He greeted me warmly. “Well, this is a nice surprise. What can I do for you, Sidney?”
“I need a job.”
“Oh?”
“I was hoping that maybe I could work in the checkroom at one of your hotels as a hang boy.”
Sam knew our financial situation. He looked at me thoughtfully. Finally he said, “Why not? You look older than seventeen. I think the Bismarck Hotel can use you.”
And he put me to work that week.
Being a hang boy was simple. The customers would give their coats and hats to the female attendant, who handed them a numbered check. She would then turn their coats and hats over to me, and I would hang them up on corresponding numbered racks. When the customer returned, the process would be reversed.
I now had a new schedule. I went to school until three, and immediately after school, I would take the El south to the Loop, get off at the station near the Bismarck Hotel, and go to work. My hours were from five P.M. to closing, which was sometimes midnight or later, depending on whether there was a special party. My salary was three dollars a night. I turned the money over to Natalie.
Weekends were the busiest time for parties at the hotels, so I found myself working seven evenings a week. Holidays were emotionally difficult for me. Families came to the hotel for Christmas and New Year’s Eve celebrations and I watched the children celebrating with their mothers and fathers, and I envied them. Natalie was busy working and Otto was gone, so Richard and I were alone, and had no one to celebrate with. At eight o’clock, while everyone else enjoyed their holiday dinners, I would hurry out to a coffee shop or a diner, have a quick bite to eat, and return to work.
The bright spot in my nightly routine was when my Aunt Frances, Natalie’s effervescent younger sister, came to work at the Bismarck checkroom for a night or two. She was a small and vivacious brunette, with a quick sense of humor, and the customers adored her.
A new checkroom attendant, Joan Vitucci, came to work at the Bismarck. She was only a year older than I, and she was very pretty. I was attracted to her, and I began to fantasize about her. I would start by taking her out on dates. Even though I had no money, she would see the positive things about me. We would fall in love and get married, and we would have wonderful children.
One evening she said, “My aunt and uncle have a family lunch every Sunday. I think you would like them. If you’re free this Sunday, why don’t you join us?”
The fantasy was coming true.
That Sunday turned out to be a lovely experience. It was a warm, Italian family gathering of about a dozen adults and children sitting around a large dining room table, filling up on bruschetta, pasta fagioli, chicken cacciatore, and baked lasagna.
Joan’s uncle was an affable, gregarious man named Louie Alterie, the head of the Chicago janitors union. When it was time to leave, I thanked everyone and told Joan what a great time I had had. This was the real beginning of our relationship.
The following morning, Louie Alterie was machine-gunned to death as he was leaving his building where we had had lunch.
Joan disappeared from my life.
That was the end of the fantasy.
Between school during the day, the checkroom nights, and the drugstore Saturdays, I had little time for myself.
Something strange seemed to be happening at home. There was tension, but it was a different kind of tension. Natalie and Otto were whispering things to each other, and looking grim.
One morning, Otto came in to me and said, “Son, I’m going to the farm. I’m leaving today.”
I was surprised. I had never been on a farm and I thought it would be fun. “I’d like to go with you, Otto.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t take you.”
“But—”
“No, Sidney.”
“Okay. When will you be back?”
“In three years.” He walked away.
Three years? I couldn’t believe it. How could he desert us for three years to live on a farm?