“My Way” – Frank Sinatra
Noon on Saturday came way too early for Alfonso who had to get up and get ready to go with Frank to his parents’ house in nearby Aurora, a Cleveland suburb. The others who had gone to the Fifth Quarter Friday night had no such pressing social engagement to be concerned about. They had all taken their turns on a similar trip. A couple of times each quarter, Frank would invite one of his brothers home to meet his parents and to take a colorful break from the campus life.
Alfonso had been a high school exchange student from Caracas, Venezuela who had enjoyed going to school in the U.S. so much that he had arranged a study visa for college. For whatever reasons, he had chosen Kent State. He had been born in Cuba, but his parents had grown increasingly concerned about the inroads being made by the Communist party after Batista staged a coup in 1952 and seized power. They lived under Batista for a few months, then sensing the impending oppression of his dictatorship, they had fled the island and immigrated to Venezuela. Since 1959, Venezuela had been one of the most stable democracies in Latin America and they had been able to make a good life for themselves there. His parents were able to provide Alfonso with financial support. But his fraternity life was important to his happiness and well-being. It would be another three months before he got his annual trip home over the holidays so this weekend with Frank was a welcome opportunity to have some “family” time.
Frank Pucci’s heritage was a little confusing between the rumors around the Cleveland area and Frank’s own stories of life on the “Pucci compound” as he called it. Every fall when Frank showed up on campus with his new Mustang, he told everyone that his old one had gotten dirty or that the ashtray was full. He was always dressed in the latest fads in clothes and few at Kent wore jewelry like Frank did. The standard fraternity pin had options for twelve diamonds around the perimeter. Everyone knew the “diamonds” inset in the garden variety pins wouldn’t cut glass. On the other hand, Frank’s pin sparkled with twelve real blue white diamonds. The prior spring quarter Frank had gotten real serious about a girl named Connie, and to demonstrate his love, he had given her his lavaliere which is a set of two pens with the fraternity’s Greek letters connected by a thin gold chain. True to Frank’s taste and status in life, the fraternity’s Greek letters were formed from diamond chips and the chain was 24 karat gold. Just months later when she caught him with her roommate and broke off the relationship, Frank hadn’t even asked for the lavaliere back, saying “it’s only money.”
Frank’s father had the reputation of being connected to the Cleveland mob. He owned a highly successful fruit and vegetable distributorship that served every major institution and school system in northern Ohio. The business had started with a single push cart on the streets of downtown Cleveland outside the Central Market on East 4th St. in 1938. During the war years and anytime thereafter, even when everyone else had shortages, Pucci’s cart always had fresh fruits and vegetables available.
Alfonso stumbled down the back stairway to the kitchen of the fraternity house and set his small suitcase down near the door. Mom walked out of her room, purse over her arm, turned and locked her door before she saw him.
“Hello, Alfonso.” She noticed the suitcase. “Where are you off to?”
“Frank has invited me to his parent’s house for the rest of the weekend.” he said with excitement. “What about you?”
“We have the house mother’s annual president’s tea this afternoon at President White’s house.”
“President of the University?”
“Why yes. He’s been doing this as a way of getting to know the Greek world better. We have fun, but I’m not sure how much he enjoys it.” She smiled. “Are you going to his parents’ house or the lake house?”
“I thought he said his parents’ house. He has a lake house, too?”
“I heard they usually go to their lake house on the weekends to get out of the city.”
There was the sound of a car horn from the parking lot as a yellow cab pulled to a stop.
“That’s my ride. Have a fun time, Alfonso.”
He held the screen door open for her as she exited. “Thank you. And you, too, have a good tea.” He watched as she walked to the cab and got in.
Frank’s black Mustang came racing into the rear lot from the one-lane driveway, causing the cab driver to stop suddenly and wait before he could leave.
Alfonso picked up his suitcase and walked out to the Mustang while Frank jumped out and opened the trunk.
“There’s not really a back seat to these things,” Frank observed as Alfonso placed his suitcase in the trunk. “Let’s beat it.”
“Beat it?” Alfonso asked.
“Hit the road. Leave.”
