get paid for it. I did not care about the money, I just wanted to go home; I was freezing. But, my grandfather and uncle made me stay. I joined the bricklayer’s union Local 37 as an apprentice. I lasted about a year and a half, then I quit. This was not the life I wanted to lead. So, I quit, and I finally got the opportunity to go to Florida.

When I got to Florida, I moved in with George. George got me a job running cars with him. The problem was that I did not drive very well. I had grown up in the middle of the city and cars were not the main mode of transportation, so I did not have much experience. My first day on the job, I crashed a car and got fired. Meanwhile, I was teaching karate and making a few dollars, which was just enough to buy food and give George some money for rent. My mother and grandmother were sending me money which helped too. After a couple of months my driving began to improve, and I got another job at the Shelburne Hotel parking cars. On my first day they had a convention and everything would have been okay if only I knew how to drive stick shift, but I did not. I had cars backed up all the way down the street. My first car I jumped in was a stick shift and the car kept bucking. I could not get it out of first gear, so I got out of the car and left. I did not know what else to do. Unfortunately, I was the only one on the shift. What a terrible experience for me and the hotel. That was the last time I went for a job as a car hop. The Carillon Hotel allowed me to have classes at the hotel. My karate school was on the deck of the Carillon Hotel, teaching guests and locals. The only problem was that some of my students would come in high on pot. I did not do drugs, nor did I drink. I would exercise them until they dropped, warning them if they came to my class high again, I would really torture them. One of them said to me, “Why don’t you try smoking pot to see what it’s like?”

“I don’t need anything to get high with,” I told them. Then I started to wonder what it would be like getting high. I thought it must have a benefit, if my students keep getting high. Little did I realize, this thought would take me to hell, surrender my values, and lose my integrity. I almost lost my life, and much more.

Now I had a neighbor called Manny who dealt drugs. One day, Manny came over to the house and showed me a little vile of clear liquid. “What is it?” I asked.

“LSD,” he said.

I had heard about this drug before and it interested me. “Can I see it?” I asked. He handed over the little vial, I opened it, and dumped the entire contents into my mouth. I had heard of this drug and that it could expand a person’s mind. I was always interested in doing that. I was also very curious about the reason my students kept getting high, regardless of the consequences. I figured if I was going to do a drug, I might as well get the most out of it.

“Stop! Stop!” he screamed, but it was too late. His face was a mask of fear. “You just took in five hits of acid, man. That’s enough for five people.”

In about forty-five minutes I began to feel this strange feeling coming over me. Everything in the room started to change colors, became brighter, the walls begin to shimmer, and everything else took on a strange appearance. I felt as though I was out of my body. I looked at Manny and for some strange reason, he reminded me of a frog. I do not know why, but I told him I was going to kill him.

“Look at the dining room light,” he said quickly and pointed overhead. I looked up and my mind changed. Thank God Manny knew how to refocus me. This journey lasted for three days and nights. I thought it would never end. This was my first experience with drugs that started me down the road to hell. I tried pot next and it made me hungry. It also heightened all my senses. This I liked very much, especially when I was doing my karate forms.

In the meantime, I started to get more and more students. I met a couple of girls who were dancers in a strip joint and a couple of their friends who were hookers. The girls wanted to trade sex for karate classes. I thought this was a fair deal. A couple of the hookers wanted to teach me about sex; they were older and much wiser in this area than I was. Even though I thought I knew everything, I could not be more mistaken because these women were experts. They knew just what a woman liked from intercourse to oral sex.

As they became more proficient in karate, I became more proficient in sex. My students and my friends could not believe the deal I had, and to be perfectly honest, neither did I. Some of my students were the who’s who of Miami Beach. I taught Murph the Surf and Allen Kuhn, two famous jewel thieves who stole the Star of India. Allen and Murph taught me how to open a door with a credit card and where to hide things in the closet underneath the wooden shoe rack. Allen tried to teach me how to drive a stick shift. One day Allen was teaching me on Alton Road, and suddenly police surrounded us. They told us to get out of the car. They thought we were casing the houses, when they saw it was me, they asked what I was doing with Allen. Fortunately, the police officers were my students. “Do you know this guy’s story?” they asked.

“Yes,” I replied with a smile. “He’s one of my students and he’s teaching me how to drive a stick shift.” They looked at me funny. I said, “That’s the truth.”

They let us go and said to me that I should not be hanging around with this guy. I thanked them, and then we left.

While living at the Kent apartments, I met a lot of interesting people. Most of the locals that worked in the hotel have lived at the Kent apartments. Then, one day, I met a girl named Marilyn and fell in love. I guess I was young and foolish at the time. I had left New York and the girl I was engaged to, to find my way in the world and there I was with another woman. Marilyn was Jewish and her family wanted her to be with a Jewish man, but we did not care. Marilyn had to hide the fact that I was not Jewish until she could get the courage to tell them. We moved in together and whenever her relatives came down, I had to move out.

We were living together for about four months when I got a call from my father. He told me if I did not come home, he was coming down to get me. He said my mother was crying and he was going to beat my ass if I did not come home. I knew he really meant it. So, I told Marilyn I would be back in a few months as soon as I could sort things out at home. When I got home, all I could think about was Marilyn; she was the first girl I was loyal to.

I went back to work as a bricklayer and saved every penny I could, counting the moments and the days that I would return to Florida. I was home about a month and a half when I told my family that I was going back to Florida, but I did not have enough money yet. “I’m not giving you a dime,” my father said.

It just so happens that my Uncle Carly was at the house and gave me around $300 and told me to get the plane ticket. He told my mom and dad to let me go. I was so excited; I wanted to surprise Marilyn. I got off the plane and bought a bouquet of flowers. I could not wait to get to the apartment where we lived. I knocked on the door feeling a nervous rush of excitement. Marilyn opened the door and looked at me in shock.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m, um, with someone else,” she answered.

