The Pulaski Prowler

By Todd Daley

Tom Haley, a rookie college teacher, is awakened by someone fiddling with his front door. Rushing downstairs, he sees a man hurrying down the street with a pronounced limp. The following day, he looks around Pulaski Avenue on his old red bicycle. He stops at the flats, a string of flat-roofed attached houses, where he meets Marcie Flann, a sensual waitress at the Prima Diner. Despite differences in background and outlook, the two begin dating.

In the meantime, Tom helps the local police solve a rash of burglaries in the area. Through patient sleuthing, he learns the prowler’s name – Ron Luco, where he grew up and had gone to school. He also discovers that Marcie was Luco’s former girlfriend. A local jewelry store heist is linked to Luco, but through intimidation and an alibi, he is acquitted.

Later, Marcie is disturbed by someone walking on her roof. By the time Tom arrives, the elusive culprit is gone. The plot turns, as Tom finds himself under surveillance by the relentless Luco, who carries a handgun. Amidst a stickball game at local schoolyard, Luco shows up – threatening Tom and Marcie with a gun. The narrative is interspersed with thumbnail sketches on racism, antisemitism, sports, infectious diseases, nuclear energy, algebra, statistics, history, poetry, immigration, and philosophy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781665502740

Todd Daley

The author grew up on Staten Island – attending CCNY, Johns Hopkins University, and NYU earning BS, MAT, and PhD degrees respectively. He taught physics and mathematics many years in the high school and junior college levels. As a teacher, he tried to make abstract principles concrete by connecting them to everyday life. Ideally, the student should come away with essential information and the ability to solve problems, think rationally, and act ethically. The author has written the following nonfiction books: Apples and Oranges, Mathematical Concepts , and A Brief Guide to Philosophy. His novels include: 1950s-1960s Fable, 1960s-1970s Fable, The Mariners Harbor Messiah, Blue Collar Folks, The Pulaski Prowler, Love in the Days of Covid-20, The Maiden Maverick, and The Elm Park Time Travelers.

Book preview

© 2020 Todd Daley. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/18/2020

ISBN: 978-1-6655-0275-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-0274-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020919412

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Farewell to Glocca Morra

Chapter 2: Teaching at Hamilton

Chapter 3: Probability Lesson

Chapter 4: Kaffman’s Bar

Chapter 5: Neighborhood Prowler

Chapter 6: Pocketbook Snatcher

Chapter 7: Time, History, and Psychology

Chapter 8: Caught Red-Handed

Chapter 9: Amateur Detective

Chapter 10: Visit to the Power Plant

Chapter 11: Talk with Detective Lynch

Chapter 12: Talk with Claire Haley

Chapter 13: Lecture on Infectious Diseases

Chapter 14: Neighborhood Memories

Chapter 15: Friendly Offer

Chapter 16: Fractions, Decimals, and Equations

Chapter 17: Man’s Inhumanity to Man

Chapter 18: Marcie Flann

Chapter 19: Saturday Coffee Klatch

Chapter 20: Political Discussion

Chapter 21: Breaking Racial Barriers

Chapter 22: The Jump Shot and Trick Pitches

Chapter 23: Meandering Conversation

Chapter 24: Straight Lines and Serenity

Chapter 25: Consultation with a Colleague

Chapter 26: Nuclear Pandora’s Box

Chapter 27: Harry the Horse

Chapter 28: Hard-Nosed Haggling

Chapter 29: Word Problems and Scary Words

Chapter 30: Symbols of the Elements

Chapter 31: Conversation and Confrontation

Chapter 32: A Saucy Meal

Chapter 33: Discourse on Philosophy

Chapter 34: Paper Route and Power Plant

Chapter 35: Shots to the Stomach

Chapter 36: Decorations Interrupted

Chapter 37: Wandering the Halls

Chapter 38: Nature versus Nurture

Chapter 39: Ruckus on the Sidewalk

Chapter 40: The Wooden Box

Chapter 41: Terrible Lizards

Chapter 42: Off the Record

Chapter 43: God, Fate, and the Harvest Moon

Chapter 44: Probability Redux

Chapter 45: The Power of Poetry

Chapter 46: Lumps of Coal

Chapter 47: The Whims of Fate

Chapter 48: Word Problems Redux

Chapter 49: The Holocaust

Chapter 50: The History of Anti-Semitism

Chapter 51: The Sand Lane House

Chapter 52: An Arithmetic Lesson

Chapter 53: Baseballs and Bullets

Chapter 54: Backyard Garden

Chapter 55: The American Dream

Chapter 56: Free Will versus Fate

Chapter 57: PS 21 Schoolyard

Chapter 58: Freddy von Voglio

Chapter 59: The Blacklist

Chapter 60: Soapbox Preacher and a Potshot

Chapter 61: The Nature of Heat

Chapter 62: Cosmic Optimism

It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data.

