The White Knight's Blog

He died 3 days ago, 9/11/2016, and I cried. Why cry?

Men don’t cry! No not for a physical hurt, but they do when it’s a special loss! 

First of all, he called me yesterday three times, but I didn’t get the call properly. There was one call after another from that same number and I didn’t recognize the number. Besides, our cell phones don’t work very well at our home, as we’re on the island 3 miles off the east coast of Florida on Highway A1A, that must rely on cells from the mainland.

Later that same night, when I went to check my messages to see just who all thar were calling, thinking to myself, probably somebody selling something. I found it was Larry Perkey calling, a man I trusted and had become close to as a friend. It must have been important call, cause he doesn’t often call. So, first thing next morning, after 9 am,  I  called him on our line phone. A women picked up and I said “Oh I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number, I’m looking for Larry Perkey this is Sal Bianco,”. The women said no I had the correct number, and this is Larry’s wife. I said, oh good, Larry called me yesterday and I missed his call, as he tried 3 times. No, she said, it was me who called. She then shocked me as she said “Larry died yesterday”. I said “My God, No! What happened to him? She said that he had a major stroke to his brain and passed. I actually started to cry, and said to her that he was my friend and I loved him and the way we treated each other, being so different in many ways. She said that he loved me the same way and always said so to her. It was a great friendship that didn’t need always being together. Whenever Claire and I would be passing his town of Grottoes, Virginia, on our way south to get away from the cold months, I would stop to say hello and enjoy a few minutes talking to him. Now with this sad news, and  I would like to make him part of my blog and my life’s adventure, so he goes:

A note I wrote to his wife

Few people in my life have made a strong impression on me. Naturally, both my parents have, so much so I am who I am because of them. Accidentally, at mile marker 232 on I 81, I met Larry Perkey, he was there to tow me to a place to have the engine on my Motorhome rebuilt as it blew out at that spot. He was a man that was so very different than me, that we became, instant friends. He and his family, opened my mind to a very different way of life, in the two weeks it took for him to rebuild my engine. One evening after his workday was done, I got to go with him to a little old barn. When we entered the sounds blew my mind as I  listened to simple farmers playing Banjo’s , so much so, that I went out and bought one, and to this day, I look at it hanging on my wall and think of Larry. When I met Larry’s father, who was just like his son, he took me out into his field, and then introduced me to some cows with love, yes I saw the love he had for them and they for him! “COWS” One day I went to an local auction with Larry and watched how all his neighbors treated him with a respect I could not believe. All the while I thought I was a man who had conquered his world, but seeing this I realized he accomplished more. Here we were two men so very different, but becoming so close in a warmth of just being together. When I heard He died, I cried like a baby, and now as I write this my eyes are wet from a loss of a true friend. I’ll think of him more now than I did when he was among us, and keep him alive in my mind.

If I feel this way, I can only imagine how you, his wife must feel. Just remember every time you think of him, all the warm feelings you had, and will continue to have of him, just as I now feel in writing this. I know that if God is there, so is Larry.

Sal Bianco

Now-a-days when two men live together, they’re gay, but was Sherlock Homes and Doctor Watson Gay? So many men in the past had wonderful lives doing things together without it being sexual. My relationship with Larry was completely one of respect, each for one another.. He hearing of my exploits, yes, I’m a bragger, and me, by my seeing what others thought of him. For sure he is one I’ll be looking for when I jump to the other side, he’ll have already looked up my family there.

When I was young in the early 1940’s, A very large printing company was located on Mulberry St. and Houston St in Manhattan in NY State. The Logo of the company was a 30-foot statue of a jolly man with a top hat slanted on his head and waving a cane.

The name of the building was and still is “The Puck Building” the statue was designed to represent “Puck” of Shakespeare’s writings.

My friends and I would aiways go to the end of Mulberry street which was Houston St. just to see the world, cause our ended there. The world as we knew it ended and what happened out there was what we were not allowed to explore. looking up at tghe statue was like a dream cause we couldn’t understand how this big, big man stood there. It was only after growing up did I understand it’s meaning.