I felt the blood draining out of my whole body. “We talked every day while I was away. Why didn’t you tell me?” Then my anger turned into rage and I slammed the door shut. I was so devastated once again. I felt betrayed.

Then I heard the door behind me open; it was this beautiful girl Susan. She had heard the commotion and opened the door. When she saw me crying, she asked me to come in. I knew she liked me, but I did not pay any attention to her because I wanted to remain loyal to Marilyn. She started to console me as she was holding me; she looked into my eyes and then proceeded to kiss me. We made love all night but all I had on my mind was Marilyn.

Susan and I were seeing each other every day that week but all think about was beating this guy up for getting in between Marilyn and me. One day, Susan and I were making love and I was on top and when I was about to climax, I went to jump off, and Susan held me down, she said she wanted my baby. I pushed her away and jumped off, but it was too late. Two months later Susan told me she was pregnant; I could not believe it.

“I don’t want a baby now,” I said. “Not this way. I’ll pay for the abortion.”

She cried but she went to the doctor to get the abortion and I went with her. I felt terrible but I knew it was the right thing to do. This was so painful for her and for me, but I knew it had to be done. Meanwhile, Marilyn had broken up with this guy and wanted to get back with me, so I left Susan. I told her I was still in love with Marilyn and that I was sorry. I think she knew that anyway.

I do not know what it was about Marilyn, but I felt drawn to her. But, I never trusted her again. This moment in time kicked up all my old mistrust, my low self-esteem, and I felt maybe I was not going to be enough. Being an insecure kid, I followed Marilyn to the store or sometimes listened in on her phone calls. I became obsessed with trying to catch her cheating on me. Eventually this subsided somewhat, and I was back focusing on my karate.

By this time, I was given a little room at the Carillon Hotel. Some of the black belts in the area did not like a cocky, New York karate black belt. This is how my reputation started. When I first arrived in Florida, my instructor told me to see a chief instructor named Johnny, who was one of the top teachers in the South at this time. I went to visit him at City Hall where he taught in the lobby. I told him I was new in the area and I watched him fight in the same tournament that I was in. He was in the black belt division; I was in the brown belt division. He said he remembered me and asked me to join the class, so I put on my uniform, stretched, and sat down in class.

“Would you like to fight?” he asked.

“Yes, I would.” He pulled up a brown belt student to face me. “Can I fight a black belt instead?”

“No, fight him first.”

His name was Steve. He was a big strong weightlifter type. I was just a skinny kid but extraordinarily strong and fast. We bowed in and he came at me like an animal. I moved out of the way and threw a little kick at his head. This seemed to make him, even angrier as he then threw a sidekick at me and if I did not block it, he would probably have broken my ribs. I looked over at the chief instructor’s face and he had a smirk, so I smiled and continued to fight. Up until this time, I was doing my best to be polite, but that time was over. Steve came rushing in again and I hit him with a short back kick and picked him up off the ground and he landed on the floor unconscious. I turned around I bowed out to the chief teacher and said, “Thank you, but no thank you,” and left.

From that day on, I had black belts from all over the state coming to my school wanting to fight me, it became like the Wild West. I would kick their assess and send them back to their instructors. The southern boys did not like this cocky northern boy. I started to build a reputation. Meanwhile, my school moved to the surfside community center. I taught in the back by the pool area. One day, these two African Americans from Liberty City came to visit me. One of them was a Special Forces Ranger from Vietnam named Herby. He was a brown belt and said he wanted to train with me, but what he really wanted was to see how tough I was. I did not know at the time that Herby had been a gang leader back in Liberty City before he joined the military. Herby served in Vietnam in Tiger Kim’s division, which was an elite fighting force.

We bowed in and began to fight. He was strong but lacked technique; he had plenty of heart but that was not good enough. I just played with him and he knew the harder he tried, the less effective he became. We bowed out and he said he would like to train with me and learn how to punch and kick like me, so I accepted him and his friend, Tyrone, as students.

Herby had started a school in a teen center in Over town. He wanted me to come over there and teach. So, I said I would and I will never forget the first day I walked through the front door of the teen center. I was a skinny white kid with long hair and a mustache and in a karate uniform with no shoes on. As I walked into the center through the pool hall and the gym everybody stopped what they were doing and stared at me. They were probably trying to figure out what a white boy was doing in their turf. I then went into the back, where the school was. There were a few students in the class but Herby was not in yet. As far as I was concerned, it was like I was back in New York City, back in my old neighborhood.

As I stepped on the dojo floor, I heard this guy yelling at me from the entrance. “Hey white boy,” he said. “Do you think you can kick my ass?”

I looked right at him and smiled. His arms were as big as my thighs. I calmly said, “Yes. Please take off your shoes and come on the mat.”

As he walked on to the mat, he then came at me at tried to hit me with a punch. I side-stepped him and kicked him in the solar plexus. He then dropped like a sack of potatoes. While he was trying to catch his breath, Herby walked into the school. Herby looked at the guy and laughed. “I see you’ve met my teacher.”

“That’s your teacher?” the guy grunted. “I’m sorry. Can I join the class too?” Apparently, this guy knew who Herby was and respected him.

This was the beginning of my reputation in Liberty City and Over town. From time to time, more guys would come into the school to see how tough I really was. I would knock them out or drop them onto the floor, and then they would join the class. I would hit them with one hand and hug them with the other hand. These inner-city kids were just like me. All they wanted was to be a part of a family they could respect and trust and learn from. I felt like I was finally home. Now getting back to Marilyn and my early drug use.