My Life Like a Roller Coaster

By Mark Thomas O’Neill

A boy at a young age who tried to protect his mom from his father, and at an older age, he did just that many times. He had his own problems with sicknesses and injuries as a young boy. He quit school to help his mom support her family of six children, although she didn't want him to. The young man went to work in the trades. He learned a lot and was taught from many because he showed he wanted to learn. These men knew why he was working at a young age and helped him to achieve his goals. The young man lost his mom at the age of sixteen and started hanging with the wrong people and getting into trouble for things he didn't do. He got married at the young age of seventeen and had a child, and that marriage didn't last very long. He had a difficult time dealing with the loss of his first marriage and the absence of his child. Later in life, in his twenties, he started his own business and ran it for forty years. This man lost his second wife of thirty-six years after a two-month battle with cancer, and his life abruptly changed. This man is Mark O'Neill, and this is his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Thomas O’Neill
• Release date: Sep 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781732831230

Book preview

DEDICATION

This story is dedicated to everyone in it that helped me one way or another. From the time I was a little boy to a teenager, into my adult life, and some that still do today. From my heart, I thank them all.

Special dedication and thanks to three people who never saw or spoke to each other.

Mom: Louise, angel number one, for taking care of me all my life until she passed when I was sixteen.

Wife: Maria, angel number two, for saving me at the   age of seventeen after my mother passed.

Wife: Edie, angel number three, for also saving me later in life, and being at my side for thirty-four years until she passed.

A special thanks to all four of my children: Mark T.,   Kelly A., Mark C., and Shawn M. Daddy loves you all.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction  8

Magazine Street  12

Dudley Street  15

Mother’s Heart Story  18

After Mom’s Surgery  22

Calling Work  27

Dreaming  28

More Dudley Street Story  30

Meeting a Lovely Young Girl: 1972      33 

Templeton Street  35

Brook Avenue  45

Woodward Avenue    51

Columbia Road  52

Call from Maria’s Mother        53 

Florida Bound       54    

Brothers-in-law  59

––––––––

Boston Street and Massachusetts Avenue    64

(Meeting Another Young Lady) 1976

Tolman Street  72

Working    77

Shootout One  78

Shootout Two  81

Boston Street  87

My Business  96

Another Book I’m Writing  98

Arson Ring in Boston    99

Handwritten Letter from My Son Mark T. in Florida   103

Tow Yard    104

Revenge    106   

Phone Call from Maria  113

(To Send Our Son to Boston to Visit)

Edie, Me, and the Family  119

Family Trip        120

Electrocuted   124

Yearly Christmas Parties  126

One More incident Over Family      128

Another Stupid Brother-in-law  130

My Heart Operation  132

Meeting Maria Again After Many Years  138

Car Story    140

Story About Something Edie Said  142

Letter from an A-Hole  144

Mothers    146

House Story  153

Very Sad  159

At Edie’s Wake    167

At Edie’s Funeral  168

Edie’s Last Ride to Her Resting Place  169

Phone Call from Maria    170

After Edie’s Passing  171

Health Insurance   173

Life After Edie’s Passing  176

Back to Maria    178

First Trip to Florida          187

Back in Boston: Sad and Sore  192

Second Trip to Florida         194

Heading Back to Boston   204

New Year’s Eve              205

Third Trip to Florida            206

Final Trip to Florida: May 2015   211

Trip to New York      212

Leaving New York    217

Trip to Disney World in Florida: August 2015  220

A Short Trip to Boston      224 

Trip to California         228  

Life is a Bundle of Everything  229

This is My Belief  235

Final Words  238

Thank You for Reading   242

INTRODUCTION

My name is Mark Thomas O’Neill. I was born     on June 28, 1954, in Boston, Massachusetts.

I was baptized and made my first Holy

Communion at Saint Patrick’s Church in   Roxbury, Massachusetts.

Some of the families that I remember from Roxbury are...