It was the street on it other side closer to our homes did we love and play in. it was always very dark, even in broad daylight everywhere else, but it had great hiding place for kick the can and Hide and seek! we called it “Jersey Alley” and our parents told us to never go into it, cause there were bad men there. They were referring to “The Bumbs” who would sleep anywhere they could and usually smelled very bad. if there were any, we just ignored them and played anyway. I was never worried cause these same bumbs would sleep in our building hallway when it rained or was cold in the winter. they got free meals in the church basement which was across the street from Jersey Alley

Me, and my World in the background, and I’m writing this blog to tell of my adventures in life, some funny, some serious, but all true! Please realize that in writing each adventure, its coming from my memory which sometimes recalls things from the past , but not in sequence, that I eventually remember. So, things will not be in timely order, but so what! Each is a separate event as I remember it, and it’s the content, not the time of the event that is important! Why not let me know what you think, as it will inspire me either to improve my writing skills, or remember more interesting events in my long, full and exciting life, with more experiences to follow as I reach into my eighties.

Oh by the way, you might be thinking why I said in the picture caption– “My world in the background”   when it shows only the horizon! Well, My world has always been beyond the horizon!!!

when I was 6 to 10, living on Mulberry Street

which one?

It started when the Viet Nam war was going strong and American men who left the USA to avoid the draft and wandered trying to live abroad.They claimed the war was wrong, so they just wouldn’t do there duty. However, to live abroad you needed to have a valid passport to travel, and so these same “WOL” young men, not being able to use their passport, knowing the US government would trace them and put them in prison tried to steal US passports in order to travel from place to place, or even travel back to America under a different name. A new business was started with crooked people stealing passports, and then selling them to these same young men.

This became a problem for American business travelers, because in many cases they were away from their hotel rooms just having dinner with customers, or local manufacturers. It just wasn’t smart to carry your passport with you at all times for just that reason, you were prone to being mugged, or worse. So, when I entered a country, I put my passport in a safe place in my room, and traveled with locals in each country I was in.

Thailand (SIAM) was a country with very lax laws and allowed these same young men to stay there, expecting them to spend American dollars while they remained. So, many locations in Bangkok catered to them while they had the money to do so. They couldn’t work to earn money, cause the local labor force was so cheap, they couldn’t compete.

On one trip, I brought my son Trey and he and I did my business together, and eventually travelling to a vacation city for a few days of fun. We were able to rent jet ski’s and run around with them, till I had to get back to business. Back to Bangkok to meet a manufacturer and to fly to my next country, usually Hong Kong. Some time while we did our thing, someone got into my room and stole my passport. It probably was a servant making money on the side, but no way for me to know. I complained to the manager who I knew pretty well, but he could nothing, knowing my passport was into the wind on a plane going back to America, or Canada.

So, I naturally went with Trey, who still has his passport, to the Local US consular office to tell them my problem and request a new passport. As we were entering the building we noticed a very, very large line going out into the street. Approaching the Guards at the entrance, I explained what had happened and want to enter to report my passport stolen and request a new one. They laughed as it wasn’t new to them, but they said I would have to wait on the long line. I laughed back at them and said look at my eyes and look at my son, do we look like locals. They said they couldn’t let me in and I said trey, show them your passport, which he did, and I said to trey “Am I your Father”? Naturally he laughed and said of course, we look alike, which we did. I then said This can’t be the first time you have heard of an Americans passport being stolen? With that I turned to Trey and we boldly walked into the building. he as an American and me as his father.

The problem was only just beginning, as we approached the desk, the person said I had to wait on that line. I looked at him and said listen, my passport was stolen and I need a new one, who do I speack to, or do I find a supervisor and start complaining as an American citizen who is being abused! Trey again showed his passport with his picture clearly on it, telling the man that I was his father and My passport was stolen. I was proud of the way Trey talked and finally the man sent us to another desk where we sat down told the whole story of why I was Bangkok, how we were staying at the ???? Hotel and how the manager could verify my many visits to Bangkok. I then said that I’m sure he knew of many of the same incidences happening all over the world, and could I please now get a new passport. You must remember in those days, the Internet and computers were in the future, so he said I had to fill out a long form, and I said whatever it will take, but I’m nor leaving here till I have my passport in hand. He realized I was not be played with, and knew trouble was in the wind, so He called over a Supervisor, and I met with him going through the story, but he was a man of action and knew he didn’t need bad press. Trey and I left both with passports!

