Dad seldom talked about his experiences in Vietnam. All I knew was that he served a tour, got wounded, was awarded a Silver Star for valor and a Purple Heart for his wound, so the rare times he decided to be talkative about his time there, I would sit and listen, even if it was about Vietnamese beer.
He was in deep thought, “I was just a kid, joined the Corps, shipped around the world just in time for the Tet Offense, scared shitless.” He took another sip of beer.
“My Vietnam wasn’t jungles; we had to go retake the City of Hue from Charlie. Charlie was one tough motherfucker when it came to urban warfare. I was in the 1st Marines, armed with a BAR, tasked with providing covering fire while we advanced street by street. Charlie didn’t appreciate that and I drew a lot of fire back from him.
“After a firefight at some godforsaken street, we’d catch a breath, fire up a smoke, drink a hot bottle of that fucking 33 beer, and try to ignore seeing our buddies wounded or killed before our eyes.
“That Soviet SKS rifle that’s hanging up in my den, son of a bitch shot me with that before I unloaded a full clip from my BAR into him. Shot him to rags. We ran into each other at a blind corner, our rifle barrels were almost touching.”
“They kept trying to take that away from me while I was in the ward convalescing. Then, I got shipped back into the world. Came home and flipped a coin whether to take a job as a postman or a police officer. To this day, I don’t know if I won or lost that toss.” Dad shook his head as he finished his reflection.
“Well, Dad considering you met Mom then, I have to say you won that toss,” I interjected.
At that, he brightened up, “Yeah, you are right. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t met her.”
For some reason, a light came into my dad’s eyes. I watched as he finished the last of the mug and motioned Uncle Jack to replenish a mug for both of us. Jack placed the mugs down and ambled away.
“I never told you about how it came to pass that we wound up owning Genero’s.” He quipped while taking his first sip.
Now I was intrigued to find out how a couple of police officers and their wives managed to own a bar. In the past, all I was told was that I was too young to hear about that. Now the time had come to find out.
Dad started, “You ever wonder how come a couple of Irish cops managed to own a bar named Genero’s?”
I always had. It never made any sense to me since I never knew anybody by that name. I often wondered why they didn’t just rename the bar, Crowder’s. I waited for his answer.
“Genero’s was a mob bar.” Dad announced.
“You bought a bar from the mob?” I was aghast at the revelation.
“Just listen to my story,” dad replied.
“Not only was Genero’s a bar operated by the mob, it was a strip club. The dance floor is the last remnant of the original raised floor,” Dad commented. “Not only was it a dive, but it served as a money-laundering operation for the Calpera Family.
“They also ran loan sharking, bookmaking, narcotics, prostitution, and anything else to make a dishonest buck. Yeah, this place was a real hellhole, back then. You could count on at least one unsuspecting tourist getting beaten and mugged every night, or picking up a junkie corpse that OD’d in the alley.
“Sal Genero was the front man for the Calpera Family and that’s why the bar was named for him, owned and operated by him, and he had a psychopathic hitman named Tony Molteri that served as the muscle for the operation.
“Genero was a short, squat, greasy little weasel of a man; he wouldn’t do anything unless your back was turned to him and he had a clear advantage. Molteri was just fucking evil. He was rumored to have been involved in 26 gangland hits when I first met him.”
Dad took a sip of his beer and continued, “Molteri had a bad habit of getting the strippers hooked on heroin and then he started tricking them out when they started losing their looks. If they didn’t make their quota, he’d beat the shit out of them and shove them back on the streets after he’d rape them.
“Kept the girls terrified and quiet about any idea of testifying against him. Just think of starting every day in the hole to support a $100 a day junk habit and compound it by going out and tricking for another $200, rain or shine.” Dad shook his head remembering the inequities of it.
“Their main money maker was the gambling and loansharking. Gamblers would get behind in paying their losses; desperate people would be forced to take out a loan, and the vigorish would eat them alive as they scrambled to make their weekly payments, and never getting ahead to pay out the principal of the loans.
“Genero would provide a warning and then sic Molteri on the erring defaulters. If they were lucky, only an arm or leg would be broken. Then Genero would come back to them and comment what a pretty wife or daughter the guy would have, and then look over at Molteri. The gleam on that monster’s face kept those guys in line until it came time to do a ‘bustout’ on the business owners.
