Authors: Myles (Mickey) Golde
“For God’s sake we’re only kids, I thought I was doing the right thing for both of us. We needed more experience. I was afraid something bad would happen because we weren’t as careful as we shoulda’ been. It was time for us to take a breather. One of us had to be responsible. I told you that the day we broke up. You didn’t listen. All you kept saying is that you loved me. I know you love me and you know what, I love you, but I’m too young for this. And damn it, Shirley, you’ve ruined any feeling of love.”
“Victor, please don’t do this. I need you. No one will ever love you the way I do,” she pleaded through her tears.
“I will never trust you,” Vic said, putting the Ford in gear and beginning to drive slowly. Shirley cowered in the seat next to the door and when she put her hand on his shoulder, he pushed her away.
“I never want to speak to you again,” he said, pushing down on the accelerator.
When they reached her building, he parked and quickly walked around the car. “Get out,” he said, opening the door, “and leave my jacket.”
She looked up at him, then cast her eyes down, “I’m sorry,” she begged. “Please give me another chance.”
Reaching in, he grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her out, grabbing at the jacket as it slipped to the ground.
She moved slowly toward the building, hesitated and turned back, but he just gathered up his jacket and got back in the car. When she entered the hallway, he drove off.
He wondered why he didn’t feel better. Maybe he did love her. The shadows of the night surrounded him; while the sound of passing cars and the trees swaying above barely intruded on his mood. The heavy weight that had been on his chest had been lifted. Feeling a chill, he wrapped the brightly colored club jacket around him, hugging it close as he drove aimlessly around the neighborhood, sorting out his thoughts.
It was an hour before he finally made it home. The apartment was dark as he laid down on the studio couch, fully clothed, stared at the ceiling and finally drifted off into a restless sleep.
A week later at the YMCA on Irving Park, Eugene Field Park defeated Rogers Park and won the City Championship basketball tournament for boys fourteen and under. Victor Wayne starred in the game scoring eighteen points.
Three years later, on an unusually warm Tuesday in mid February, Vic on his way home from work decided to stop at Rudich’s ice cream parlor to see if anyone was around. The street and sidewalk were wet with melting snow piles left by the plows a few days earlier. His jacket unzipped and enjoying the break in the weather he started toward Central Park.
At Monticello, old man Korb, in a bulky knit sweater covered by a soiled white apron, was standing outside his delicatessen under the street light, smoking a cigarette. Vic waved; the old man grunted.
At Kaplan’s Bakery, he caught the rich aroma of baking sweets and further down, at Levinson’s Grocery, he was surprised the lights were still on. The store was closed, but there was Mr. Levinson, restocking a shelf. Vic knocked on the window and waved. The grisly gray haired old man looked up and waved, mouthing hello. Passing the shoemaker shop, he grinned, visualizing Gianni, pounding on a heel or burnishing a sole, and always having a lively comment about the weather or a joke which was impossible to understand because of his heavy Italian accent, and mumbling with nails in his mouth. The fish store was dark. The owner with his wife at his side, were arguing as he fumbled with the keys to lock up and she nagged him to hurry. Vic nodded to them, continuing on his way. Walking a bit slower, he caught the upbeat show tunes blasting out of the loudspeakers above the entrance of the fruit store and smiled, thinking since I’ve lived around her all my life, I guess I’m part of the flavor of the street too.
Stopping for a moment, he admired a large display of oranges and grapefruit piled high in crates blocking half the sidewalk. Bright flood lights over the fruit displayed in colorful arrangements in the large plate glass windows facing the street, made him think back to how bleak it had been four years earlier when the war was still on.
Humming Frankie Laine’s, “Ghost Riders in the Sky” as the lively music faded behind him, he continued walking; barely noticing the sounds of autos, street cars or loud and soft voices. Stepping aside, he almost bumped into the red and white striped barber pole in front of Sol’s to let an old woman pass. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, wearing a heavy coat with a dark babushka wrapped tightly on her head as she trudged along, pulling a rickety shopping cart. It brought back a memory of his brother’s comment, when he came back from the war. They had been walking in the same area when Frank suddenly stopped, touched Vic’s arm as he turned to look around saying, “I pictured this a thousand times when I was overseas. The people who lived here, the street and everything around here; it was like an extension of our family,” he’d said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
As Vic approached Rudich’s, the group on the corner was overflowing into the street.