“Ahh . . . yes, let’s beat it, now.”
They climbed into the car. As rapidly as he had arrived, Frank navigated the driveway and turned left to head east on Route 59. Destination Aurora.
“Mom said we’re going to your lake house?” Alfonso asked as he settled into the bucket seat for the ride north.
“Yeah. The family goes there every weekend unless we’re snowed in. The snow on the east side is pretty bad.”
“I found that out in high school. My senior year with the Morrison’s in Chardon, I stayed home about two weeks because of the snow,” Alfonso recalled. “I loved it. I had never been around snow.”
“Same side of town. My dad grew up on the west side of Cleveland and opened his business downtown. Now you’ve got Cleveland history class credits for your resume,” Frank joked.
The time passed quickly as WHLO AM 640 blasted non-stop Top 40’s hits. It was almost dusk when the Mustang pulled off the highway, through open ten-foot tall wrought iron gates and onto a driveway like Alfonso had never seen. It snaked back through dense underbrush and trees before it opened up into a large clearing that was covered with a manicured lawn. The driveway formed a large circle in front of a huge two story house. Off to the left was a large lake protected by willow trees that drooped their graceful limbs down to touch the water. Six almost identical black Cadillac Coupe Devilles were parked along the circular drive.
“Does your father own a car dealership?” Alfonso asked, slightly in awe.
“No, he hosts a monthly poker party. He wasn’t supposed to have the boys over tonight, but maybe his plans changed. That’s cool.” Frank drove the car around to the side of the house and punched the button to open the garage door nearest the front of the house. Incredibly, the floor was covered with white carpeting. Frank drove his car into the garage space and punched the door button to close it behind him. “Let’s go. Leave your suitcase; we’ll get it later.”
“You have white carpet in your garage?” Alfonso asked in amazement as he stared at the floor and leaned down to see if any oil had dripped on it.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Frank asked matter-of-factly. Frank studied Alfonso’s reaction and laughed at his wide-open mouth. “Actually, my Dad usually has one of his antique cars in here, so I thought I’d just bug him. He probably won’t see it before we leave Sunday. Great story though.”
Frank led Alfonso into the house through a door that entered directly into the kitchen which smelled like they were walking through Cleveland’s Little Italy on a warm summer night. On the large kitchen island was a massive spread of salads, breads, pasta, desserts and a dozen different bottles of red and white wine. A small woman, her dark hair neatly pinned into a bun on the top of her head and wearing a black blouse and skirt with black shoes stood preparing vegetables over the sink. She heard them come in and turned. Her eyes lit up as she dropped her peeler and carrots and ran over to Frank, arms opened wide.
“Frankie . . . it’s so good to see you.” She reached up, grabbed him and hugged him tightly.
“Mrs. Pucci, I take it?” Alfonso stood there, sure of his assumption.
“Her? Please,” Frank chided him. “This is Rose, and she’s more important to this family than my mother. She is the housekeeper and most importantly, the cook.” Frank hugged her again and smiled. “I haven’t gotten home for a couple of weeks. This is Alfonso, one of my fraternity brothers . . . another mouth to feed.”
Rose stepped over in front of Alfonso and motioned to have him lean down to give her a hug, which Alfonso did willingly. “I feed you all the things Frankie likes when he’s home,” she promised. “I put some meat on your bones.”
“Meat on my bones?” Alfonso echoed.
“Yes, add some weight. You are handsome boy like my Frankie, but too thin.”
Alfonso smiled. “That’s very kind of you Rose. Whatever he eats, I eat. Nothing special please.”
“Have they been playing long?” Frank asked Rose as he glanced at the kitchen clock on the wall. “I know how mad he gets when I interrupt the game.”
“I think the game hasn’t started yet. They are just shooting the bull,” Rose said as if unsure about the terminology.
“Cool. I wanted to duck in and say hello. Come on in with me.” Frank motioned for Alfonso to follow him.
Frank walked to the double doors, grabbed both door knobs and threw open both doors at once as he walked into the game room. Alfonso lagged behind.
“Father!” Frank raised his arms and spread them wide.
