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03/10/10 |
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To discover what went wrong in our yesterdays, we have to wake up in our tomorrows. That's a given for most of us. It was for me when hitchhiking to California and making my way back to a new job at the steel mill in Cleveland. |
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Instead of "waking up" I went into my groove. It was easy to slip into my old habits. During the winter months the bowling alleys and pool tables at the Gala Recreation was the place to meet our friends and to hang out with the gang. In the spring and summer the Public Square became our hangout. Since it was this way before my departure, nothing much had changed. In another vein, I did sense a change. Several buddies kept peppering me on my long absence from home, and especially on the across country hitchhiking. "How did you get food? Where did you sleep? Why did you stay away so long? These inquiries came especially from Frank Nyerges, and from Art Damicone and Achilles (Red) Pallotta. As they questioned me, I could tell there was some admiration and envy in what I had accomplished. It was during these sessions that I became aware of a philosophical truth that was illustrated by my hitchhiking. I told my buddies that action comes first - you have to "go". When you get there, you will "do" whatever is necessary. And only then will you "know" and understand. This was the origin of my proverb (in Italian): You have to Va to Fa to Sa. And it proved to me the verity of "Nothing becomes real until it is experienced; even a proverb is no proverb till your own life has illustrated it." The night shift at Otis steel was different from Stalwart's, where it was constant from 6:00 PM to 6:00 AM and remained constant from 3:00 PM to 11:30 PM after the New Deal. Otis had three rotating shifts, one week on days, one week on the afternoon shift from 3 to 11 PM, and one week on the late night shift from 11:00 PM to 7:00 AM. It was miserable to make that adjustment every week. It affected me in many ways -- in sleeping, in eating, and in my social activities. It was hard physical work, but I didn't mind that. The pay was good and now I got more than a dollar allowance. About two months earlier, Vito started to work at The Cleveland Chain Company, earning $16.00 per week, and my pay at Otis Steel was similar, maybe a trifle more. After receiving my first paycheck I asked my Mom if it was okay for Vito and I, to each give her ten dollars per week for room and board. She agreed readily; Vito and I were elated. The rotating night shifts at the steel mill kept me from returning to league bowling. On weekends, however, I got into bowling for. "Jackpots." My penchant to make a quick buck was extended to shooting pool, throwing dice, and playing the horses. My bets were small and of little consequence. It was fun and exciting to compete against one another. Betting on the "nags", however, was a horse of different color. Eventually, it cost me more than the money lost. |
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"Hap" Farris, manager of the Gala recreation alleys, introduced me to the horses. I was setting pins there in 1929. He asked me to go to Charlie's restaurant, his upstairs office, and give him an envelope. After a few more errands to Charlie, I asked Hap what I had been taking to him. He replied that he was betting on the races and that Charlie was his "bookie". One afternoon, Hap asked if I had a quarter to split a 50-cent bet on a horse. Adding my quarter to his envelope was how I lost my first wager on the horses. Later, without any envelope from Hap, I began to make my own bets with Charlie. I became fascinated by the history of horse racing and the glamour that went with it. The Thomas Club was a big-time gambling joint in nearby Maple Heights. Although it was illegal, it operated openly for registered members. Like a Las Vegas casino, it had tables for dice and blackjack, and betting windows for the horses. The majority of the patrons came from Cleveland. Patrons from Bedford were taken there by taxicab The driver, Clarence, had a contractual agreement with the Thomas Club. He received 50-cents a head for the patrons that he brought from Bedford. It was only a ten-minute ride, so Clarence could make two round trips every hour. At times when he had no patrons, he'd beg us to just go for the ride. It was an exciting place for us to hangout; and for Clarence it was a way to make a few extra bucks. The Thistledown Race Track was nearby in Maple Heights. Some of the jockeys came to the Gala Lanes to shoot pool and bowl. I especially remember Don Meade. He came often and usually was a loudmouth nuisance. He became famous in the 1931 Kentucky Derby for the way he rode and won on Broker's Tip. The track was "sloppy". Broker's Tip and another horse were running in tandem, head to head, as they came down the long stretch. Neither horse could inch ahead. The two jockeys started to fight with their whips, hitting each other's horse across its face and head. At the wire it was a photo finish. The disqualification sign lit up. Both jockeys claimed, "foul", but it was not allowed since both were guilty. Broker's Tip, a "maiden", was declared the winner. Till this day no other "maiden" has ever won the Kentucky Derby. In May of 1936, Mike Grill and I hitchhiked to Louisville to see the Derby. If it rained and the track was soft and muddy, Seventh Heaven would get a chance to run. He was a superior mud runner and would have Frankie Grill, (Mike's brother "Chi Chi") in the saddle. It was a memorable trip. There was a light shower early that morning, but it didn't last long enough for Seventh Heaven. The track became fast and Chi Chi's horse was scratched. The winner was Bold Venture, a 17 to 1 long shot. I had an eight-dollar win bet on Brevity, the favorite. He was left at the starting gate, but then made up a lot of ground, and almost caught the winner.
