Over half a century has lapsed since I was born. It happened towards the end of the second world war. Since that time I have experienced life's ups and downs. But I would not change any part of my life. To admit to changing any part of my life is to say that I regret what I did and would do it differently. My life is to full of wonderful experiences that have made me who I am. I would not change places with the riches man on earth if I could.

I have been fortunate to experience life as only a few people can say that they "know what it is like. The knowledge which I have acquired, has been learned through sacrafice, toil and tears. No one really voices all that has happened to them, for it would leave them bare and exposed. I too, feel the same way, exposing my soul, but only to the point which will allow me to maintain my self esteem.

I was born of a father and mother that did not have any wealth. My father was a hustler and gambler according to the stories I have heard. My mother on the other hand, was a hard worker. She worked in a shop producing fine linen. At times she would take work home. Her education was only to the sixth grade. Perhaps that was one ot the reasons she made sure that my brother and I went to school. She was always very proud of my achievements in school.

I have no knowledge of my father's education. I heard stories from my cousin that it was my mother who taught him how to write his name. He abandoned us when I was just a few weeks old. My mother would send my cousin to the billiard parlor to ask him for milk money for me. This evidently was short-lived for my mother divorced him. I never really knew what it was like to have a father.

When I was two, my mother remarried and for a short time there was a man in the house. I was too young to remember much but I know that he treated me well, as if I were his son. My younger brother, who was his offspring, would get gifts and so would I. The gifts I remember receiving were always the same or of a much higher quality than my brother's. Evidently, being the eldest gave me some prestige. As fate would have it, the seperation my mother experienced while my stepfather went in search of a better way of life was the cause for a second divorce for my mother.

New York City is known as the melting pot for the worlds immigrants. At the turn of the twentieth century, the Irish were the immigrants at the bottom of the totem pole. As they moved up, their place was taken oer by the Italians. This movement up the totem pole or the socioeconomic ladder is repeated with each new wave of immigrants or migrants into a society where all are striving for a better life.

By the time I began school, we lived on West 66th Street, between 8th and 9th Avenue in Manhattan. You might recall seeing this location in the musical West Side Story. The neighborhood was primarily white working class. This was 1951 and I was going to a strange new school. I was so afraid of school that I remember making up stories about being sick. I would tell my mother that my head or stomach ached. Other times I would use the weather as a reason for not going to school. Since I was a good boy, my mother would believe me and I would stay home.