Bill, his detective, the probation officer and Mr. Niedermeyer came with me to the Suffolk County home where I was to reside until my trial, or so I thought.. On the way out it was explained to me that I was to use the name Manuel Alfredo Solano, that my age was still eleven but my birthday was May seventh. I came from Staten Island. None of the other boys at the home were from that borough so couldn't ask me about it. I told them that I had been there once with a friend. They gave me a simple family background. My father died and my mother was sick. My younger sisters were in another home but I didn't know where. My hair was cut off at a home where I spent only a couple of days. They said I had head lice.
I didn't understand the reason for the identity change.
Bill explained. 'Ray, the people who were involved in the burglary are very dangerous. You can identify them. I know you don't want to but they don't.'
'You think my father would try to kill me?'
'Maybe not him, but others.' He put his arm around me. 'I don't want anyone else hurting you.'
We were greeted at the home by a very happy, slim, graying woman wearing an apron who introduced herself as Mrs. Mendoza, the housemother and owner of the Mendoza Home for Boys. She had a wheelchair. The detective, Mr. Palmer, a heavy set ex-New York City policeman, explained that I was fine on my crutches.
Bill had apparently spoken to her before as she called him William. Her only employee was Wally, a tall powerfully built young man, who said he was to be my houseparent. He showed me around while Bill and the others spoke. The large two story brick house was in an open residential area. Every house had an ample green yard on all sides. Most had fences of wire or wood. The street was wide and clean.
The first floor had two living rooms with televisions and upholstered and wood furniture. The dining room had a long table with more chairs than I could quickly count. The sparkling clean kitchen was like Bill's in that it had a lot of stainless steel including a huge stove like the one in the diner where my grandmother worked. Three boys were preparing dinner. Mrs. Mendoza lived in an apartment at the back behind the kitchen. Our living quarters were on the second floor.
The stairs were difficult. Bending my bad knee was still painful. Mr. Palmer followed me around with a suitcase full of clothes Bill had bought for me. He stayed tight behind me on the stairs in case I slipped. We went straight to my bedroom which had two bunk beds, dressers and small desks to do homework. We left the suitcase on my bed. Wally showed us two large bathrooms with showers for three at a time.
Eighteen boys counting me lived in the home. Ages ran from eight to fifteen. Racially, we were a mix but mostly Latino. It made me feel more secure. My contacts with blacks had been painful.
The rules were simple enough. We got up at six thirty, did chores and showered then ate breakfast. A boy could shower at night if he wished but had to do so again if he got dirty doing chores. Everyone had a kitchen schedule for cleanup. Most went to a local schools. I'd be staying behind with two others to be tutored so I could pass fourth grade. In the afternoons we could go out and play but had to be in by five to get ready for dinner except those on kitchen detail who had to be in earlier. After dinner and homework, we were free but had to stay inside unless we had permission to go someplace special. Bedtime depended on a boy's age. Weekends, we had chores and scheduled meals but the rest of the time we were free. However, we were not allowed to leave the immediate neighborhood without written permission.
Bill admonished me to behave and 'no sex for now. Wait until you know how things are here. This is not New York City.' He stuck two five dollar bills in my shirt pocket. He gave me a prolonged embrace and whispered in my ear, 'I love you.'
'I love you too,' I whispered back and held his arm best I could on the crutches.
I was approached by the boys my age asking the usual questions: who I was, where I was from, why was I sent there and, due to my hair stubble, had I been in Bronx Detention Center. I wasn't sure all believed the children's home and lice answer but no one disputed it.
Dinner was chicken, rice and carrots with peas. It was like going to a restaurant. I asked another boy if they ate like this all the time.
'Nah, sometimes we have beef or hot dogs and soup. Different stuff.'
'What about lunch?'
'We take sandwiches to school. You can buy sodas there.'
I was amazed.
My private bodyguard, Mr. Palmer, ate with us and helped dry the dishes.