The “Annual Burning” of Christmas trees on Mulberry St

It was when I was very young, and many, many years before and thereafter, our whole family always celebrated all our Christmas and New Year holidays together, as they did even before I was born. At the end of each year, the final get together would be at Grandpa and Grandma Bianco’s home on the third floor at 250 Mulberry St. in Manhattan, N. Y. and it was very exciting as the holidays wound down, but in those days’ holidays were for adults to enjoy, not for children, as it is today. It didn’t matter to kids because just being part of it and watching, was a wonder! Getting fruit and nuts was our Christmas presents, with maybe candy as a very special treat, if we were lucky.

At the intersection of Mulberry St and Prince St there was an empty lot which was directly across from St Patrick’s Old Cathedral’s red brick cemetery wall and diagonally across from our building. This lot seemed to belong to no one, as it was used for trash and was always littered. the local kids used it to play on but because it has broken glass and bricks, it was dangerous, so most parents would not allow their children to play on it.  At that intersection, there was held each year at the very moment of the New Year, a gigantic Christmas tree burning. It began early on that same morning, with all the people living in the neighborhood bringing their dead and dry Christmas trees, with most having tinsel on them, which was a very popular decoration at that time. Because all the trees came from Canada and were cut many weeks to over a month before Christmas, by the time New Year’s Eve arrived, they were extremely dry and dangerous. ((I would like to mention here how my father would travel to Canada in late November and have his friend there, prepare a railroad car of Christmas trees for him, then to send it to New Jersey where he had all his partner/friends pick their portion of trees up and bring to their home areas to sell. It was these same friends who helped sell his grapes and thereafter his wine.      So, each year the same people would wait for his call to pick their trees up at the railroad yards located on the Hudson River banks on the New Jersey side, and I would always go with him and help, but more for the fun of it, watching these men respect my father and what he did for them over the years.

So, every family in the neighborhood would bring their Christmas trees and leave them on the lot, with the pile growing and growing. On the morning of New Year’s Eve, a group of the local men would begin to bring the trees into the center of the intersection. never caring about traffic, as Mulberry street was no place to create a problem for the locals, especially from the police. The pile would grow higher and higher, because the men made certain that each tree put on the pile was perpendicular to the one under it to allow air to reach each tree at the same time as the flames grew. They seemed to be expert at it and probably were, as it was a major privilege to help on the this step. As they were doing this, many people were still bringing their trees, and before long the trees covered all four curbs of the intersection. So now the pile grew as the men kept throwing the trees higher and higher, as the day progressed, the pile was almost to a column.  As it became darker and darker, the crowd got larger and larger. Our family had a bird’s eye view of it all, as we all watched from the third-floor corner window of our building that was facing that intersection.

At the same time, another traditional experience was about to happen, as all the windows on the buildings facing the Mulberry Street side were opened in anticipation for the beginning of the New Year.  When it struck, from every window came flying out, last years garbage and at that very moment the fire was lit. and it was then that everyone could hear a gigantic “swoosh” sound and with it, a brightness that made it daylight for maybe four or five seconds. What followed was even more of a wonder, cause as the flames leaped into the sky, following right behind it was millions of bright star- like sparks floating up and up, and along with this was in one voice from all the people yelling through their open windows and garbage flying!… HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! At our house we had a special tradition, along with all the garbage all my uncles would pick up Uncle Tom, a very close friend of my grandfathers, and made ready to throw him out the window as well. Laughter would be wild and us kids would be screaming “Uncle TOM”… Uncle TOM”, and he laughing! Just then, everybody would grab a glass of red wine that was already poured to Salute in the New Year. No, not in Italian, as it was not allowed to be spoken in our family, as now we were Americans and English was what we yelled!!!                                                                                                         “HAPPY NEW YEAR”

