bone lady baby
Did you know the Phillies Phanatic makes six figures. Six figures! High six figures too. And he isn't even a thing. He's green with a long nose and other than driving a four wheeler and purportedly enjoying the ball playing of my city's team, not much can be said for him. Some people have it made...
The other day while I was working Paulie, an elderly father figure type at Di Brunos, came in and started chatting with me about the city of Philadelphia. Which was great because it gave me a chance to catch up on some of the numerous stories he tells about both the Di Brunos themselves as well as growing up in and around the Italian Market. Paulie recently re-purchased the home he lived in as a kid. He gave his older, larger house to one of his kids. Anyway, he came in to the store and started to tell me stories about the good old days: little bars at which real life mobsters hung out at, bustling throngs of people every weekend not just those labeled "Italian Festival", working as a fruit vendor as a kid ("At night you left the fruit there, no one touched it, or you got touched") etc etc.
I found out that the Asian strip mall near my home used to be a cemetary. The bodies, by the way, were not relocated. Saigon Maxim is sitting on a pile of skulls baby. According to Paulie there are cemetaries like the former one on my corner that were just paved upon all over the neighborhood. According to him, when contractors started building new homes over the area between 2nd and 5th near Washington they ran into trouble when digging foundations because they kept running into people's remains. What do you do with a bunch of nameless bones in the ground? Build new houses on them, seems to be.
I was made aware that at one point the corner one block away from my own was the most notorious spot for being shot, killed and buried upon. I guess if the mob wanted you rubbed out they sent you to the spot upon which a pawn shop now resides and you waited for your untimely end. According to Paulie it was written up in Ripley's Believe It Or Not.
I also finally was clued in to the mystery of the strange building just off of 9th and Montrose that seems to be fully furnished with a rather odd window display (Catholic memorabilia, dead house plants, and some very old signs selling some kind of candy among other things). Aparently this was once a working store but after the proprietor died some decades ago his daughter just left the building exactly as it was the day he exited it. And hasn't touched it since.
There were other stories, equally as interesting detailing the various different little traits of the area in which I live. I don't even really care if any of it is true. Mostly, I like the sense that someone lives in a place for so long and that there's a history for them in that place. I love seeing Paulie, and not only because he yells "Look at poor Adrienne. Somebody help her. She's the only one doing any work here." Which he says even if I'm sitting on a stool reading a magazine. He's kind and is always talking about his kids or grandkids. He epitomizes why I keep working at Di Brunos, the love of South Philly, the great length to which he will espouse upon it. I crave the sense of community the people I work with bring.
Which is maybe why the Phanatic gets the big bucks. He's part of that drive to bring a group of people together. He's taking a stadium of humans, semi-connected only in terms of geography and giving them something to shriek about together. Which is noble in it's own way.
Even if he does look like a cross between Gonzo and a green telephone on wheels.
The other day while I was working Paulie, an elderly father figure type at Di Brunos, came in and started chatting with me about the city of Philadelphia. Which was great because it gave me a chance to catch up on some of the numerous stories he tells about both the Di Brunos themselves as well as growing up in and around the Italian Market. Paulie recently re-purchased the home he lived in as a kid. He gave his older, larger house to one of his kids. Anyway, he came in to the store and started to tell me stories about the good old days: little bars at which real life mobsters hung out at, bustling throngs of people every weekend not just those labeled "Italian Festival", working as a fruit vendor as a kid ("At night you left the fruit there, no one touched it, or you got touched") etc etc.
I found out that the Asian strip mall near my home used to be a cemetary. The bodies, by the way, were not relocated. Saigon Maxim is sitting on a pile of skulls baby. According to Paulie there are cemetaries like the former one on my corner that were just paved upon all over the neighborhood. According to him, when contractors started building new homes over the area between 2nd and 5th near Washington they ran into trouble when digging foundations because they kept running into people's remains. What do you do with a bunch of nameless bones in the ground? Build new houses on them, seems to be.
I was made aware that at one point the corner one block away from my own was the most notorious spot for being shot, killed and buried upon. I guess if the mob wanted you rubbed out they sent you to the spot upon which a pawn shop now resides and you waited for your untimely end. According to Paulie it was written up in Ripley's Believe It Or Not.
I also finally was clued in to the mystery of the strange building just off of 9th and Montrose that seems to be fully furnished with a rather odd window display (Catholic memorabilia, dead house plants, and some very old signs selling some kind of candy among other things). Aparently this was once a working store but after the proprietor died some decades ago his daughter just left the building exactly as it was the day he exited it. And hasn't touched it since.
There were other stories, equally as interesting detailing the various different little traits of the area in which I live. I don't even really care if any of it is true. Mostly, I like the sense that someone lives in a place for so long and that there's a history for them in that place. I love seeing Paulie, and not only because he yells "Look at poor Adrienne. Somebody help her. She's the only one doing any work here." Which he says even if I'm sitting on a stool reading a magazine. He's kind and is always talking about his kids or grandkids. He epitomizes why I keep working at Di Brunos, the love of South Philly, the great length to which he will espouse upon it. I crave the sense of community the people I work with bring.
Which is maybe why the Phanatic gets the big bucks. He's part of that drive to bring a group of people together. He's taking a stadium of humans, semi-connected only in terms of geography and giving them something to shriek about together. Which is noble in it's own way.
Even if he does look like a cross between Gonzo and a green telephone on wheels.
posted by A at 8:18 AM
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