After dinner, I watched television with two others who didn't have homework. The rest were in their rooms studying. F Troop was on, a favorite. My two companions had not been with the others who earlier asked me about myself so had all the standard questions. I answered as before and began asking the same of them.
The younger boy, about nine, answered in Spanish. 'My father's in jail and my mother went back to Santo Domingo. She took the baby and left my sister and me with my aunt. She said she was coming back in July or was going to send for us to come to where she is.' It sounded very rehearsed.
The teenager with us said, 'That's Jose Carlos. He don't speak a lot a English is why he talks all the time in Spanish. How long you live on Staten Island?
'I dunno, maybe ten years. I was a baby when we came from P.R. What's your name?'
'Jose Antonio.'
Gradually, the others came out of their rooms. The three black boys sat by themselves at a table and played cards. One was about my age, the others bigger. The two white boys stayed together too but sat with us in front of the TV. One about ten, the other about thirteen or fourteen and pimply. Neither was very cute.
A Latino boy, ten year old Marcelino from El Salvador, wanted to talk to me. First there were the standard questions then, 'You like baseball? We gonna have a team. Juan Carlos and that kid, Jose Carlos, they gonna play too. You ain't thirteen, are ya?'
'Nah, I'm eleven.'
'You got a birth certificado?'
'I dunno.'
'If you got one a them, you can play too. Wanna?'
'I dunno. I can't do anything now 'cause a my kidneys and that.' I pointed to my wrapped up knee. 'Doctor says I can do sports in a week or two. Where do you play?'
'They gotta park, just three blocks from here. We practice Tuesday. Wanna come?'
'We allowed to go that far?'
'Sure, we can go anywhere we want. Just gotta be back on time.'
Marcelino went on about the team and the new uniforms they were going to get and did I have a glove. He was a nice kid but he talked a lot.
My roommates were eleven and twelve years old, two Latinos, including Juan Carlos of the baseball team, and the smallest black boy named Charles. He told me that he'd been there for just over a year. He was waiting a juvenile hearing for stealing and not going to school.
'Why so long?'
'I don't know. My P.O. comes every couple months but he says don't worry. Trouble is I can't go home 'til after court. But it's better here. Nobody hitting on me.'
'Why's your hair so short?' he asked
'They said I had head lice in the home I was in last week and cut it off.'
He nodded but didn't seem convinced.
Mr. Palmer, the private detective came to me at eight with another man in a suit who would be replacing him until the next day. A third man would come on in the early morning. Mr. Palmer would be back at noon.
We went to bed at nine thirty. The mattresses were as comfortable as the ones at the Holiday Inn. My dick got hard just laying on those nice sheets. I really wanted to beat off. I wondered if Charles, sleeping above me, would feel it if I did. I raised my knees so nobody could see and started slowly. I got close but couldn't get off. What I needed was something up my ass. The tenderness was gone so it was an available stimulant again. I stuck my finger in my mouth and wet it but any way I tried to stick myself would have looked strange if anyone saw me. From the back required me to lie on my side. Beating off like that would have my sheets jumping all over. Putting it in from the front meant I had to raise my knees up to my chest. I finally gave up, very frustrated.
But the bed was shaking ever so slightly. I touched the wood bottom of Charles upper bunk. It was vibrating. I had to see. The others appeared to be sleeping though one faced my way. He could have had his eyes open but I couldn't tell in the dark. But, I just had to see.
Slowly, I slipped my feet from under the covers and put them down to the floor. Nobody on the other side of the room moved. I turned over and even more slowly raised up on my good leg then moved to the end of the bunk so I'd be above Charles where, hopefully, he couldn't see me. His head was arched forward. The sheet over his crotch was bouncing like there was a jackhammer underneath. I wanted to see what he was working on but decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Quickly back on my bed, I stretched out and whacked off. Charles was still at it when I was reached climax. I felt much better and was asleep in minutes, the bed still vibrating.