BRAVE, BUT DUMB
One time while traveling in China with Mr Wong, my intermediary and interpreter, we left my hotel, a small dinky thing with rooms that were unbelieveable. Each room had open grill work near the ceiling of it’s sidewalls that opened to the rooms on either side, so you could actually hear the persons in their rooms talking and laughing. It was like sharing your room with them with high sounding Chinese conversations and laughter, but worst of all, was the smell of smoke from their chinese cigarettes that flowed through into my room like air conditioning. After years of travel in Asia, I was used to unbelievable things happening, especially in China, so, I accepted it and made sure to be out of the room as much as possible. Off we went, but not realizing that I would need my passport, I left it in my room for safe keeping, as once before my passport disappeared in Thailand. another story for another time!
Well, we traveled to our first manufacturer to check on a small order I had placed with them on my earlier visit two months before. Naturally, in those early years, China knew nothing about quality, so there was no quality control and the product was very poorly made, so I rejected it all, and proceeded to show them why. The manager, like all government run factories, was an pompous ex-high ranking soldier, saw what was wrong and promised to remake all and send new samples to my Hong Kong office for approval. Naturally I was frustrated and upset because I had promised the customer who had given me this order a prompt delivery. With this in mind, I was frustrated and my temper was raw, but we had a much bigger manufacturer to inspect, in a town in a different district from where we were ( after 45 years, I can’t remember the exact name of the town). At the time, I didn’t realize that when you traveled from one district to another you had to show your passport, or other papers before you could enter, as this was the way the central government kept control of all their people, keeping towns into districts to separate them from each other and keep them under control, by having comparatively small groups of people seperate. So after three hour a driving very slowly to go the forty miles to our next stop, I was even more frustrated as while on the road the people had the right of way and didn’t move from the road, so you had to travel at bike or walking speed, cars were new on the scene and didn’t count, it was one car trying to get by thousands of people on the road. When we finally arrived at the entrance to the city where our manufacturer was, there was a road block and we were all asked to get out of the Mercedes to be inspected. There was soldiers with machine guns at their chests standing across the road. Out we came and each of us were asked for our papers. When the officer in charge came to me, I said through Mr Wong, my interpreter, I had left my passport in my hotel. Naturally he couldn’t speak English and I could not speak Cantonese Chinese, so Mr Wong explained who I was, and I’m sure he said, to placate the officer, that I was a stupid American and didn’t know about the Law. The soldier shook his head and said to Wong that I could not go any further and must go back. Wong translated to me leaving out whatever was rude, saying the law was that you had to show legal papers to enter and leave from one district to another, and that we had to go back because of my not having papers. I asked him if he could go and he replied that all 3 of them in the car was allowed in. I then walked straight into the soldiers that was in the middle of the road and tried to brush past one, when he stuck the machine gun into my stomach. I looked him in the eye, head to head, and pointed to my round eyes and said “I’m an American and don’t need to follow Chinese rules”. It was a stalemate and the officer came over yelling at me, but I pushed through and dared them. Nothing happened, as the officer realized it would be a big mistake to stop or hurt an American,as it would turn major incident, so he told his men to stand down, and I went through with the car eventually following me. I won’t ever forget how really stupid I was, because as the years went by I saw things that went on in China that were unbelieveable: Men hanging from trees with a sign telling of what they had done, usually something very minor, but illegal, like selling rice over the government required price. WOW!!!
By the way, a little story about when China began building highways throughout the cities, connecting them all! It’s funny, but true on how things existed in China in the 70’s.
It’s called “The car wash” look for it. It’s coming as another White Knight Adventure.

What about The American Way? It was a Washing Machine Company, and one of the newest in business. A friend, Peter Virgilio, and I decided to go into business together. I was 21, and very self-confident and impressionable, especially since my father had 5 businesses going at that time, and I guess it rubbed off. So, although I never had worked on Washing machines, except for our own at home, I felt it would be great to try, especially since Peter who was a little older than me, had worked  for a washing machine company called Frigidaire, so between us, we figured we could handle anything that came along. We looked for a little store nearby that we could rent, and sure enough one was available across Mosholu Parkway on the main retail street called Rochambeau Ave. It was a good location as it was in a Jewish section who mainly lived in high rise apartment buildings, where residents had washing machines. So, we called our new little company “THE AMERICAN WAY WASHING MACHINE COMPANY.

