The Neighborhood

Pictured is the neighborhood in the early 20th Century. Rogers Ave ran from Essex Street, west to Lawton Ave. Essex Street ran from Rogers Ave to City Hall Square. On the way to St. Mary's we would pass the Court House and of course City Hall.

First picture is a view looking from City Hall Square up Essex Street towards High Rock Tower. Nanny would head down this street every single day for either the 7 or 8 O'clock Mass. My Mom sent a sister to fetch Grandma back as she was headed to the 7am at 2 in the afternoon in her underwear at 92 years old. Saints preserve us.

Way off to the left, above the factory, is the house that was Post 507 VFW on the now forgotten Martin Estate in the Highlands. After this building burned it was a magnet for the local vandals. The fire scene was not secured and I was with a raiding party that liberated a WWI Lewis machine gun that had been overlooked in the attic. We were almost away when the police arrived and had to drop the prize to escape.



I would later do most of my underage drinking there, at the new post, as a member after Nam. My first night was a drizzling May night. I was alone in the woods drinking on weekend Liberty. After I finished what I had been drinking I just strolled over and joined. Someone brought me home, over their shoulder at closing time. I was there three years before being banned for bringing in Al Hogan with his Hells Angels prospect rocker to buy cases warm beer over the bar at 1am on a Sunday night. A no-no. But I digress.

The factory in the picture on the left is the place the police brought me for a beating one night.
I came home to my parents house after a afternoon of drinking, it was about 7/8 O'clock. I remember coming in the front door and seeing my sisters, in their bathrobes and bunny slippers, all happy and doing homework together at the kitchen table. And I flipped. I didn't belong there and I had nowhere to go.

I turned and put my right fist through the front door window. I then hit the other door window with a left. I did the side window. It wasn't enough. I went to the adjoining living room and punched that. Then I was gang tackled. Dad,Mom three of four kids all yelling and screaming. Piling on their brother, the war hero, punching out his home. Well this would not do, as I kept struggling to kill another window or two, and the cops were summonded.

Well I must have had a plan, because I calmed down enough to leave without cuffs on. When the cops stepped on the ice in front of the house, I pulled both of their arms and down they went, and off I limped.

The backup held me for the two I put down. They cuffed me this time and one came in the back seat with me. They turned onto Essex Street and then pulled around the back of the factory.
There they put claws, or come-a-longs as they were called, on both my wrists, and turned. They worked the back of my legs with a club. It would take a year for me to feel my right thumb. Then they put me in the Sutton Street Hotel for the evening. For protective custody.



It was in this way that I learned, you never fight one cop, you fight them all. This applied to the HA also.




This middle photo is the district Court for Southern Essex further down Essex Street.

Oyez, Oyez!!

I was in here once to give false testimony in a B&E case. This building is long gone.





Last picture is St. Mary's with the old church pictured. My father graduated from here, as did my Mother and most of my sisters. The building to the right is the Grammar School, home of many tortures. One of the most exquisite was the "May Fantasy", an all afternoon, theatrical production with costumes, lights, music and dance. It was, obligatory every year. Each class had a few singing numbers with some nerdy little cretin upfront who got the lead because he was taking singing lessons.

In my circle of Hell, it was J. C. the lead son of a big family of Irish shitheads up on Pine Hill. His dad was scoutmaster and every fucking one of them had a talent. The talent I thought they should have developed was pyrotechnics, as one of the brood killed himself with a homemade explosive.

You could have checked out J. C.'s musical styling at the Leaning Tower of Pizza in Saugus. Right out there on Route 1. It was a 30 year gig for Big J. I'm happy to say I was there at the beginning.

I'm still not rational about this. But in an effort to cleanse the past, I may post pictures. One year, I had to walk three blocks in a cheesy sailor suit with fucking rouge on in the 6th grade so I could do a hornpipe for Columbus on the ocean blue on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.

And as promised. Three eager participants in St. Marys "May Fantasy". Taken in front of the house my family lived in. The house to the left is the Kiley Rest Home.



Alfred E. Neuman flanked by Annette and the Archbishop of Cork.