- May 2, 2024
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As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.
By 13 years old, I was a certified “Sopranos” junkie. My face was contorted into a 24/7 DeNiro frown. Unlike the religious kids at school, the W.W.J.D. bracelet around my wrist was more concerned with what Joe Pesci, not Jesus, would do in times of struggle.
So you can imagine my excitement when I heard that Johnny Martino, none other than Paulie Gatto from “The Godfather” — the guy who got whacked in the wheat field, before Clemenza told his partner, “Leave the gun; take the cannoli” — would be at the library in Palm Coast 11 a.m. Saturday, June 9, to plug his new biography.
This had to be fate. Martino was my Cosa Nostra in. He could get me an audience with the infamous Palm Coast Don.
He could make me a wiseguy.
“Ho! Mr. Shameless Self Promotion ova heeyuh,” I’d joke to break the ice. Then I’d hand him a capicola sandwich and smirk, “You know I’m just breakin’ bawls.”
And then the rest would be smooth sailing.
You see, I’ve already got the Italian blood. But being a goodfella has got a lot more to do with attitude than heritage. And I have that part covered, too.
Even as a kid, I knew the routine. Mom would tell me to take out the trash and I’d consult my consigliere first. Dad would say to clean my closet and I’d flick my Magic Marker mustache, go full-on Brando and tell him, “That … I cannot do.”
In third grade, I turned in a deflated beach ball wrapped in paper to my teacher instead of homework. It was an old Sicilian message, I told her. It meant her precious textbook sleeps with the filters … in the deep end of my parents’ pool.
Maybe none of this means anything to an honest, tax-paying schnook like you. People on the outside could never understand the mind of a soon-to-be-made man.
But Martino — he would get me.
Growing up, I had what some might call an unhealthy fascination with the mafia. “The Godfather” was the first truly great film I’d ever seen. Michael Corleone and I shared initials. A girl once played the movie’s theme song for me on her violin, and I swear I fell in love with her on the spot.
When it comes to the capos and lieutenants in Martino’s crew, though, I know they’ll care more about my actions than my feelings. But, all due respect, I’m a born goomba. I got kicked out of preschool for ripping off a friend’s shirt because I thought that rat might be wearing a wire. I lost my first girlfriend after she asked how my lemonade stand was going and I slammed my fist on the table and advised her never to ask me about my business.
Capiche, Martino? You’ve got to be a real stugats not to see that I’m a natural. So issue me my fedora and Mafioso nickname. Mikey Two Shoes, maybe? Mikey the face? The less it makes sense, the better. Please. I’ll go to the mattresses with you — whatever it takes.
Make me an offer I can’t refuse.