“Frank! Do you know how to enter a room?” his dad asked as he looked around the room for reinforcement from his poker buddies. “You boys know Frank. Who’s your friend?” Frank’s dad stood to introduce himself. “I’m Dominic.” He shook Alfonso’s hand, then walked over to the bar.
“This is Alfonso, one of my fraternity brothers. He was born in Cuba!” Frank announced, knowing that would get a rise out of his dad’s friends.
“Cuba? Did your parents ever go to the Copa?” one of the men sitting at the poker table with a cigar and beer in his left hand asked.
“No sir . . . I don’t think so. I was only four years old when they left for Venezuela,” Alfonso answered in his usual broken English.
“Does he look like he’s old enough to know about the good days in Havana?” Dominic scoffed. “What are you guys up to?”
“Don’t know. We may drive into Cleveland. We’ll see,” Frank answered with very non-specific specifics.
“Watch the cops on the Turnpike. They’re looking for troublemakers like you two. No one here can bail you out,” Dominic kidded as all his friends nodded and laughed nervously but in agreement.
“Yes sir. See you guys later and watch out for my dad. He cheats at cards.”
“Like we didn’t already know that!” one of the men stated.
“That’s why I give you expensive Scotch,” Dominic declared as he set a flask and five glasses on the table. “So you won’t care that I always win.”
Frank nudged Alfonso with his elbow. “Time to leave.” They departed quickly through the double doors and closed them behind them.
“Let’s hang out in the pool room. You up for 8 Ball?” Frank asked.
“Bola ocho? Absolutely. How about a buck a game?” Alfonso suggested.
“Competition! Rose, a bottle of rum and some colas in the pool room, please.”
“Right away Frankie,” she answered as she walked briskly to the pantry. The bar in the game room was too small to keep the inventory of booze, wine and mix needed for the social calendar at the Pucci lake house. “Be there in a minute.”
The bottle of Don Q Añejo Puerto Rican rum was mostly gone and the heavy cigar smoke from the Habanos SA-made Montecristo cigars lingered in the room in spite of the fact that the wall of French doors on the pool side of the house that also overlooked the lake was wide open.
“Frank, your family knows how to live,” Alfonso said as he sat down on the side chair by the pool table. “I’ve never been around such money.”
“It’s not too bad. Just wish it was warm enough to have the pool open and some girls here tonight . . . and tomorrow morning,” Frank lamented as he sat down next to Alfonso.
“You are majoring in broadcasting, aren’t you?”
“Graduate next May. Why do you ask?”
“Can a job as a DJ pay for all this?” Alfonso asked as he studied Frank’s face for an answer.
“Not as a DJ, but maybe if I get a job as an anchorman or a TV reporter. I still haven’t figured out exactly what to do with my degree when I’m done.” Frank looked around the large elegantly appointed pool room and thought for a minute. “My dad never pushed me to do anything. He just figured I would get all this education stuff out of my system, and one day I’d show up at his warehouse and follow him around and learn what he knows, I guess.”
“You still could.” Alfonso tried to encourage him.
“You saw those men upstairs with all those new Cadillacs out front . . . you know what they are, don’t you?” Frank asked more as a rhetorical question.
“No . . . I mean I read books growing up about what went on before Castro took over, and we had to leave. There were stories about men that looked like that,” Alfonso quipped, then suddenly became very serious. “You mean . . .?”
“Bingo, Amigo. Bingo.” Frank got up from the chair and strolled onto the pool deck and looked out over the lake behind the house. Alfonso followed him to the pool. “Alfonso, my friend,” he said in a low voice so as not to be overheard on the balcony above him. “I’m fucked. I don’t actually have a plan to keep me in the lifestyle I’m accustomed to . . . like this.” He waved his arm around and behind him. “I don’t have the lifelong connections built the way he does, and that’s what made his business successful. They don’t teach that in the business administration building at Kent.”
“Your father loves you. He would probably be willing to pay for a few more years of school. Right?” Alfonso asked.
“Yeah, but would a few more years really help?” Frank shook his head. “I just don’t want to go into the fruit business. I love my dad, but I don’t want to end up like him.”