"Crazy for Pizza"
During the months of build-out prior to opening the store, we’d often walk down the block and have lunch at the pizza place. Jimmy, the owner, followed his brother up here from Long Island to open up the place, and we've been friends from the get go. His is the only business on the block that’s still open from those early days, other than the adult book store (do those ever go out of business?). I still stop in weekly to catch up with Jimmy.
There’s an autographed picture of
the “Soup Nazi” hanging behind the counter and the resemblance to Jimmy is
striking. He’s about 6’ tall and slender with a thick mustache, the kind that
looks like it’s been there since his teenage years. He has a dark complexion
and somehow has kept his dark course hair. The similarities don’t stop there. Jimmy
also has a quick temper and a protective demeanor. His family was in the pizza
business downstate and his two sons work with him at the shop. Family business
just touches the surface here as a descriptor.
Our relationship grew over the
years based not just on our friendship, but also on our shared issues with our block
of State Street in the city. It truly felt like having a family member you
could count on rather than someone competing for the same customers. One thing
I loved about having Jimmy on the block was that his antics made mine look tame
by comparison. Most often he was polite in his own curt manner, but he had a fire
in him that led to rants few others could match.
One of his wildest explosions could
have easily turned out to be a disaster for him and his business, if not for the
intervention of a friend of ours on the police department. It was around 11:15
on a summer day; I know this because I was sitting at a sidewalk table taking
in the calm of the city before the noon rush. Even when relaxing, there is an
alertness required for survival. We all get accustomed to our surroundings and
develop some level of awareness of what is and what isn't expected. In a city
retail environment, this alertness is heightened and those expectations are quite
expanded as well. However, some days can still surprise you.
I glanced down the sidewalk and
noticed a familiar sight, so didn't pay much attention. The delivery guy
from the pizza shop was heading my way, probably walking lunch down to Kodak. My
business occupied two of the last three storefronts on the block. The last had
been vacant for many years, but currently it was home to Kim’s Nail Salon run
by a middle-aged Korean man. We were on polite terms and I trusted the guy even
though the language barrier kept us from getting closer. He looked and acted
much tougher than the stereotype of a Korean, and I liked the idea that this
rough-looking immigrant ran a nail salon.
I smiled as the deliver guy passed,
said hello, and closed my eyes to take in the sun. That moment of peace lasted
about 4 seconds before some loud conversation erupted as he reached the corner in
front of the salon. I turned my head and saw that three high-school-aged boys
had come around the side of the building and almost run into the delivery guy. They
all seemed to know each other, so I didn't think much of it.
But that all changed in an instant.
The boys started grabbing at the pizza boxes and a struggle ensued that
included a few punches thrown by the intruders. Most missed, but not all. By
the time I stood up, the pizza and the delivery guy were on the ground, and the
boys were laughing as they quickly crossed the street.
In the
moment it took me to come to the delivery guy’s aid, my neighbor had emerged
and we both were checking on his well-being. I think we were both ready to go
into action, but as I said, my Korean is pretty limited. But this was our block and things like this were bad
for all of us. The delivery guy tried to calm us down, saying he knew them and that
everything was fine. I could tell my neighbor understood as we both looked
confused and concerned.
The
delivery guy quickly started walking back to the store but not fast enough to
cause either of us concern. I could see the three boys still laughing on the
other side of the street, and the pizza was all over the sidewalk. My neighbor
and I looked at each other and tried to communicate as we both started cleaning
up the mess. It looks bad in front of his store, and, selfishly, I just don’t
want people smelling pizza and deciding to go to Jimmy’s for lunch instead of
my place.
What
happened next I know because of the extensive conversations afterward among all
of us on the block. The delivery guy walked back into the store and Jimmy,
surprised, asked why he was back so fast. This was immediately followed by a
barrage of other questions. “Where’s the Pizza? What happened? What’s wrong
with your face?” Jimmy’s voice elevated with each question and his temper wasn't
far behind. His guy told him that he’d been robbed, contrary to what he told us
minutes ago. When asked by whom, the delivery guy looked out the window and pointed
to the three boys walking directly across the street at the intersection of
Andrews and State.
Andrews
ends at a “T” on our street, State. On the corners are two buildings set back
from the road. The one closer to my store is raised with large concrete
barriers that act as walls around its moat of a parking lot. On the other
corner is the federal building, which had a light fence around the grass
surrounding the property. This was all prior to the 9/11 tragedy and there was
still a daycare center within the building. On nice days like this one, the
kids would be out on the grass and one of the security guards would be out
there along with the daycare staff.
I could
see all of this as my Korean neighbor and I watched the would-be thieves while we
attempted to communicate. The next sight has stayed with me for many years and
I don’t think it will ever fade. It was a familiar figure, but in a very
unfamiliar act. Jimmy, in his white shorts, white half apron, white sneakers,
white t-shirt, and calf-high white socks, sprinted out of his front door. There’s
a traffic signal at the intersection right outside his door, but he had no
concern for the red and green as he bolted into the road. Cars screeched as
they slammed on their brakes, attempting to avoid the white streak. Jimmy was
screaming at the three boys, and they started sprinting across Andrews Street
toward the back of the federal building. Jimmy was yelling at the security
guard to stop them, but the guard was justifiably distracted by the shiny
pistol in Jimmy’s right hand. I looked at his gun later on, but still have no
idea what size or type he legally carries. I can tell you this, though: I could
see the gun in his hand and I was about 100 yards away. There was no doubt that
the people in the stopped cars saw not just the crazy man in white, but the
weapon as well. He didn't appear to be lining up for a shot, but was using it
to point at the boys as they ran to the lot behind all the children.
If I hadn't
been in shock, I’m sure I would have been thinking that this couldn't end well.
Jimmy was so pissed off that the guard wasn't helping him that he ignored anything
the guard was saying. He was in full stride and cars were twisted all over the street
as they avoided each other and him. Faster than you can imagine, no fewer than
10 police cars came from every direction in response to the “Man with Gun” call.
Jimmy was nowhere to be seen as he was determined to find those kids and, I
assume, exact his own justice. The
first cop on the scene was the sergeant of our section. When he saw Jimmy, he grabbed
him and stuffed him in his car. He knew Jimmy well, fortunately, and quickly
figured out what was going on. The other cops grabbed two of the kids, but the
third got away. Well, the way I see it, they all got away when the cops grabbed
Jimmy before he got to them!
The
sergeant settled everything down and the two kids that got caught were
arrested. Jimmy was sent back to his store to calm down and make more pizza. As usual, I went back to work and waited for the lunch rush as the rush of what
had just happened started to dissipate.
I asked
Jimmy for permission to post this story before I even started writing. Not only
do I want to avoid any trouble for him, I’m also not interested in pissing him
off. This was a definite stretching of expectations for our neighborhood and
one that I am glad never became the norm.
An assault on one person or one business in a neighborhood, should be viewed as an assault on 'every person' and 'every business' in that neighborhood. Trash has no color, creed or gender. It's an equal opportunity destroyer. Individuals or groups with nefarious intentions will NEVER stop on their own. They have to be stopped.
ReplyDeleteThis is not a story, this is the absolute truth, as I was standing about 20 feet away from John in the opposite direction and witnessed the same thing as John........Mac, from the Smoke Shop.
ReplyDelete