The Myers family on Eustis Street. Mrs. Myers was one of my mother’s best friends.

The Hill family on Eustis Street.

The Masterson family on Eustis Street. They still live there today.

The Toohey family on Eustis Street.

The Stackpole family on Magazine Street.

The DeYeso family on Eustis Street.

Ann Vale on Magazine Street. She is my godmother.

The Davis family on Magazine Street. Two brothers who owned a roofing company.

The Squire family on Magazine Street.

The Lawler family on Magazine Street.

The Austin family on Magazine Street—my aunt, uncle, and cousins.

The Gregorio family on Magazine Street. The mother was Ruthie, a very dear friend of my mother’s, and a very nice person to me. I’ll talk more about her in the story.

The Slack family on Magazine Street.

The Nelson family on Magazine Street.

The Kenny family on Magazine Street.

The Brooks and Callery family on Magazine Street.

The Rosso family on Cedric Street.

The Purchillo family on George Street. Owner of our neighborhood store, Purchillo’s, which was on the corner of Magazine and George Streets. James (Jim) was the owner, and he worked there himself.

The barber shop, which was at the corner of Magazine and George Streets, diagonally across from Purchillo’s. Don, we called him Don the barber, he worked at Old Mr. Boston, a liquor distributor, on Massachusetts Avenue at the end of Magazine Street. Every night after work he opened his barbershop to cut hair. He didn’t live in the neighborhood.

Ms. Sarno, who didn’t speak English. All the kids in the neighborhood grew up calling her Nona. No one except her grandson Chucky, or I, could go into her yard or garden. Nona showed me how to plant a garden and I planted one in my yard even bigger than hers. I planted tomatoes, cucumbers, string beans, radishes, and potatoes, which grew well and plentiful. We used to play stickball and football in the street. If any balls went in her yard, she would keep them. The only kids who could get them back were Chucky or me. I’m still friends with Chucky Myers today.

The names and families could go on and on.

In those days, everybody helped and looked out for each other’s family.

I’ve been writing pieces of this story for years. Now, at age sixty-four, I’m finishing the story.

MY LIFE’S STORY

MAGAZINE STREET

As I stated, I was born in Boston, Massachusetts. I grew up in Roxbury, one of the twenty-three officially recognized neighborhoods in the City of Boston. My father was James I. O’Neill. My mother was Louise C. O’Neill (Gagnon). They had six children: three boys and three girls. I was the fourth child, and the second son. I lived at 27 Magazine Street from birth until I was eight years old. I went to the Samuel W. Mason School on Norfolk Avenue for kindergarten and then to Saint Patrick’s School on Mount Pleasant Avenue, as did my brothers and sisters. Our parish church was Saint Patrick’s on Dudley Street.

Growing up in those days was tough for our family. I had a father who was a drunk and never took care of his family. He always had good jobs driving tractor-trailers over the road. When he got paid, he went straight to the barroom and drank. My mother had to go on welfare to support her family.

I can remember eating plenty of powdered eggs in the morning with powdered milk to wash them down. We had fried Spam and beans for lunch, and cheese sandwiches at dinner time—all free food from the Welfare store. If Mom could buy a tomato, we would get a slice on our cheese sandwich. My mother had to go pick up all that food and wait in line to get it. Mom did all this to feed her family while Dad sat in the barroom drinking the food and bill money.

He spent many months at a time in jail for nonsupport. My mother didn’t want him in the house when he was drinking because he was abusive. Sorry to say this, but I never did like my father for a few reasons. The drinking was one, and another was as a child, I can remember my father abusing my mother when he was drunk (not when he was sober). As I stated, Mom didn’t want him in the house drinking, or should I say drunk, because he never drank without getting drunk, shit-faced, or legless. 

Well, the abusive side of him was when Mom wouldn’t let him in the house, and he would kick the door down and start beating up on her (like she was a man) for not opening the door. I can remember this happening when I was five or six years old and couldn’t help Mom fight him off. I would run, hide and cry stop, stop!

