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The truck driver from Whitestone had
one more clothing delivery before
his weekend officially began.
Seven bolts of silk and linen
—each weighing about fifty pounds—
were destined for a custom tailor.
The tailor's name was Svachini Sartoria
and his shop was on Minetta Lane
in Greenwich Village.
Svachini Sartoria shared a parking lot
with Allan Block and was wearing
a white smock when he met the driver
of a 1971 Ford Econoline Van.
The truck driver from Whitestone
—fatigued from a sixty-hour work week—
successfully parked his "truck"
alongside two 1976 Volvos
and a custom painted dumpster.
Unlike three days of this week,
the sweltering summer heat
in Manhattan peaked
below100˚
It was 98 degrees Fahrenheit
After presenting the bill of lading
to Mr. Sartoria, the driver
from Quicksilver Messenger Service
mentioned that his grandfather
had been a custom tailor.
QMS was an eight vehicle operation
based in a garage on 10th Avenue
and W.54th Street
The Ford van was the only vehicle
small enough to not require
commercial license plates.
The Ford van was the only
owner-operated vehicle
in the service of QMS.
The driver's name was Paul
and, on this mid-summer Friday afternoon,
he sweated from head-to-toe.
Mr. Sartoria, though not sartorially splendid
in his white smock, was sweat-free
and totally disinterested in Paul's
family reference.
But when Paul mentioned
his grandfather's name,
Sartoria reacted with suspicion.
"Where wasa his shop?"
"On Fifth Avenue, in the mid-fifties."
"Where did he live?"
"On White Plains Road, in the Bronx."
"Oh my God! Oh my God!
Oh mio dio! Oh mio dio!"
"Is something wrong, sir?"
"No, abasolutely not:
Joe Anastasio was my mentor.
Are you his middle grandchild?"
"Yes, sir. The third of five."
"Your mother was Grace
with the green eyes?"
"Hazel, actually."
"You were the only grandchild
Giuseppe never had a picture of."
"Cameras frightened me, Mr. Sartoria."
"He never told me your name
but referred to you as
uno speciale."
"The special one.
My cousins and sisters
called me Speck."
"What wasa so special abouta you?"
"I hardly ever talked as a child
but did a lot of staring into space.
I wanted to be a priest
because when my Father's brother
became a priest, his family gave him
a new car.
"I thought I'd become a monk
and get a free Mercedes-Benz."
"Giuseppe never did he own a car.
I wasa also his chauffeur."
"So was my Father and my Uncles.
I probably would also
have been his chauffeur
if he hadn't died before
I got my license."
At this point of their conversation,
Paul said no to a glass of wine
because he still had to drive up
to mid-town and across
the Queensboro Bridge
and then some...
He drank Pepsi
while Mr. Sartoria
drank Chianti.
After the second Chianti,
the mentee referred to the mentor
by his Americanized name
and lost all trace of his
Italian accent.
"Joe Anastasio also called you
his lap boy. Why?"
"Because I was one who sat
on his lap after Sunday dinners
and listened to whatever he had to say."
"And what did he say."
"If anyone else was within
hearing distance, he would talk
about Abe Lincoln, his favorite President."
"And if no one else could hear him?"
"He talked about his secret lovers
in Manhattan."
That was when the conversation
ended because Mr. Sartoria
rushed up a flight of stairs and returned
with a black and white photograph
of an angelic young Italian girl.
"I want you to have this.
It is a picture of my sister, Ziela.
Short for Graziela but you can
call her Grace."
"Thank you, Mr. Sartoria
it was an absolute pleasure
to meet you. I will treasure
our conversation and hope to
deliver you some more
bolts of silk. Ciao."
"Goodbye, Speck."
Moments later, Paul drove home
to Whitestone.
It was rush hour
on a Friday night in lower Manhattan
but the seventeen-mile drive
to Long Island felt like it lasted
only seventeen minutes,
with the van's air conditioner
blasting all the way home.
However, before boarding his vehicle,
Paul walked across the parking lot.
With the one hundred dollar tip
Mr. Sartoria had given him,
He bought a pair of leather sandals
custom-made by Allan Block.
Supposedly, they were the same sandals
purchased by John Sebastion
of the Lovin' Spoonful.
The radio in Paul's van
—apropos the weather—
kept playing the same song.
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Footnotes
The second half of the "Paul Anastasio" pages
is
here.
The song link that ends Chapter One
of the Paul Anastasio saga is prefaced
by a deletable advert.
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