The Baby and the Don

It’s a Saturday morning, JP calls his daughter, my wife, to get our two-month-old daughter dressed because he had to do something important with her. “Dress her in something nice.”

         “What is it you want to do with the baby?” JP and his daughter have a curious relationship as they share several character flaws.

         “I got to take the baby to meet someone at Uncle Lou’s. Tell your husband to be outside with her in a half hour.”

         JP is no doting grandfather, but he is punctual. “Your car doesn’t have a baby car seat,” I say.

         “Just get in the back and hold her tight for Christ’s sake.”

Uncle Lou’s is a classic South Philly luncheonette, bright and clean, with a counter and window booths and Lou’s brother Mike working the cash register. Uncle Lou always wears a starched white sailor’s cap. Whether Lou was ever in the Navy or not is too direct a question to ask a guy like Lou, an edgy sort who rumor has it is an aficionado of the straight razor.

JP leads the way, nods at Lou and Mike, and heads toward the rear of the luncheonette. Two guys the size of SUVs rise to the occasion.

         “I’m here to see Mr. Bruno.”

         One SUV looks over at an older man seated in the last booth wearing glasses, brown suit and tie, drinking coffee, reading the Philadelphia Inquirer.

         He looks up and smiles, “Hey, is that you, Joe?”

         “It’s me, Mr. Bruno.” JP turns and takes the baby from my arms and walks over to Mr. Bruno.

         JP is not the nervous type, but his voice is shaking, “Don Bruno, this is my granddaughter, Candice. And like an Italian Kunta Kinte, JP hands my pink baby girl to Angelo Bruno, Mob Boss, Godfather of organized crime in Philadelphia and Atlantic City, also known as the Gentle Don for his preference to talk-first kill-second.

         JP’s connection to Bruno is thick as blood. Bruno and JP’s father, Anthony, came to America together, two young boys alone from a village in Sicily. Once here, the boys chose different paths: Anthony worked at the RCA Victor plant in Camden for 40 years; Bruno joined a different organization. They remained friends all their lives. Because of this bond, JP has been fire-proof his entire life.

         True to his name, Don Bruno is gentle with Candice. He tenderly places two one-dollar bills in her pants, “for luck. Facci bella. Beautiful. Is Joe a good grandpop?”

         “He loves her to death.”

         “You let me know if he doesn’t. Joe, thank you for introducing your grandchild to me. Your father would be proud. And your mother, she is good?”

         “Working at the dry-cleaning plant.”

         “She always works hard that one, give her my best,” and the Mafia Don hands the baby to JP and the interview is over. Outside JP passes the baby to me, “Some things you just gotta do, kid.”

         I tell my wife about Bruno, the SUV guys, the two bucks the Godfather stuck in the baby’s pants. My wife is changing her diaper, “Where’s the two bucks?”

         “What do you mean, I saw him give it to her. Then he handed Candice to your father and when we got outside, he gave her to me.”

         “So, where is the two bucks my daughter had in her diaper when my father was holding her?”

         “You don’t think JP…”

         “Either he pocketed the two bucks, or the Mob Boss faked you out. Did you bring me back anything from Uncle Lou’s? 

Two years later, the Gentle Don would get his head blown off one night parked in front of Uncle Lou’s. And that baby girl he may or may not have given two bucks for luck is a police sergeant. JP’s father’s old friend would get a kick out of that.