“Hey, Vic,” said Ronnie Weiner, standing with his arm around Enid Goldman, a small, dark-haired girl with large breasts who had been Vic’s classmate since grade school. She chimed in, “What happened Vic, no girlfriend tonight?”
He shook hands with Ronnie and laughed, thrusting his hands upward. “I guess I’m just outa luck,Enid; you were already taken.”
Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked inside and didn’t spot any of his friends, but did see a very pretty girl with dark red hair that he had met at Montrose Beach the previous summer. He quickly remembered how her cute behind and perfectly shaped legs filled out her deep purple, two-piece bathing suit. He recalled being interested at the time. Across from her was an attractive, dark-haired girl he didn’t recognize.
Entering, he casually walked toward their table. The redhead smiled as he approached, catching her eye. “Hi,” she said,” you remember me, don’t you? Darlene Silverman, we met at the beach. This is my friend, Thelma Stone. Meet Victor Wayne.”
Grateful she mentioned her name, Vic smiled and started to say hello, when she interrupted. “C’mon, sit down,” she said, moving to make room. She looked even prettier than when he’d met her. Her shoulder length auburn hair framed a face with high cheekbones, a small straight nose and very dark brown eyes. Suddenly feeling shy, he hesitated.
“What are you doing here?” he managed to stutter. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before and one thing I do remember is all the cute girls that come to Rudich’s.”
Sitting next to her, he turned and caught a glimpse of her smile, which brightened as his gaze lingered. “By the way, thanks,” he whispered. “I liked the way you introduced yourself, I knew we met, but couldn’t remember your name.”
She responded with a soft giggle. “Tonight we had a club meeting down the street with all of our girlfriends from Roosevelt and Thelma and I figured we could find a ride home from here.”
One of the Rudich brothers interrupted, delivering the girl’s sundaes, saying “hi ladies, enjoy and what can I get you Vic?” He followed with a flourish of large napkin and expertly folding it over his arm.
“How bout a scoop of chocolate Morrie?”
“Coming up, pal,” he replied with an exaggerated bow.
Thelma spoke touching Vic’s arm, trying to get him to look at her “How about you? Can you give us a ride to Division Street? It won’t take long.”
Vic laughed, turning to Thelma. “What happened to ‘how are you?” and ‘what’s new? I just sat down and you’re already hitting me up for a ride home.”
Darlene grinned. “Don’t mind her. We’ll just hop a bus, it’s not so far.”
“I’ll tell you what,” he answered, looking back to her. “I live around the corner and if you walk me home, I think I can use my brother Frankie’s car to drive you.” Both girls smiled and quickly agreed.
Focusing on Darlene, he smiled, “Now, tell me more
about you
.”
“Oh, look, he’s got dimples,” Thelma laughed.
Darlene turned to see and smiled. Vic blushed.
The conversation quickly turned to Jewish Geography. A sort of, who do you know that I know, and before long they were talking like old friends.
“Didn’t you used to go out with Selma Fields?” Thelma wanted to know.
“No, I know her though, she’s an old friend,” he answered turning back to Darlene. Her lips curved upward at the corners as she listened to him field Thelma’s questions about other girls, but he kept turning the conversation back to Darlene.
She had been a year ahead in school, and after graduating from Roosevelt at the end of January, had gotten a job working as a secretary to the senior fundraiser for the United Fund in their downtown office. Vic leaned in closer and nodded, impressed that she seemed to be involved with so many companies and related charitable organizations after being there only a few weeks.
After listening for awhile, he laughed, saying, “Do you always bubble over with such enthusiasm, when you talk about your work or is it me?”
She looked at him, pursing her lips, trying to hold back a smile, “I guess I got a little excited about the job.”
“Hey, I liked it; it’s good to be excited about your work,” he countered as they started to leave.
Walking to the door, Vic said hello to a few guys and stopped to introduce Darlene and Thelma to two girls sitting in a booth near the door.