Due to my doctor's note, I had no chores until he gave the okay. I showered with the small white boy and a Latino a head taller than me who had a huge dong about the size of Calvin's. The white kid wasn't fat but had skin like he was and a dick about as thick as a pencil. The teen said 'Good morning' when he entered and nothing more. I took my time in hopes that Charles would come in. He had been looking for his towel when I left the room. When I returned, he was back in the room, naked, showing off a fine pair of buns, drying his hair. He'd gone to the other bathroom. I waited for him to turn around. When he did, he caught me looking. He checked me out too.
'We're both boys,' he remarked with a grin.
His relaxed attitude made me feel adventurous. 'Sure took you a long time last night.'
'I did it three times is why. How many times you do it?'
'Just once. I was afraid somebody would see me and say something'
'Don't worry about them two. They's asleep every night in a couple minutes.'
I looked at his penis again. It was nothing special, just blacker than him.'
The night guard was gone when I woke up. The new detective, Mr. Plunkett, a large black man with a thick mustache and a huge smile, joined us for breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast with jelly, and real orange juice.
The others were surprised Mr. Plunkett only ate as much as we.
'Don't you want more? asked a teenager.
'How can I, you guys ate it all.'
'I can make you some more,' the boy volunteered. Two others said they'd help.
Mr. Plunkett laughed and declined. 'Just kidding. I'm fine.'
My tutor arrived at eight fifteen. He wasn't the same person who taught the two older boys but a private teacher Bill sent to work with me. He told me he was a friend of Michael and had just graduated the year before. How well, I wondered, did he know Michael. He had a lesson plan made up by Mr. Martinson whom he had spoken with so knew I wasn't from Staten Island. When we broke for recess, he gave me a baseball glove, bat and three balls Bill had sent as presents. He had his own glove. So did one of the other tutored students. We three threw and caught baseballs, which I probably wasn't supposed to do for a while. It was a little uncomfortable but didn't hurt. I didn't chase after any balls.
My class was only in the morning but my teacher had brought me a stack of books to read in the afternoon, all picked out by Mr. Martinson and purchased by Bill. One was Treasure Island. I began reading at about one thirty. It was a struggle. There were words I didn't know and names I couldn't figure out. I pestered Wally who cheerfully answered all my questions. By three fifteen when the others began coming in from school, I was so totally immersed in the book that I didn't notice when Charles, my bunkmate, flopped down on the couch beside me.
'You read books?'
I told him this was my first one and that it was great. He wanted to play cards and taught me a game something like poker he called Tin Tin. Marcelino joined us and tried to convince Charles to join his baseball team.
That night, I showered before bed to see who might join me. No one did so I used the opportunity to beat off with my finger up my rear. Relaxed, I went back to my bunk and read the last half hour before bedtime. Charles was vibrating the bed when I fell asleep.
The rest of the week went smoothly. I read each afternoon after lunch and before sleeping. Tuesday afternoon I went and watched Marcelino's baseball team practice. It was easy to see why he was seeking new players. They were terrible. I promised to work out with them the following week if my knee permitted. Something had to be done to get me a document to prove my age.
Bill and Mr. Becker came out Thursday afternoon. There was an investigation going on into why I was put in with the older boys rather than intake. A man from a special section of the police department would be out the following week to speak with me. When Benjamin heard that I was going to testify against Calvin and Ronald, he agreed to do the same against many more including the ones he'd seen raping me. He had been moved to an institution in Buffalo. The trial would be in a few weeks once the investigation was complete.
I told Bill about my reading. He was excited I liked the book and wanted me to tell him what I'd read. After relating about Jim and Long John Silver for quite a while, I asked him if we could go somewhere together. 'Not today but I'll be here Saturday morning and we'll spend the day together.'
Saturday, Bill gave the detective the rest of day and off. He had already called Mr. Palmer and told him to come on at five. We went back to his apartment where Michael, Roy and Adrian were waiting. For most of the trip, I talked about Treasure Island that I had finished the night before.
'Is it possible that books are better than movies?' he asked?
'Nah,' I answered.
At the apartment, Bill poked me below my ribs.
'That hurt?'
