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J.A.Stem

Glory Daze Reunion

Glory Daze Reunion

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The grinding axe of anger overcome by the arrogance of youth during the development of a young man. Cutting teeth on a slice of life while growing up in a blue collar town in the 1970's.

PROLOGUE

Enshrouded within the eclipse of the empire skyline, just on the outskirts of what was native to drowse jaw locals as "Da City", slumbered a "Naught Jawzy" sleepy hollow bedroom community known as Garfield. That was the place of plight for this tangled tale.

The populous was predominately massed from first and second generation Italian, Polish and Slavic lineage propagating nearly forty thousand people. Firm, family woven, textile bound neighbors they all appeared to be, arriving with a suitcase crammed with their American dreams. Much like their ancestry, these ethnic people found refuge in the peer and tier group both high and low on the economic scales within the community.

Backslap nepotism played a major role of substance vocationally as well as academically here. As a common cornucopian community, it was collectively compiled of have and have not inhabitants. The fruit lay cradled in the lap of luxury, rather than at the short end of the cornucopian horn.

The highlands or "Heights" inhabitants preponderated a migration of Italian natives. To some extent, this was a diminutive facsimile of “The Hill" type fame likened to various urban metropolitan distinctions. Often the area was referred to disparagingly as "Guinea Heights".

Had a stranger strolled the summer church celebration in the Heights he might think he had stumbled upon an open set audition for the lead role in the movie "My Cousin Vinny"? The "yoots" from the Heights all pretended to be in some way connected. Many of them contrived an Uncle Angelo or a Cousin Vinny that to some extent was associated or forevermore removed from the mob.

It came to view that a lion's share of the political pigskin patronage was being passed among benefactors and kindred blood relatives to this "Sopranoland" sector of the city.

West of these Heights were the lowlands on the Passaic River side whose roots of origin were comprised of Polish and Slavic credentials.

The people in the community were sometimes referred to as DP's, which stood for deports or dumb Pollocks.

"Maybe day not talk so good, no?" These were quite well heeled people that are by the rudimental definition, retaining less than moderate means.

Jewel Street was the business district, a downtown stretch of whitewashed window store fronts. Most of the juvenile delinquency focused in that dwarf dysfunctional junction, which was our place of refuge at the time.

Here, the abandoned textile sweat shops, along with the perspiring paper mill plants which once flourished in the region prior to their foreign exodus, subsequently had become vast vacant vestiges of a jobless benefit.

Invariably these two principal groups were alienated and at endless odds with each other. Having what was recognized as a gin mill, tap room, tavern, club, or bar on roughly every street corner in town hardly brought these divided bands toward any common congeniality.

"The anger of Achilles is my theme."
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