The three of them walked to the Wayne’s apartment, with Vic along the curb and Darlene next to him. The girls waited outside while Vic went in to ask if he could use the car.
He returned in a few minutes, smiling and holding up the keys.
Darlene jumped in the front seat of Frank’s old Ford, now repainted a lively shade of blue and sporting deep maroon patterned seat covers. Vic held the door for Thelma to get in back.
“Why don’t you drop Thelma off first? She lives near Division and California, then I can keep you company back to my place in Logan Square,” Darlene suggested.
“Sounds good to me,” he answered, liking that he would be able to talk with Darlene without Thelma butting in.
They dropped Thelma at her apartment near the entrance to Humboldt Park and headed up Kedzie to Darlene’s building on Dickens. He double parked in front and before saying good night, asked her to go out with him the next night to try pizza pie, the new Italian specialty. She quickly agreed, especially when he told her the restaurant that served it was on Fullerton and Kedzie, not far from where she lived.
Dickens Avenue was a straight, narrow, quiet street lined with small mounds of dirty snow and puddles of slushy water, brought on by the surprising February warm spell. The Silverman’s lived in one of the two large apartment buildings in the middle of the block. Surrounding them were small frame bungalows with tiny lawns and patches of bare bushes in no particular design. Darlene turned and waved as he waited for her to get inside.
The next evening he picked her up about seven. Instead of buzzing him up to the third floor, she came down when he rang the bell. Pulling away from the curb, the words tumbled out as they started talking about their families and friends. Darlene laughed at the cute stories he told about his sisters and he got a kick out of the way she talked about living in Logan Square and being one of the few Jews among all the Polish kids in her class at Funston Grade School. By the time they arrived at the small pizza parlor, Vic already knew he was going to want to ask her out again.
The strong aroma of garlic greeted them as they opened the door and settled into a low-backed booth. A short, heavyset woman, wearing a long white apron spattered with stains of red sauce, introduced herself as Rosa, the owner’s wife. In a heavy Italian accent, she explained all the pizza toppings. They decided on a small pie, half cheese and half sausage, after being advised it was the most popular. Waddling away, the woman shouted out the order to a dark-haired cook, who they assumed was her husband, in a white tee shirt and messy apron, working near the window.
Across from them in one of the other wooden booths were two older couples who looked Italian. Vic and Darlene watched them pick up the large, triangular slices in their hands, taking a bite and washing it down with red wine or beer.
“I guess that’s how you eat it,” Darlene chuckled. .
“Darlene look,” Vic said, motioning with his head, “He’s making our pizza.”
They watched, fascinated, as the cook rolled and pounded the dough and flipped it into the air to make a large round flat crust. Ladling a tomato sauce on it, he spread it evenly and topped it with cheese and sausage before placing it on a large paddle and sliding the pie it into a wide black oven.
Fingering the empty Chianti wine bottle with a candle centerpiece, Darlene twisted as she looked around, commenting, “this place is so cute. I love the red and white checked tablecloths and napkins.”
“Did you see the pictures of Rome and the one of the old couple near the entrance? I bet that’s their relatives from Italy.” Vic smiled. “And how ‘bout these colored glass chandeliers that look like they came from the old country?”
“You think, they’re really from Italy? The wine colored glass mixed with gold and antique looking crystal sure looks like they came from there,” she said studying the fixture over their table.
“Nah, they probably got ‘em at the flea market on Maxwell Street, “he grinned.
“Oh, you’re so cynical, they’re beautiful and I like them and I like the small tiles on the floor too. It’s funny, you don’t even notice this place from the street but once you’re inside, it looks like I imagine it would look if we were at a small cafe in Italy.”
When the pizza arrived, Rosa expertly cut it, putting a slice in front of each of them. He gingerly picked up his, balancing it on both hands, and yelped as he burned his tongue on the first bite. Darlene laughed and blew on hers before carefully trying a small taste.
“Oh is this good, I love it,” she gushed. “No wonder people are talking about this so much.”
“I’ve only had it once before, a few weeks ago, and loved it too; that’s why I wanted to come back,” he said, pleased that she
liked it
.