As yet, dryers had not been invented and washing machines were simply a round tub on 4 legs having a wringer inside and on top edge was a swinging arm that rotated horizontally and in the arm was 2 revolving 12″ hard rubber rollers that squeezed out water as you placed the wet cloths just washed, through them. That was the total that the washing machine did, but it was a lot better than using what my mom used all her life, and that was a framed board that has ribs running horizontally across it. Where a women placed the wet cloths from the sink water onto it and rubbed them vertically onto the board till the dirt was forced out of them. Afterwards, the cloths were rinsed and rung by hand till most of the water was out of them. Then onto the cloths line out the back window to dry in the sun, that is, if you were lucky enough to have a large on open space for the sun to enter. Most building at that time were 10 to 20 feet apart and sunlight never really entered there. Actually, the higher up you were the better chances the cloths had to dry, especially since the cloths line from apartment above you, dripped leaking water from their drying cloths. So, the new washing machines were a big jump forward for women, yes, still needing cloths lines but less drying time.

 

Back to our new adventure! Now after we set up our shop  with the few tools we both had, and painted a big sign saying “The American Way Washing machine Co. placed it high above our store front window. I next painted a sign on the glass window telling we could repair any make washing machine and charge by the hour, I then found out that Peter could only fix machines he had learned how to fix on his last job, but could not manage any others. So, I was the fixer upper on those, which turned out to be most. However, it was fun to take them apart and learn as I worked, figuring out the how and why, each part worked. Once started, we managed to barely pay for the rent and electric bills, but heck we were still living at home and needed nothing more to live on. I now bought a 1947 -2 door Pontiac that had a perfect

a

trunk for carrying a machine, from Mr Brutto, my father and our families closest friend, so I could easily transport a machine back to our store and then figure out how to repair it. One of my first customers was a woman who lived on Belmont Ave in the Bronx and was the wife of the man who sold me my 1937 DeSoto. Tony (Cher’aze) Guerrero. He was a character and one to watch and learn, but his wife was charm herself, and her name was Carmella. She kind of knew that I was lost with her machine, but she patiently said for me not worry and take my time, I did and finally found the problem, which was that the machine needed a new water pump. I told her I’d return with a new one in a day or so. She said sit down and have a cup of coffee, and we talked. She was so different than Tony, and showed class in every way and but warm to talk to. At the time, I didn’t have any association with women other than my Mother and two sisters. She made me relax and I liked her for it. I came back the next day with a replacement pump, and  told her it was a used part we had in stock. I finished repairing the machine and it worked perfectly again. She asked me how much? I  said no charge as she was like family. She refused to accept it and said please you must charge me or else I won’t call you again if it breaks again.What could I do? I charged her $15.00 for both the part and my service. Boom! she paid it gladly and became my friend for life, as whenever we met at family get together’s, we would meet and chat happily.A few years later, My sister Elizabeth would marry Tony’s brother Dominick, who became a true brother to me, and the Love of our whole family.

Our business grew a little, but it wasn’t enough for two partners, so I told Peter that he could take over completely, as I was going to work for my families trucking company, and I did. Pete eventually closed the store and began driving a NYC taxi at night. We kept in touch and “hung” out with our other 205 St friends by going to dances in Yonkers, where I met Barbara Peters. Peter didn’t like her, and I couldn’t understand why, but much later after many years, I heard he was gay and wanted to keep our relationship. His close friend, Joe Ragusa, and he had a long and strong relationship from growing up together on Villa Ave, the main Italian section in the area. His reasons for our partnership may have been different than what I thought. Crazy thing was Joe Ragusa was a quasi-famous local strong man, I can remember seeing him at a local restaurant showing his strength, by having two men sitting on a table where he would get under it and raise it till it was over his head…Strong!!. Yes! that he thought he was god’s gift. One time he pulled a loaded garbage truck with his teeth and at another time held a man driving a mini motor cycle on a circular platform on his back and arms, as the man drove round and round.