“They had a real streamlined approach. The business owners would come to the Genero’s office at the bar. They would be threatened or persuaded to sign over a warranty deed on their business property. They’d sign off on a warranty deed form that had a blank insert for penning in their property description. Believe it or not, Tony Molteri was listed as a public notary, so he would notarize all the deeds signed over, making Sal Genero the property owner.
“Then, Genero and Molteri would go on shopping sprees using the original owners’ credit accounts, maxing out their limits. The assets would be taken out the back door and the hapless original business owners would have to file bankruptcy. They’d leave their victims stone broke.
“Those bastards would’ve stolen the pennies off a corpse’s eyes if they could get away with it,” Dad said, taking a small sip of his beer. “Which is where I can into play.
“I had graduated from the Police Academy after leaving the Marines. I was a rookie cop, full of piss and vinegar ready to take on the world. I was dating this cute nurse named Mary that wouldn’t let me get past first base unless I gave her a ring.”
The rueful smile on my Dad’s face was amused, thinking how my mom protected her virtue until my dad had made a lifelong commitment to her. Thinking how adamant Mom could be on any given issue, I could only imagine how it must have frustrated my Dad.
“I mean, I was lucky to get a kiss after a date sometimes, after I tried to cop a feel from her! Talk about the bruised ribs I’d have from her elbows.” Dad smiled.
“Hey, Dad, this comes under the heading of too much information. I really don’t need to imagine my Mom and Dad getting it on!” I commented quickly, hoping to derail this train of topic.
“Well, it’s important you know what happened back then,’ Dad said. “A lot of things transpired that you have no knowledge of.
“Anyway, back to my story. I’m a rookie cop so I’m in line for any shit details that come down the pike, and the Police Chief came up with a doozy. The police precinct I was assigned to covered the business district where Genero’s was located. They came up with the bright idea to start foot patrols for the area to circumvent criminal activities. Being a lowly rookie with no seniority, I was assigned to the solo graveyard shifts when all kinds of shit would fly. I had to do a lot of growing up real quick.” Dad paused to take another sip as he continued his reflections.
“So, I traded one combat zone for another, as I went out every night to serve and protect. That really didn’t help on the social front, as I was lucky if my days off would coincide with Mary’s, which would increase my frustrations with getting anywhere with her,” Dad complained, as he took another sip and motioned at me to join him in drinking. I took a sip as I waited to fall deeper into my dad’s story.
“That went on for a couple of years. I had been able to move the open illicit activities back into Genero’s instead of them operating openly on the sidewalks. As I made my rounds, these thugs congregating outside would shut up as I approached. I’d walk through them pretending to pay them no heed. As I passed them, the hairs on my neck would stand out just anticipating them harming me, but I had to show no fear.
“One of the ways I adapted was I would show interest in the strippers dancing in front of this big plate glass storefront window.”
Dad motioned to the window located in the front of the bar that now served as a source of ambiance for the patrons of the bar.
“After I got my small bit of free titillation, I’d focus on the reflections of the thugs to make sure they weren’t creeping up on me,” he explained.
“Dad,” I interrupted, “How did they get away with having open to the street stripping back then? If they were visible to the street, couldn’t you arrest them?”
“Back then, it was legal. Wasn’t like any Godfearing family would be strolling through there at that time of night. The Calpera Family had enough votes in the City Council and enough high octane legal representation that it wasn’t worth picking a battle I couldn’t win,” Dad told me. “I would have to be satisfied with keeping Genero and Molteri on a short leash. And man, did they squawk! The precinct captain said he knew I was doing a good job just from hearing their complaints!
“As I was saying, this continued on until one night I saw the thugs huddling close together near the front door. It was close to the 3 am closing time. They didn’t notice me approaching them. When I got close enough, I noticed a beautiful blonde, long legged, built in all the right places; cowering wide-eyed from them.”
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded to know. All the rats started scurrying away as I moved to her. She instinctively gripped my arm for support and I saw relief in her eyes as she spotted my uniform.
“Are you okay, Miss?” I asked as she shook from nerves at the recent problem.
“‘I am now, Officer’.” She nervously whispered in the most fetching Southern drawl I ever heard. “‘Please, just give me a minute to catch my breath’.