It didn't. We did another Daisy Chain. That more than anything else that had happened since getting out of the Detention Center, made me feel part of the world again. We showered, and fooled around a bit more, then got dressed, I in my suit, and went to a fancy restaurant where a table had been reserved for us. We had two waiters and wine.
After lunch, Michael and friends went their way and Bill and I went to the park with cameras.
`Can we get Cholito? I can wait here and you can go get him.'
Bill sat me down on the grass. `Ray, your life has been changed by what has happened. Part of it you may never visit again.'
`But Cholito would never tell anybody.'
`Ray, listen to me. This is important. I know it would have been difficult, but you could have refused to enter that workshop. You bear some responsibility for what has happened. Part of your life is gone because of what happened. If Cholito sees you, he will be in danger. Do you want to put Cholito in danger?'
I was angry. I got up and walked to a tree and kicked it, twice. What the hell was I supposed to have done? If I hadn't gotten those jewels, my father would have been really pissed. He probably would have kicked my ass and never given me or my mother anything again.
Anyway, my father had me in his power from the time I went with Leary. What was I supposed to do? Run away from Leary? Fuck! Fuck! I kicked the tree again. It hurt my toes. I kicked it again with the other foot and hurt my bad knee.
I dropped onto the ground at the foot of the tree and sat against it. Life had been so good before I did that burglary. Why did I do something so stupid?
Bill came and sat beside me but didn't say a word, just sat there. I still had him. At least I didn't mess that up. I let myself lean against him. I missed Cholito. This had to be over one day. Then I could see him again. Never say never, nothing is forever.
Bill held the camera out to me. It had a large, heavy 200mm lens. I looked through the viewfinder and followed people as they walked. A little kid about two was with his mother watching a squirrel dart across the grass and scramble up a tree. I knew the camera was too unsteady to get a decent shot. It would have been a nice picture. Bill put a tripod in front of me.
We used medium to long telephotos from two tripods. Bill told me to find subjects and then pick the best angle and composition. It involved a lot of moving around on a freshly hurt knee. I only shot three rolls. There wasn't time for me to develop them as I had to be back in Suffolk County by five. Bill promised to bring the prints Tuesday or Wednesday when he had time.
On the ride back we talked about a wide range of things. I asked him about my tutor. 'No, he's just a friend of Michael. He's strictly into women. But he's a good teacher, huh?'
I mentioned Marcelino and his baseball team and the need for a birth certificado as Marcelino called it.
'That's not a big problem. A boy with the name you are using really did exist. He died as a baby. Let me see what I can come up with.'
I wanted to bring up Cholito again but didn't.
Saturday night, Charles went to the bathroom an hour or so after bedtime. He accidentally woke me up climbing down when he stepped on my foot, which was hanging through the ladder. He didn't come back for a long time. I beat off fucking myself with my finger while he was gone. I went to the bathroom to wash off my finger and to see what was taking him so long. The door, with light coming from underneath it, was locked. I used the other bathroom to wash then went back to the door and listened. I couldn't hear a thing. I put my ear against the wood. There was a slight rustling sound but nothing distinguishable. I went back to my bed and was starting to doze when Charles came back, maybe ten minutes later.
'You take a long time to shit,' I commented.
'Yeh, that was one great shit.'
Just the way he said it, I suspected something. Was he a soap fiend like me?
Sunday, Wally took seven of us to a movie, Harum Scarum with Elvis Presley. I'd have rather watched cars go by. The detective, a weekend relief man, thought it was great.
Monday afternoon, two policemen came. One knew Mr. Palmer. They'd been rookies together twenty some years earlier.
'How many times do you observe Benjamin being assaulted?' asked one.
'Two.'
The younger policeman wrote everything down.
'Did he or any of them make any noise?'
'When Calvin called him and when they hurt him.'
'How loud were they? Talk to me as loud as they were.'
I imitated Calvin calling Benjamin 'white trash'.
'And when they hurt Benjamin?'
I grunted about as loud as he had. 'Then the kid hit him on the head. That made noise too but not as much.'
