Deer Park 11729: The Tony Polizzi Story

By Anthony F. Polizzi Sr.

ake a wild and fun look at Deer Park 11729: The Tony Polizzi Story. Deer Park, a somewhat quiet little town nestled into the heart of Long Island, comes to life in this unbelievable tale of a young Italian, his family, and friends as they made their mark and had lots of fun, trials, tribulations, fights, sex, drugs, and rock and roll. After all, this was the 60s and 70s, a time like no other. Enjoy the music and the memories of a tumultuous era where peace and love reigned supremethe days of Hendrix, Joplin, and Zeppelin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 29, 2008
• ISBN: 9781462816880

Anthony F. Polizzi Sr.

An American author who was born in Brooklyn, New York, but was raised in Deer Park, Long Island. Mostly recognized for his fictional novels, Mr. Polizzi also has a developing specialty of being a presidential historian. He is currently working on several new novels and a new series of children’s books. He enjoys going to the beach, working out, and writing some exciting educational books.

Book preview

Deer

Park

11729

The Tony Polizzi Story

Anthony F. Polizzi, Sr.

Copyright © 2008 by Anthony F. Polizzi, Sr.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

52117

Contents

Deer Park 11729

The Early Years

The Pets

The Shepherd Years

The Friends

The Early Years

The Bands

The TV Shows of the

’60s and ’70s

Deer Park, the Town

The Deer Park Movies

The Streets and Neighborhoods

The Schools and Teachers

Growing up with Kahn

Russell, the Barn and Beanery,

and the Beating

The Richie Years

Daprino and Fararini

Roper and the Barn and Beanery

The Monkey’s Paw

The Monkey’s Paw Year

The Perez Years

My Working Years

High School—Early to Later

College Years

The Neighborhood Rumble

Jay Gordon

The basis and inspiration for most of my books is very simple. We live in a society where when someone commits a terrible act, examples are Charles Manson and the Amityville horror—this motivates someone to write a book, then a movie. Well, we just took this act of pure evil and gave it an airtime. The ripple effect, which may not have an immediate response, can only produce more evil. People, like sheep, are sometimes easily misled, and none of us, including myself, is immune to what I call technological sedation. So my heroes being real people who I feel are great. Anyway, there is a difference between good and evil; I believe my books are good. This is our world, our kids, and our problem. Just do your part.

Sincerely,

Anthony F. Polizzi Sr.

Deer Park 11729

1961 I still remember the drive from Queens. My brother and I were in the backseat of the car. My father was driving; my mom was a passenger. She never got her driver’s license. We were reading the latest copy of Superman. It was about an ape with Kryptonite vision. His name escapes me now, but back then, in comics, names were pretty simple. So were story lines. As a matter of fact, it seemed life was simpler then too.

We were driving to our new house on Long Island in a town called Deer Park. This was a pretty bold move for lifelong New Yorkers. Long Island was known as the Sticks, but for some reason, my parents, not having much money, ventured out. Pop was a shoe cutter. Yeah, what the hell is that? That meant he worked in a factory cutting the soles of shoes with a machine that stamped them out of leather. From the stories, I heard he was the best, a very fast workhorse. His name was Bennie, but his God-given name was Albino. To know my dad took two minutes. He was tough; you didn’t fuck with Bennie. Due to an unfortunate childhood accident, my dad had an eye that was slightly off center, adding to his already naturally tough Italian looks. He was able to grow a beard during his lunch break. He was not a big man compared to today’s standards, but his eyes and cauliflower ear (he used to box when he was young) gave him a tough look, and he was. I still believe he was not afraid of anything. I was scared shit of him, and I think most of my friends felt the same way. But it was almost magical when he told a joke; he also had a small gap in his front teeth. Hearing his jokes was funny you had to laugh. I wonder now if it was the transition from being tough to being humorous that was part of his magic. We shall talk more about Pop later. Let me tell you about my mom. Jean was I guess a typical woman of that era. She did not work outside the home; she was content with being Mrs. Polizzi: raising the kids, cleaning the house, and having dinner ready for Bennie when he came home from work. Dinner usually was every day around 5:00-5:30 p.m. Most days I was outside playing football in the street with my friends. All the neighborhood kids usually played together, but strangely, we fought with each other on a daily basis. One kid that we played with was named Kenny Cantwell. He lived right outside our neighborhood down Brooks Avenue, where only the brave walked. It had minorities and stray dogs running the streets. Anyway, Kenny was the coolest kid, probably the real-life Fonzie, greased-back hair, a little older than us, and always the high-energy quarterback kid. And did I mention the world’s oldest paperboy? He was about seventeen or eighteen, and everybody in our predominate Italian-Jewish neighborhood knew him. Our street football games were legendary. It was like some Roman honor to play in them. We even let girls play. Usually, they were blockers or there for us to get a cheap feel in. These games were usually played in front of the Polizzi house or slightly up the block. But at five thirty, you would hear my mom call me, Anthony, Anthony! Dinner is ready. I usually ignore her calls. Well, guess what, here comes Bennie, making a beeline to me. He was not coming out to play. He was pissed, real pissed. He usually passionately called me little bastard while kicking me in the ass to our house at 131 Headline Road. Now I joke about it, but then, there was nothing more scary when that moment came that I was enthralled in our football game when everyone said, Oh shit, Tony, it’s your dad. The kids never joked with him. They told me they thought the same thing I felt. He was scary. I firmly believe if the devil himself came to my house at five