When she got away, she would tell him, Jimmie get out now! He wouldn’t leave, so she would grab us kids and run to a neig

hbor’s house and call the police. He left then, but sometimes he tried to fight the police. As I got older, he was still abusive to Mom.

At around seven years old, I can remember jumping on him and hitting him when he would hit Mom. He would throw me off him and continue hitting Mom. I would jump back on him and you know what happened—thrown again, and he had the balls to yell at me for that. I was afraid he would hit me, but I’d just seen too much of my mother crying.

Dad never did hit me, and my mother finally got him out of the house for about a year, which was when she moved the family to 296 Dudley Street in Roxbury.

All the above abuse happened on Magazine Street, but it didn’t stop after we moved. At the time Mom moved to Dudley Street, Dad didn’t move with us. He was probably sleeping in a field somewhere.

DUDLEY STREET

In 1963 I got badly burnt. My brother James (Jimmie) had a cigarette lighter that blew up on me. I was always up early in the morning, and I noticed my brother’s lighter was almost empty. Being a good bother, I filled it up and lit it to see that it worked. It blew up, setting me on fire because the lighter fluid got on my hands and pajama top. At that age, what kid knew about lighter fluid blowing up? Plus, I didn’t really know I had fluid on me.

Everyone in the house was sleeping. I ran to my mother’s room in flames. She got up and I ran to the kitchen with Mom chasing after me. I burnt my whole chest and neck. My ears and hands got burnt but healed by themselves. My poor mom burnt her hands trying to put out the fire. I received six skin grafts over the next three years—very, very painful.

Where was Dad? Drinking, that’s where. I don’t remember him coming to see me in the hospital, but maybe he did once or twice. I do remember my aunt Mildred (Millie), my mother’s sister, was there all the time. As well as many of our neighbors.

I can remember all the lovely nurses at the Boston City Hospital, Children’s Four, which was the ward I was in. Those nurses spoiled me and took great care of me. Every time I went into the hospital, I was in the same ward.

At night, after the nurses put all the other children to bed, they would roll my bed out to where they sat and did their reports. They’d give me milk, graham crackers, and ice cream, and I’d watch TV until I fell asleep.

One nurse, Ms. Nolan, worked the three to eleven shift and she was like a mother to me.

My mother had heart problems and was next door at the University Hospital a couple of times while I was in the hospital. Ms. Nolan would have the nurses go over and bring Mom to visit me in a wheelchair. They were the best. I loved them for all they did for Mom and I.

As I stated, I had six skin grafts. Every time I went in the hospital, the neighborhood mothers would help Mom by watching my brothers and sisters, so my mother could spend time visiting me. When I came home from the hospital, all the neighborhood mothers were still around to help. They were good neighbors.

Three people I will never forget are my Aunt Millie, Ms. Ruth (Ruthie) Gregorio, and Ms. Corinne Foster. Ruthie was one of my mother’s best childhood friends. She was a registered nurse at Boston City Hospital where I had my skin grafts. Corinne lived next to us at 294 Dudley Street and worked as a nurse assistant. She helped my mother with me and later became my brother, Jimmie’s mother-in-law. They are all gone now but will never be forgotten by me—Aunt Millie, Ruthie, and Corrine. Thank you all.

I can’t forget Ms. Seferian, who also lived next to us at 298 Dudley Street. She owned a bakery in Watertown, Massachusetts, and would always bring home special pastries for me. She has also gone to heaven. These four people, along with my mother, were very special to me.

Due to being out of school so much because of all the skin grafts, I had an in-home tutor for some time. When I finally returned to school, I returned to Samuel W. Mason, where I attended through the sixth grade. I returned there for fourth through sixth grades. (That school only went to the sixth grade.) After finishing the sixth grade, I went to the John Denver School on Mount Vernon Street in Dorchester (Columbia Point), but I quit during my first year there. I didn’t like school