—Sherlock Holmes

MAP OF ELM PARK

Elm%20Street%20Map%20(updated).jpgbg%20image.jpg

CHAPTER 1

FAREWELL TO GLOCCA MORRA

There was a chilly October wind blowing across the wide grass field bordering Morningstar Road in the days before the field would give way to paved access roads linking the Bayonne Bridge to the Staten Island Expressway. A bunch of teenagers were playing a spirited game of touch football. Joey Caprino threw a perfect spiral pass into the big hands of a skinny flanker, named Tom Haley, who managed to hold on to the pigskin after initially bobbling it. Thanks to the formidable blocking of Mike Palermo, Joey had ample time to throw the long pass. But before Tom could cross the goal line, he was tripped by a stocky kid. He fell hard to the ground, then got up. That wasn’t necessary. It’s just a game.

The other players glared at the tackler, a stocky kid somewhat younger than the others. Built like a fireplug, the youngster was the fastest runner on the field. Examining Tom’s skinned knee beneath the tear in his jeans, Mike Palermo said, You’ll survive. Hey, Ron, we’re playing touch football here.

The game continued awhile longer, but the upbeat mood of the players had changed. It was a low-scoring affair, with each side scoring a single touchdown. With the sun dipping below the horizon and the temperature dropping, it was decided to call it a day.

Walking home with Mike and Joey, Tom wondered aloud about the hard-running kid’s intensity. Ron’s gonna make a name for himself someday—one way or other, Mike replied.

The kid gives off bad vibes, Tom remarked.

51899.png

Nearly two decades later, Tom Haley drove along Richmond Terrace, twisting and turning its way from Mariners Harbor to St. George. The late August sun poured through the open window of his old Volkswagen.

Located on a hill overlooking New York Bay, Curtis High School afforded a majestic view of the harbor, including the Statue of Liberty and the Manhattan skyline. In colonial times, New York City had been known as goat town or Gotham, because there were so many goats around. Goats could only be seen currently at the Staten Island Zoo. However, there were occasional sightings of wild deer on the island’s vacant lots and woods.

The Gothic-style school, with its impressive facade consisting of limestone gargoyles, had intimidated Curtis student for three-quarters of a century. In his early years of teaching, Tom had seldom looked directly at those fearsome stone creatures. He preferred glancing at the lush trees, shrubs, rose bushes, and flowers of every variety that embellished the school’s entrance.

On the other side of the campus was an odd-shaped baseball field. It had a short right field bounded by a wrought-iron fence, and extensive center and left fields bounded by the venerable school building itself. Behind home plate was a rusty backstop, and beyond center field were rough wooden stands, capable of holding a hundred loyal fans at most.

Tom parked on Hamilton Avenue and trudged up the steep hill before entering the building through the arched front door. It was amazing how many streets, towns, and colleges were named after Alexander Hamilton, America’s first secretary of the Treasury and architect of the American financial system. Hamilton was one of the framers of the Constitution, along with James Madison, Thomas Jefferson, and Benjamin Franklin. Like George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, Hamilton was a deist, holding an enlightened belief in a nonpersonal God—along with reason, science, and the rights of man. Once, Alexander Hamilton was asked why there was no mention of God in the Constitution. His response: We forgot.

Standing at the front door, Curtis principal Lou Stout was there to greet Tom with a firm handshake and a slap on the back. What happened? You changed your mind about college teaching?

Nah. I need some papers filled out. Technically I’m still on sabbatical.

So you’re still under my jurisdiction. And I can call you to cover the classes of my absent teachers, Stout replied with a smirk.

I don’t know about that. But I want to retain my teaching license.

That’s smart. Don’t burn your bridges behind you.

I’m more likely to burn them in front of me.

Yeah. That sounds like you, Stout replied. He paused a moment, then said, We’ll miss you and you’ll miss us. This is Glocca Morra.

Once inside the cool, dark Curtis building, Tom checked his mailbox for possibly the last time. He noticed the faculty time cards—his was still there. And the formidable time clock that recorded punch-in and punch-out times. Lou Stout checked those time cards meticulously. Tom was aware that certain teachers had their buddies punch them in when they were late and punch them out when they were AWOL. For those sufficiently motivated, there was always a way to beat the system.