I did go to work at Bianco Bros, and this was my second time, as I was there when I was 13, working along with my father and his brothers. Actually I learned to drive a truck at that time, as small as I was then, just under 5′. I’ve written some stories about working with two of my uncles, Joey, and Tony that were part of my loving to drive and being part of a wonderful family. At the younger age I would get up with my father at 3;00 am and he would have his coffee that he shared with me, It was a concoction that contain day old black coffee with a shot of Dewars scotch with very little sugar. After I drank a slug, It would hit me…POW!, but what good it did do was to keep me warm in the half hour drive to the 33rd St railroad yards (Now the sight of the New York Coliseum which will be closed). Once there, we would meet up with my Uncles, Al, Mickey, Joey, Tony, and two hired helpers. The routine never changed, as my father had a pair of wire cutters to snap the special Federally controlled seal put on when they closed the freight car. This seal my father kept to bring back to the wholesaler we were bringing the beef to, as it showed that the beef inside was according to the “Bill of Laden”. The door were swung open and a blast of freezing cold air would come shooting out into our faces.. in the summer it was great, but the winter…forget.about.it! Then the first truck was backed so that one side of the back portion was directly  in front of the opened door. at that side inside the truck were rails connected to the ceiling, that allowed rolling hooks to move along them easily with the load of 3 to 4 hundred pounds of beef. On the other side in the back were all the hooks necessary to fill the truck with beef. that would be hind quarters and Fore quarters. look inside for thr hooks we used.

 

Fore Quarter           Hind Quarter

 My Father the oldest, and in charge of all that went on, would stand along side of the rail end with an empty hook positioned to be able to hook the beef either a hind of Fore- quarter. Now came the hard part each brother would then grab at the quarter of beef and swing it on his shoulder. He would then come to my father who would place the hook into the beef, at the leg end for the hind, and in the center of the breast for the fore-quarter. it didn’t take long for me to learn and then do what each brother did. I learned that it was not the weight that counted, but how you handled the quarter. big muscles were not the key, but using your bone structure properly making them meet each other like a steel bar, to handle the weight. It usually took 3 trucks to empty one railroad car and sometimes we had 2 to unload, so it was just about 6 am when we would then drive to 14th St to the wholesaler. There each truck was backed into a place that had a railing that would meet the trucks railing. It was then an easy job to connect a special rail between the two and begin to simply roll all the beef onto it and into the cooler of the wholesaler. After finishing, was the fun part, as we all would come around a steel barrel that had a large fire going. flame and smoke would spew out along with fire bright sparks flying into the night sky. Now everyone was laughing, telling joke a stories, with my uncle Tony in the lead. He was the funniest and all would laugh, but what was best to watch my father as he would be there with a slightest smile that made every brother love him even more, not to mention my feelings. It was at this time I would become an acrobat, where I would take a roller hook, grab onto it and              “RIDE THE RAILS” with everyone watching and laughing. I would fly down the rails just  as the beef had done, with the men working there knowing to close certain switches allowing me to go from retailer to retailer. I’d do it a few times but always waiting till “They arrived”. who were “They”.. well it was the royal NYPD mounted police.. five of them. They came for the comradely, and our fresh coffee and donuts. they’d arrive and place the horses bridles onto the side view mirrors of out trucks. they did this every day and most of all on Fridays.. why you’d ask? For their share of all the meat that fell off the trucks as we delivered it. The brothers were not trough yet, as now each had a truck to load and deliver to the A&P warehouses to unload and come back thereafter finally ending their day at 3 to 4 o’clock. and again doing the same thing the next day and the next…

When I came back in my 20’s, I was now doing everything that my uncles did and then some, as I would take a second load after they as  were finished, with my father waiting for me so we both could go home to the Bronx. After a few years of this I made enough to buy a brand new Two-tone green Mercury Hard Top  for $3500, as my mom saved every penny I made till the day I needed it. At the time, I was going pretty steady with Barbra Peters, did so till we were married in May of 1957.

 

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