My grandfather, who I will be referring to as Rocky in this article, was born in the early 1920’s, in Brooklyn, New York. His mother was a Polish-American (multi-time) widow, and his father was her (former) tenant turned husband, a veteran of the First World War. He served in the Imperial German Army as Infantry and later on a Trench Raider/Stormtrooper. He successfully entered the US as a post-war Polish immigrant.

Rocky was trouble from a young age. His father passed violently, and suddenly, while Rocky was still a child, and sure enough, his mother remarried rather quickly. Pushing Rocky further into the street.

By the age of 12, Rocky was no longer attending school. However, he was standing trial for some rather serious charges. The courts were a much different place then and used their familiarity with his step/half brothers to form a prejudice against him. At 12 years old, Rocky was sent out west to a “ranch” for some rehabilitation. Instead of finding rehabilitation, Rocky found the absolute last of a dying breed. Real cowboys. These men taught this little (Rocky was fully grown by 5’4″) Polish kid from Brooklyn how to shoot (revolver, automatic, shotgun, you name it) . How to fight dirty. How to effectively end people. Rocky was sent to the ranch for rehabilitation and received a PHD in wet work.

After serving out his time, Rocky was shipped back to Brooklyn, where he found a job as a Long Shoreman. He quickly gained a reputation and drew the attention of Albert Anastasia, for whom my grandfather worked until Anastasia’s assassination in 1957. Rocky was a part of the “trade” between the 5 families of New York and the United States government.

Rocky never passed the 5th grade, yet he entered the United States Army as a Warrant Officer due to certain abilities he had. My grandfather was proud of his service. He said it was one of the few times he felt normal. It was a  place where he felt accepted. There was no judgment.

Rocky landed in Anzio during the beginning of the invasion. He fought his way though Monte Casino, the Po Valley, the Gustav Line, all the way to Rome.  He had a few unfortunate events occur, two of which were when he took two 8mm rounds to the chest. Later, in close combat, he took a Mauser bayonet to the face.

One of my favorite stories of Rocky is the Graveyard story.  While fighting his way through a church graveyard, a German mortar shell went off in his vicinity, sending him, along with half a dozen skeletons in various states of decay flying through the air. In the daze of the explosion, he believed it had killed him, and some of his victims from Brooklyn were coming to drag him to hell.

At the end of the war, the US Army tried to keep him on as an instructor, but he was dying to get back to life.  He returned to the docks, and the employ of Anastasia. He also took a wife and began a family.

My father was the 2nd of 4. The 1st passed as a baby, and I had an aunt pass. That leaves my father and an aunt. Thankfully, I began asking questions about my family young while while my father’s memory was still sharp. He describes a situation where Albert Anastasia was in their kitchen with stacks of bills on the kitchen table.

In the 1960s, my father’s family house blew up with them home due to a “neighbors gas leak.” In the 1970s, my grandmother was killed due to someone tampering with my Aunts brake lines (my grandmother was driving the car to pick my aunt up because my aunt wasn’t currently feeling comfortable driving).

I’m rambling…

My grandfather aroused the ire of a certain “Crazy” Joe Gallo, where Gallo’s team utterly failed only for Gallo to get his a few weeks later at Umberto’s Clam House. Things calmed down greatly after that. Rocky was able to see 2 of his 3 children and hold 3 of his 4 grandchildren before severe brain cancer took him out in his early 60s.

Gangster to the last day, he sat at his kitchen table staring at the backdoor, waiting for “them” to come and get him.