He hustled up the old staircase, its steps worn by hundreds of thousands of scuffling students over the years, and emerged on the second-floor science wing. Entering his old homeroom, he grabbed his physics and general science textbooks, plus his marking book from the preceding year. In his last semester, he had taught two physics classes and three general science classes. At home, he had a stack of marking books reflecting fifteen years at Curtis High School, from September 1968 to June 1983. A Curtis colleague had told him to hang on to them. When you retire, you’re going to peruse those marking books. They’re your whole life in a nutshell.

Teaching is a special calling. Not only do you shape the minds of countless youngsters, but you also achieve a kind of immortality—living in the memories of your students forever. Tom recalled Mr. Hutchins, an English teacher who had challenged him to memorize a long poem, The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes. There had also been a wonderful science teacher, Mr. Riner, who illuminated chemistry and physics, giving Tom a love for these fields with their irrefutable logic and aesthetic structure.

Another memorable teacher was Miss Forte, who had made history an exciting field. She had engaged the class in political debates. Tom had participated, expressing liberal views that were out of step with the prevailing conservative views of that era. Miss Forte had comforted him when he failed to make Arista as a junior, despite an average above 95 percent. In a culture that valued material wealth and denigrated learning, the status of teachers was just above that of bank clerks and auto mechanics.

As someone who had come of age in the 1960s, it was hard for Tom to adjust to the cultural and technological changes of the 1980s.The booming Reagan economy was powered by credit cards. He himself owned three of them—a Sears Roebuck card, a Macy’s card, and a Diners Club card, the latter of which had begun in the 1950s. The plastic credit card had originated around 1961. Now they were ubiquitous throughout the country, boosting consumer spending and keeping the economy afloat.

A major technological innovation changing the way people communicated was the mobile phone. The cell phones of the early 1980s were bulky, cumbersome, and expensive, costing as much as four thousand dollars for those cutting-edge folks desirous of impressing their peers.

Plunging into his duties at Hamilton Junior College, Tom quickly adapted to teaching on a college level. Hamilton was located in Spanktown, New Jersey, twenty minutes from the Goethals Bridge. In a sense, it was pure teaching—minus the hassles of student discipline. Teaching physics on a junior college level was roughly equivalent to the Regents physics he had taught at Curtis for a decade and a half. The fundamentals of mechanics, light, sound, electricity, gravity, and nuclear energy were pretty much the same in high school and college. However, in college physics the problems were more complex, and the math—depending on whether he was teaching algebra or calculus—could be more difficult.

Tom had taught basic algebra and business math at Curtis High School. At Hamilton, he was teaching college algebra, which was roughly equivalent to high school intermediate algebra. He was also scheduled to teach probability and statistics, with which he had a passing familiarity from covering such classes for absent teachers at Curtis.

Tom always prepared for his classes prior to walking into the classroom. To do otherwise was asking for trouble, whether on the high school or college level. Hard experience with restless teenagers had taught him to walk into the classroom armed with a detailed plan of the topic to be taught, along with an attention-grabbing demonstration. Whenever he taught Newton’s third law, Tom set off one of his legendary match-head tin-can rockets to demonstrate action and reaction.

As with many of the world’s tasks, a good work ethic carried the day. As a student, from elementary school to high school to college, Tom excelled through hard work. Despite talking and clowning in the early grades, he never allowed that behavior to get in the way of learning what he was supposed to learn. His study habits were enforced by a no-nonsense mom who perused his report card with a magnifying glass each marking period. In general, too much stress is placed on aptitude rather than diligence. Einstein himself declared, Genius is 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent perspiration. Legendary figures like Albert Einstein, Baruch Spinoza, and Marcel Proust worked hard, despite setbacks and illness, to the very end.

Tom remembered studying the chemical symbols of elements with Latin names: gold was Au, silver Ag, sodium Na, potassium K, iron Fe, lead Pb, tin Sn, and copper Cu. He was particularly interested in the element carbon, or C, found in the atmosphere in the form of carbon dioxide from the burning of fossil fuels. This abundant element occurred in charcoal, graphite, and diamond, depending on its crystal structure.

He was sitting against a fence during lunch recess at Port Richmond, going over his chemistry notes, when a pretty, dark-haired girl whose name was Anne came along with her boyfriend, apparently an upperclassman.

Tom had once sat next to her in a typing class. He had been the only boy in the class. Anne had remarked to a classmate that he was a brainiac—akin to saying that the person had epilepsy. Unfortunately, his typewriter had been broken and he had quickly fallen behind. Worried about maintaining his honor roll grades, Tom had reluctantly dropped the class.

