James Sheehan - The Mayor of Lexington Avenue

Mary Kelly was not about to deliver Mikey to the priesthood, that morning or ever. She understood how people could see Mikey as some sort of angelic person: the red hair, the freckles, the smile-that smile. He had a little space between his two front teeth that made it even more enchanting. Not to say it wasn’t genuine. Mikey had a zest for life and an affection for people that was unique. But he was no angel. Neither was this tall, pimple-faced sixteen-year-old next to her-his partner in crime. They were all boy and they were heading in many directions at once but none of those roads led to the priesthood-Mary Kelly was sure of that!

“Thank you for suggesting that, Father. I’ll certainly talk to Michael and my husband about it.” Father Burke smiled back but he could tell far better than Johnny that she was not interested.

Johnny couldn’t wait to tell Mikey about the conversation. He found him in the bathroom, the one on the second floor that nobody else used.

“You can’t have anybody come in while you’re puking,” Mikey had told him that very first morning when they were searching for a place for Johnny to spill his guts.

Mikey was leaning over the bowl but he appeared to be done. He might have had a few more dry heaves in him but nothing more of substance was coming out.

“Something real bad just happened,” Johnny said. Mikey was in no mood for games. The headache was on him now and he was hanging on for dear life.

“Whaat?”

“Father Burke just told your mother you’d make a good priest. He asked her to talk to you and she said she would-with your dad.” Mikey, in all his pain, ventured a weak laugh, although he didn’t move from the bowl. He wasn’t laughing so much at what Johnny said but the way he said it. As if his parents were going to stuff him in a bag and deliver him to Father Burke.

“What’s so funny?” Johnny asked, a little angry that Mikey wasn’t as upset as himself.

“My mother was just being polite to Father Burke. She’s not going to talk to me and neither is my father. It’s nothin’.” Johnny was a little disappointed at Mikey’s reaction, so he gave him the other piece of news.

“He called you the Mayor of Lexington Avenue.”

“Who?”

“Father Burke. He said you knew more people than he did and he had the pulpit.” Mikey just smiled.

“I like it,” Mikey said. “It’s a perfect nickname for you.”

“Me? He didn’t say it about me, he said it about you.”

“Who cares what he said? You’re the Mayor of Lexington Avenue. You know as many people as me. Besides, a mayor’s got to be smart and he’s got to know how to run things. That’s you, Johnny, not me. People look up to you. They know you got something that the rest of us don’t have.”

“Really?” Johnny asked. “Me?”

“Yup. That’s why the Mayor of Lexington Avenue is so perfect for you. I’m going to make a prediction, Johnny. Someday, you’re going to do something great-like the things a mayor does. I’m not sure what it is or even if it’s one thing but it’ll be about me and you. And when it’s over-because you’ll finish it, whatever it is, you finish everything you start-I want you to remember this day and what I told you.”

“Come on, Mikey. You’re scaring me with this vision voodoo shit. Why don’t we just forget about what Father Burke said?”

“No. Now tell me you’ll remember.”

“C’mon, cut it out.”

“Tell me, Johnny.”

“All right, I’ll remember. I promise.”

“Good. Now, if Father Burke knew the other half of the people we know, he’d have another name for the both of us.”

The “other half” were the people in the neighborhood Father Burke would never meet. Jimmy the Shoemaker’s was a great place to meet those people. So were the streets between two and six in the morning when your parents thought you were sleeping.

Jimmy the Shoemaker was actually a shoe repairman. The neighborhood bestowed the title of “Shoemaker” on him because he was so adept at his craft. Nicknames-they were everywhere. On Saturdays, however, Jimmy did double duty, plying another trade at which he would never excel. Jimmy Donatello liked to gamble about as much as he liked to breathe and, although he worked hard and was an excellent shoe repairman, he tried not to let work interfere with his gambling, especially on Saturday.

The front part of the store, although it contained the one big noisy machine Jimmy needed to do his repairs, was rather small. Mikey worked the shoeshine booth, which was elevated and had two chairs each equipped with “golden stirrups” where customers set their feet for the shine. Mikey always positioned their feet just right before he began his work.

“The worst thing that can happen,” he told his young protege Johnny, “is one of their feet fall off the stirrup. So set it in there good. Lock the heel in place.”

All the action happened in the back room, which was larger than the front. It started at eight in the morning when Jimmy opened up. Artie was the first to arrive. Artie was like clockwork. He was usually there before the boys and sometimes before Jimmy. Being the low man on the totem pole, Johnny’s first job on Saturday morning was to go up the block to Pete’s restaurant for coffee and cigarettes. He loved those early weekend mornings when the city was just waking up and the streets were empty except for the shopkeepers working like busy little ants, setting up for the day. There was something so clean and crisp and serene about it all. Pete would start to prepare the containers of coffee as soon as he walked in the door. There was no need to speak. The orders were the same every Saturday-Jimmy was milk and one sugar, Artie was black, no sugar, and the boys were regular (milk and two sugars).

By the time he returned to the store, the first game of blackjack had already begun. The front door had a little bell so Jimmy in the back room could hear a customer entering. He had a great knack for leaving a game, waiting on a customer, and jumping right in where he left off. On Saturdays, however, he had the added luxury of Mikey, who had worked at the store for years. He not only knew how to use the machines and repair shoes, he knew the customers. Jimmy took great pride in knowing a customer’s shoes without ever looking at a ticket. By watching closely, Mikey had acquired the same talent. He practically ran the store on Saturdays and while he was busy taking care of customers, Johnny would shine shoes. The boys lived for Saturdays.

Vito showed up with Carmine at ten and the craps game began. The back room was full by then, which meant there were ten guys back there at most. Smoke so thick you couldn’t see yourself, and dark except for a few lights in the corners where the games were being played-a real den of iniquity. Everybody talked at once and money passed from one hand to the next with words like, “I got twenty on this one” or “I got you covered.” On the rare occasions they were allowed to go in the back, the boys were mesmerized by the show.

Vito was their favorite. Vito was cool. He was always impeccably dressed and he always stopped for a shine before going in the back. It wasn’t just that he gave a big tip, although that helped. Vito actually noticed them, spent some time with them, showed an interest in their lives. To everybody else they were just kids, although that changed when Mikey spread the word that Johnny was “the Mayor of Lexington Avenue.” After that, everybody wanted to get a shine from “Hizzoner.” Johnny didn’t like it at first. He felt like a fraud since Father Burke had pinned the name on Mikey, but he started feeling better about it when his pockets were bulging with dollar bills.