They asked how often the guards walked down the screen between the windows and the dormitory. A few times, I told them.
'At night?'
I thought about that. 'I never saw them at night.'
'But you went to sleep pretty quick, right?'
'No, I couldn't sleep in that place. I was too scared.' It felt good to be able to admit that.
It became obvious that the questions had more to do with the officers than Calvin, Ronald and the others. They asked about my interviews with Mr. Foster, Mr. Milner and the psychologist. Everything was gone over three times, occasionally getting back to my conversations and what I heard Center personnel say when I first got into the Center. Something was going to happen. I hoped I wouldn't get caught up in it.
Tuesday evening after a very Latino dinner of chicken and rice and beans with flan for desert, I walked into the living room looking for Charles to play cards. My skills at Tin Tan were improving. The television was on. It was six- thirty. The news came on.
`We just received news from Newark, New Jersey that Westies lieutenant Ray Hoolihan's body was found in a dumpster behind a restaurant.'
I froze and turned slowly toward the television. My mind seemed to focus on two words: Hoolihan's body. The idea of his death seeped in. I cannot remember what my face must have looked like. Several boys were looking at me. Mr. Palmer, the detective put his arm around my shoulder and led me out of the room whispering, `Ray, Ray, listen to me. Ray.'
He took me outside and out the gate to the sidewalk. His arm held me tight to him. My father was dead. He was gone. I didn't have a biological father any more. It had to be due to the bungled burglary. I had seen the Italian. I had to be next.
`Ray, listen to me. Are you listening?'
I looked up at him. `We gotta get outta here. Go hide.'
Ray! Listen to me!' He stopped and squatted in front of me. Ray, are you listening to me?'
`Yes,' I answered nearly breathlessly.
`You're gonna be okay. I'm sorry about your father but you're gonna be okay. That's why I'm here, to make sure you're okay.' He took hold of my hands. 'Ray, you gotta get yourself together here. Calm down. Relax. We can't have anyone thinkin' you knew the man. You're from Staten Island, remember? You're Manuel. That's how we can keep you safe. Nobody knows you're here but us. You're safe here.' He kept repeating the same theme, that I was safe as Manuel from Staten Island, that I had to act like it didn't happen. Get it out of my mind. I was safe.
We sat on the curb, his arm around me. I was terrified. This was like lying in the bed in the Detention Center waiting for them to come get me. I wanted to run and hide. Mr. Palmer kept me right there.
Mrs. Mendoza came out to us. `What's wrong with Manuel? They said there was something on the news and he looked really frightened.'
I kept my head down. Mr. Palmer spoke. `He got sick and almost passed out. Would you please call Mr. Winston so he can tell the doctor.'
Several of the others came up behind Mrs. Mendoza. She chased them back to the house then returned a few minutes later.
`Don't worry, Mr. Palmer. I'm aware of Ray's situation. He's not the only one who's hidden here. Was that man in the news involved in his case?'
Mr. Palmer pulled my head to his chest and covered my ears. I could still hear his answer. `He was the boy's father. He put him up to the crime. Ray's afraid they'll find him here but I told him no one knows he's here.'
Mrs. Mendoza stepped into the street and leaned over to me. `Ray, you are very safe here. Wally was a policeman before coming here. You have Mr. Palmer and the others always here to protect you. None of the boys know who you are. This home isn't listed anywhere so someone looking for you wouldn't know to come look here. It's not even in your file with the probation department. You are listed as going out of state. You are very, very safe here.
`Now, try and relax. Come back inside when you feel better. I'll tell everyone you got sick and needed some fresh air. Stay out here as long as you like.'
Those reassurances did help. Who were others hidden here like me? Would they add things together and figure that the man in the news was connected to me?
Mr. Palmer pulled me to my feet. `Let's go for a walk but not too far. I'm sure Mr. Winston is on his way.'
Bill arrived an hour and fifteen minutes after the story hit TV. I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him. He picked me up and kissed me repeatedly on the cheek. 'Everything's going to be okay. I'm here and I'll stay as long as you want.'
