Last year I interviewed Ronaldo Brunet at StoryCorps’ Grand Central booth which has since closed. He seemed an easy choice for a first try at the burgeoning oral history organization’s booth which gives the public a convenient way to document individual stories. In talking to Ronaldo I hoped to continue a dialog I had heard many times during late nights in Soho. But when you formalize a conversation, there are certain walls and occasional hesistancy.
At the wake of my friend Greg’s father, Lisa and I talked about recording a conversation with our fathers before they, well…art in heaven and have their names hallowed. It was back in March where we eventually set a date for mid-August. A risky proposition perhaps, to bring our fathers together who had never met and were unclear what this interview idea was all about.
Lisa wanted to cover her father’s days prior to getting married, his time growing up on the lower east side and later joining the police force. Since my father recently retired, I thought I would talk exclusively about his long career at the Staten Island Advance, the daily newspaper. After riding the ferry in together, we took the R train to City Hall, walked to the Foley Square StoryCorps booth and made our interviews. Lisa and her father found their time passed very quickly. My father felt the same and that can only be a good thing when you interview someone. I’m glad I kept it specific to one area of his life. It shaked out to be more of an overview while realizing my job is to dig deeper where the stories emerge, the ones almost forgotten, to pry them from memory. We’ll have to pick it up again.
The five of us had dinner in Little Italy at Il Cortile, then trekked down on foot for the return ferry. Mario, 72, and Joe, 83, welcomed the early evening walk on a humid summer eve.
Mario, Joe, Lisa, and Joel get ready to disembark the Staten Island Ferry in downtown Manhattan.
Mario DiCrocco peers through the O of the StoryCorps window in Foley Square.
(Photo by Lisa Delsante)
Preeti had never been to Staten Island despite traveling to many remote places of the globe. The day was first overcast, then rainy. Altogether better than a sunny day, we both agreed. The downpour at the Chinese Garden in Snug Harbor assured a look with no other visitors. Sometimes the weather makes an unexpectedly perfect day.
On any day or evening at Fanelli’s in Soho, you’re likely to find a cross-section of Europeans curious to see what one of New York City’s oldest taverns is all about. It’s written up in most of the guide books; the old-world charm and simplicity of the space woos in a steady flow of regulars and tourists. The majority of Euro-visitors are either Brits, Italians, or Germans. A few years ago, a guy from Oxford sauntered in to have a beer and catch a glimpse of the Yankee game in the background. He knew baseball and music well and today I can call Chris a friend. We’ve seen a few concerts together during his travels to New York. It’s what makes Fanelli’s a worthwhile spot—you go there to talk, drink, and maybe eat. That’s about it.
I hadn’t been in for a visit in several months. Paolo sat next to me at the bar. I recognized the accent. I’m partial to Italians sometimes—the genuine ones, at least. It had been thirty years since Paolo last visited New York. A man of sixty now, and recently unattached with a son back home, he found two apartment shares on Craig’s List during his three-week visit—one in Williamsburg, the other somewhere uptown. With only three days of his vacation left, Paolo needed to buy a pickup for his banjo and the only place he could find it was at Mandolin Brothers, which happens to be about ten minutes from my apartment on Staten Island. Paolo plays guitar as well and can sing a bit too. In his hometown of Poggio Mirteto, just north of Rome, he also likes to paint and make photographs.
Paolo found his pickup at Mandolin Brothers, the world-renowned guitar shop in the small tan stucco building on Forest Avenue. The place always reminds me of the time George Harrison, after attending a lunch banquet nearby, made a visit there in ‘91. Within minutes, word had spread up and down the block, and soon, George Harrison got the hell out of Dodge.
I met Paolo at the corner of Victory and Forest, showed him Silver Lake Park, then spent time sifting through each other’s photos online, and talking music, notably his appreciation (and deftly-edited montage) of the accordionist Richard Galliano. We even improvised a little percussive noise together on the conga and djembe.
