POST TWO: MAXIE'S LUNCHBOX
In 1957 we lived in a 3-story walk-up on a dead-end street called Murray Court, a 100 yard stretch of triple decker buildings and worn out pavement in the Jeffrey’s Point section of East Boston. It was a slow 10-minute walk to the docks at the Boston Harbor.
In those days, my friends and I raised pigeons and played baseball with the Longshoremen on their lunch breaks. We fished down at the piers all year round, in the winter we caught smelt, in the summer we caught Congo Eels. We played Half Ball with broom sticks for bats and football on cement instead of grass.
Life was full of color and adventure in that place. For a twelve-year-old kid it was better than Disneyland.
Two of my best friends were Maxie and Johnnie Paronich. They lived with their mother and aunt. Their father left when they were too young to remember. Max was 12 like me, he grew up early, taking the weight of being the man of the house seriously. His little brother John was 10. They lived around the corner from me on Webster Street and every morning before school I would walk to their house and together, along with a group of about 25 neighborhood kids, walk the 2 blocks up the Webster Street Hill to the Samuel Adams school.
Ray-Ray was part of our group. He was a year older than us.
The previous year, Ray, who had always been a kind and gentle kid had grown over a foot, gained about 50 pounds and was becoming a bit of a bully. We didn't notice his attitude change too much, but we sure noticed the fact that, compared to the rest of us, he was now as big as a tree.
A few days into the school year something happened. Johnny came-home upset. After a little prying and a peanut butter sandwich, Max got him to admit that Ray took his lunch in front of the whole cafeteria.
This was not good.
See, where I grew up, what amounted to a couple slices of bread, some bologna and an apple, was much more than that and Maxie knew it. If they allowed Ray-Ray to get away with stealing Johnny's lunch with no repercussions, then for the rest of their lives, Maxie and Johnny would be pushovers, the Paronich boys that you could take stuff from and wouldn't do anything.
That was going to make for some bad days ahead.
Max and John pulled their piggy bank down from the closet, broke it open and collected about seven dollars and some change. They walked down to Central Square and Woolworths where they bought two new, tin lunch boxes. Maxie picked out a Lone Ranger Box and Johnny a Tonto.
The next morning, I got to Maxie and Johnny's just as a group of kids, including Ray-Ray, was coming by.
Johnny walked right up to Ray and said, "Give me your lunch right now."
Ray looked down at him and saw that Johnny was serious and laughed a big exaggerated laugh. He got as far as "HA! HA!" That’s when Maxie swung his Lone Ranger lunchbox as hard as he could with the flat side hitting Ray, right on the top of the head. He hit him so hard that the box, sprung open, sending a sandwich air born and a green apple rolling down the hill.
A soon as Ray turned toward Maxie, Johnny went low, wrapped his arms around Ray’s right leg and bit him in the calf. Ray bent down to pull Johnnie off and that's when Maxie swung Tonto, the second tin lunch box, and it made a big "BONG!" sound when it hit Ray's head.
Ray let out a loud grunt as he swung his leg, trying to get Johnny off him … but he fell. Maxie and Johnny stood over him, ready to continue the battle if need be.
But the war was over, as soon as Ray-Ray hit the ground, he started crying.
Some of the kids that were watching laughed, but Maxie wasn't having it. "Anyone laughing is gonna get the same thing," he said looking around. The laughter stopped.
We got Ray back on his feet and dusted him off. Things had ended quickly. No parents, no teachers or lawyers were called, no police, it was over, it was the birth of our version of street justice.
After that day it was known, if you messed with either of the Paronich boys, you got them both. Word spread all over Jeffrey’s Point that Maxie and Johnny were two crazy kids that could not be trifled with.
Ray went back to-being the sweet kid we always knew.
That's where I grew up. We were 30 young guys spread out over a six-block radius. All our parents, mothers and fathers, worked full time, leaving us to the streets year-round. We protected each other, we policed each other and to an extent we raised each other.
It was a different time and place with different rules and regulations. Eventually I got older and left Murray Court, but I never got the city streets out of my system. My best friends then are still as close in my heart as though it were yesterday.
More next time…