We sat back on the curb. Mr. Palmer and another man who had come with Bill stood back from us. `I'm sorry about your father,' said Bill softly.
`I don't care about him. He was a bastard.' Those words just came out. I hadn't considered them before speaking.
If there was an end to the life I grew up in, the death of my father was probably the most significant marker. It was, to be sure, the beginning of a transition to a new life.
The policemen who had visited on Monday came out and showed me a huge number of pictures of Mafia figures. I sneaked a look at the back of the photo of the man I'd seen in the apartment on Forty Sixth Street. His name was Guido Scano. However, I told them none was the Italian I had seen. There was at that point no one for me to testify against.
The case against me was put away in some file cabinet and forgotten.
I did testify with Benjamin against Ronald, Calvin, Miguel Solorzano and four others including Robert, the small black boy who had taunted me in the shower and been involved in both Benjamin's and my rapes. I don't know what happened to them or even Benjamin.
Mr. Becker, the lawyer who handled my juvenile case, told Bill that the white boy from Miguel's group was taken out of the detention center and was placed in a foster home.
Over a three week period, the director of the detention center, Mr. Foster and several guards were fired due to the rapes and for collaborating with unethical policemen like Detective Mulvaney in intimidation attempts against several others and me. Mulvaney and two other policemen also lost their jobs and pensions. No one was charged with anything. That, Bill explained, was part of the deal for my case to be dropped.
Five months after my father's death, Bill told me something he'd learned from Mr. Palmer, the detective. When he learned what had happened to me at the detention center, Ray Hoolihan had been both furious and crushed. He had gone to the FBI and offered to give himself up in exchange for my release. The FBI had wanted more including the Mafia member who had set up the crime. Before he could decide one way or the other, he had been kidnapped and killed.
At first, I couldn't believe that the man who had so callously involved me in the dangerous world of adult crime was capable of such selfless concern for me. After all, crime was really all we had ever done together. Bill assured me that Palmer had checked it out and had no doubt about its veracity.
My mind was full of questions and very conflicting emotions. If he cared so much for me, why hadn't he said so, shown something that would have let me know. Other than being boastful of my toughness and criminal accomplishments to his friends, he had never said anything that sounded a bit fatherly. He had stopped the O'Reilly brothers from beating on me and set up Kenny as my friend. But that was it. Was I supposed to feel some great sorrow for the man who caused me to exist then pretty much ignored that existence except when it suited his purposes?
The hatred I had felt melted away but there was no sense of loss. I did develop some respect for him that had never been there. He had tried to do right by me when it was called for, shown some loyalty to an accomplice who happened to be his son. Did he do it because in some dark corner of his being he actually felt some kind of fatherly responsibility, maybe even love? But, I hardly knew the man. How could I feel a great loss for someone I hardly knew?
Epilogue
Life for me became pleasant though a bit sad, too. I never saw Cholito again and didn't get back to Hell's Kitchen for nearly five years. Kenny was there when I got back and, after a lot of hesitation, told me of his ordeal at the detention center. I admitted what happened to me. He wanted to make love but I begged off gently letting him know my sexual interests weren't with men without letting on they were also not heterosexual.
My mother sent me letters and I sent many to her but we had to wait the same five years before seeing each other. She appeared not to have missed me very much. I suspected and later found out that my sisters Delia and Brenda wrote most of the letters.
I sent several letters to Cholito that Bill delivered through Mr. Martinson. He answered them all, swearing his lifelong friendship and wishing we could be together again. Then, in the middle of the summer, with no warning, his mother moved the family away, leaving no forwarding address. I cried myself to sleep the night I was told.
The home was pleasant and not too restrictive. I played on Marcelino's baseball team that Bill ended up sponsoring when the other sponsor gave up when we lost our fifth game in a row. After our Saturday morning games, I spent the rest of my weekends with Bill, Michael and the boys, sleeping Saturday nights in the safety of Bill's arms. Charles, two others and I became fast friends. But that's part of another story.
Michael Peterson malou2003@hushmail.com