Noticing Tom propped against the chain link fence, Anne grabbed her boyfriend’s hand and danced a lively jitterbug. As she twirled around, her skirt rose to reveal sensual legs and an exquisite figure. Poised between girlhood and womanhood, Anne was the personification of glowing health, effortless grace, and lithe beauty. She reminded Tom of the Phillies ace pitcher Robin Roberts, warming up at Ebbets Field in Brooklyn. There had been no wasted motion in Roberts’ fluid drop-and-drive delivery. He fired a ninety-five-mile-an-hour fastball with effortless power. Like him, Anne represented a special union of grace and power granted by God to rare individuals.

bg%20image.jpg

CHAPTER 2

TEACHING AT HAMILTON

Teachers at Hamilton Junior College ran the gamut from conservative pedagogues to flamboyant mavericks who made their own impression on the students. One colorful character was Wally Woofman, whose loud bark echoed along the halls. It was the era of the newfangled hand calculator, which was favored by the majority of Hamilton students. Woofman forbade the use of calculators in his class.

One day there was a dispute about the answer to a word problem. A student said the answer was 0.167—according to his calculator. Woofman wanted the answer to be expressed as the fraction one-sixth. The lesson happened to be on fractions, as a lead-in to algebraic fractions. Raising his voice to a resounding bellow, Woofman yelled, Shove that calculator up your ass!

Notwithstanding vociferous individuals, the relative quiet of the classroom and the absence of student-to-student conflict took getting used to. There were times when Tom missed the boisterous shenanigans of high school students. Bland compliance could be overdone. Objections and arguments were few and far between. Once he caught the eye of a student sitting in the back of the room. The student reacted with a friendly smile, unlike the grimace often exhibited by his Curtis students.

The high school filter had eliminated 80 percent of ne’er-do-wells and malcontents that Tom had dealt with for so many years. There were, however, certain academic deficiencies among Hamilton freshmen. Some of them had emerged from twelve years of schooling with gaps in their academic profiles, particularly with regard to reading, writing, and math skills. Consequently, Hamilton offered an array of remedial classes designed to correct these academic deficiencies.

Tom was given a class in arithmetic called Math Basics. It included a range of topics such as whole numbers, decimals, fractions, mixed numbers, ratios, proportions, and percents. Teaching this basic course was enjoyable because student involvement was high, with lots of questions asked and homework done.

Nevertheless, Tom missed Lou Stout’s fraternizing, along with Dick Grimsby’s hobbling along the halls while singing Perry Como’s Impossible. Both of these Curtis teachers were given to ogling the younger female faculty.

One day Tom bumped into a familiar face and figure—Rosie Murray, who had been the femme fatale of Curtis. Rosie was working at Hamilton as an adjunct, teaching an economics class. As in the past, she wore an ultra-tight skirt that displayed her ample derriere in all its wonderful contours.

Wow! If it isn’t Rosie Murray. You work here too?

Yes. I know Dr. Green from years ago when he worked at Staten Island Community College.

So you jumped the Curtis ship like I did, Tom replied, giving her a once-over.

No. I’m on sabbatical. Just getting my feet wet in the college teaching game, she said coolly.

The best thing about college teaching is you don’t have cafeteria or hall duty. And you don’t have to guard the front door, Tom offered, though he had a nice memory of meeting Bobby Thomson at the Curtis front entrance. Thomson, a former New York Giant, had hit a legendary home run against the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1951.

I was a grade advisor at Curtis. I never had any of those gruesome building assignments.

The kids here actually listen. It takes getting used to.

I never had any discipline problems at Curtis. I nipped them in the bud right away, she declared smugly.

I have to admit, you were able to get their attention, Tom said with a smile.

What do mean by that remark? Rosie replied, displaying the mercurial temper that was the key to her firm control in the classroom. She could turn the charm on and off with a flick of the switch. Despite her physical assets, she was not popular with Curtis students. To be honest with you, Tom, your discipline problems were well-known at Curtis. You were too easy with the ghetto kids we had there. But for some reason, Lou Stout liked you.

Well, I covered classes for absent teachers whenever he asked me—including yours. Maybe I’ve found my niche here at Hamilton, Tom said, smiling wanly. Rosie nodded and walked in the opposite direction. Tom watched her sensuous swaying hips as she pranced down the hall.

At that moment, Wally Woofman came by. That’s an ass to die for. But I hear from the kids that she’s not nice. Tom nodded and headed to his office.

Tom’s classes went well as he learned the ins and outs of Hamilton Junior College. He was given a math survey course for liberal arts students. It was an overload course for which he got extra pay—a welcome windfall. The course covered an array of unrelated math topics, including basic algebra, proportions, percents, simple interest, set theory, and probability. It had the intriguing name Math Miscellania.

bg%20image.jpg

CHAPTER 3

PROBABILITY LESSON

A few days later, Tom was taking attendance and noted that a new student enrolled in the course. He added the name, which seemed familiar, to the class list. A perky girl exclaimed, Well, don’t say hello, stranger!

She was Lulu from Curtis, wearing the same silver bracelets and anklets that she had been known for in her high school days. Her older cousin, Lora, had been similarly adorned, except her bracelets and anklets had been made out of copper. During the lecture, whenever Tom went over a difficult concept, Lulu responded by rattling her bracelets and anklets, catching the attention of the young men in the class. Tom said to himself, Some things never change.

One concept that seemed to perplex the class was the definition of an unusual event, notated:

Prob (Unusual Event) ≤ 0.05

So if I’m struck by lightning, that would be an unusual event, Lulu declared, rattling her bracelets.

If you were wearing those metal trinkets, it might attract lightning, a student called out from the back of the room.

Lulu extended her plump leg provocatively, My bracelets and anklets were blessed by a priest. So I’m safe from harm in a storm.

Can’t argue with that. Now let’s move on, folks. What is the range of values for probability?

A student indicated probability ran between zero and one. Tom concurred and wrote the corresponding inequality on the blackboard:

0 ≤ probability ≤ 1

Therefore, if your answer to a probability question is a negative number or a number more than one, you’ve made a mistake.

Next, Tom wrote the probability formula:

Probability = Favorable Outcomes / Total Outcomes

P = F / N

Showing the class a six-sided die, Tom asked, What’s the probability of rolling a three?

The same student who had answered the probability range question responded, One in six.

Tom followed up by asking the probability of getting an odd number. Before the same student could answer, Tom pointed to a wide-eyed girl sitting on the side aisle. She shook her head, and the rest of the class was silent. Then he pointed to an Asian kid, who said, One in two.

Next, Tom presented the well-known sock problem. If I had five pairs of socks mixed up in a drawer and grabbed two without looking, what is the probability of getting matching socks?

No one said anything. Tom noticed that college students, unlike Curtis kids, were reluctant to venture an answer unless they were pretty sure it was correct. It seemed that in the 1980s, there was a low tolerance for being wrong or outside the norm. It reminded Tom of the conformity of the 1950s.

Then Tom heard a jingle-jangling that was familiar. It was Lulu waving her hand.

The answer is one in nine. After you pick up one sock, there are nine socks left, one of which matches the first sock.

Excellent, Lulu! Tom replied enthusiastically.

I remember the sock problem from your Curtis days. She turned to the class. Mr. Haley was the coolest teacher ever. He set off a rocket that shot out of the room and hit the principal in the ass. Another one went straight up and stuck in the ceiling. It filled the hallway with smoke, she related, rattling vigorously.

These remarks drew a few titters. Tom knew that any humorous remark, incident, or conflict resulted in a break in the classroom discourse, making it difficult to get back on track. Though such breaks were unplanned, sometimes they were welcome interruptions in the drudgery of teaching. There was definitely less drama in college teaching compared to the ups and downs of dealing with high school teenagers.

At a subsequent meeting of the class, Tom put two algebra problems on the board.

1. A big pumpkin weighs 12 pounds plus 1/3 its weight. Find the weight of the pumpkin.

2. A prisoner sewed mail bags during his sixty-day jail sentence. Each day he worked he got $7. For each day he did nothing, he returned $3. If he earned a total of $170, how many days did he work out of the sixty-day sentence?

Tom gave them ten minutes to work the problems out. A student from the back of the room wrote the equation for the pumpkin problem, along with the solution, on the board:

12 + 1/3 X = X

Ans: X = 18 pounds

Then a black coed with thick glasses wrote the equation for the prisoner problem on the board:

7X - 3(60 - X) = 170

Doing the algebra flawlessly, she arrived at the solution.

Ans: X = 35 days

As the woman, whose name was Ruth, returned to her seat, there was little reaction from the class. At Curtis there would have been loud applause and sarcastic remarks concerning her math prowess. Even when Lulu talked about his match-head rocket, the reaction had been subdued. A certain degree of earnestness and decorum was manifest at the college level. The prevailing concern at Hamilton Junior College was to pass each course with a