A couple months prior to the trip to the Derby, I participated in another ABC at Indianapolis. This was my 6th bowling tournament. After my first ABC in Cleveland, I went to Detroit in 1932, to Columbus in 1933, to Peoria, in 1934. I missed the 1935 tournament when I was in California at Camp Cummoche. After Indianapolis in 1936, I bowled at New York in 1937, and at Chicago in 1938.
As the Depression worsened in 1933, and 1934, I was unable to get 5 men together for the Team Event. However. I did participate both years in the Doubles and Singles Events. My doubles partner in Columbus was Ralph (Peg) Curtis. In 1934, my cousin, Al De Pompei was my doubles partner. We managed to get to Peoria, Illinois with a railroad pass, complements of my Uncle Nick and my Dad. Both were employees of the Pennsylvania railroad. At Indianapolis, in the singles event I had a sensational start, opening with a 235 game, followed by a 234. I had a vision of making a 700 series, which might win the Singles Title. But it didn't happen. My 3rd game was only 180, which still gave me a 649 series, the highest in all my ABC's. I kept thinking if only I could bowl that 3rd game over again. In April 1937, My Mom got sick and had to go to the hospital. She was way overweight, and had diabetes. The next day she delivered a baby girl. Our family was stunned; it was unbelievable. No one suspected she was pregnant and I don't think she knew herself. Her last child, our brother Victor, was born in 1930. Now, on April 25th seven years later, at 44, she gave us another sister. Rather quickly, we had to come up with a name. I was in the middle of reading the novel Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell. I admired the heroine, Scarlett, and I loved the writing by the author, so I suggested the name -- Scarlett Margaret. But Mom refused to consider that name; never before had she heard such a name as "Scarlett". However, I then switched the names and she agreed to Margaret Scarlett. Till this day my baby sister delights telling everybody how she got her name. About a month earlier I went to see Charlie Chaplin's new movie, "Modern Times", a hilarious and wonderful film. I gave it four stars. In the film, Chaplin was a "misfit", doing monotonous work in an automated factory. He got the audience to laugh at his antics, but, in reality, he was laughing at the misfits in the audience (including me). After that Chaplin film I gave four stars to a few more great pictures. They included "Captain's Courageous" with Spencer Tracy, "Make Way For Tomorrow", with Thomas Mitchell, and "The Good Earth", with Paul Muni and Luise Rainer. My Mom had never been to a movie theater. When I tried to get her to see a particular film, she was always too busy or too tired. I did persuade her, finally, to come with me to see "The Good Earth". She had a fear that she would not understand the dialogue, but it was a false fear. She was immensely surprised that she understood the story and enjoyed the movie. I enjoyed it more because she was with me. On February 28, 1938 I went to the Waldorf Theater in Cleveland to see "The Life of Emile Zola", with Paul Muni, Donald Crisp, and Vladimir Sokoloff. As soon as the movie ended, I felt that this was "tops", the best film ever. It won the Academy Award for best picture, and Paul Muni won the award for best actor. It was the 890th film recorded in my movie notebook. Five months later, on July 13th at the Bedford Theater I saw "Zola" again. When one upsets the routine or status quo, is that person a rebel? In leaving home as I did in 1934, my parents and family may have labeled me rebellious. But that wasn't me. If something at home, or the routine at work went against common sense, against my grain, it made me unhappy. That's what propelled me to "innovate". My first attempt to innovate was made while setting pins at the Bedford Glens. After several years of working every evening, seven days a week, I wanted a night off. There were seven of us pin-boys, each assigned to a specific alley. I suggested that an eighth pin-boy be hired to rotate across all seven alleys, and then he would be off himself on the eighth day. All the pin boys were happy with their night off. They could now see a movie. This was, my first attempt to innovate. And it worked. A more significant innovation came after my return from California. Concerned with all our household bills, I began to supervise my mother's budget. She was purchasing pasta and other staples "on credit" at two small neighborhood stores. We were over six hundred dollars in debt to the two stores and several other merchants, including Carr Bros. Coal and Dr. Wyckoff. Our situation seemed hopeless. However, my Uncle Attilio returned from Italy with a small inheritance for Vito, Frances, and myself. It was about a thousand dollars, left to us by our Grandfather, Lorenzo Cipriani, who had died in Italy. Here was the moment for some innovation to alter the status quo. I wanted to eliminate our family debts and put my mother on a cash basis when shopping for groceries. Mother was against my plan. She felt it was wrong for us to sacrifice our meager inheritance in this way. But Vito and Frances saw it my way and we prevailed. I immediately paid off all our family debts, negotiating for a discount wherever possible. I asked Mom how much cash she would need each week for grocery shopping at the Fisher Bros. Supermarket. Her answer was $20.00. Every two weeks when Dad's paycheck came, I got it cashed, then handed Mom $40.00. And, it was just the right amount to feed a growing family of two parents with five boys and 3 girls from age 6 up to 25. With the benefit of Dad's large garden and Mom's canning, we managed to remain on a "cash basis". The innovation worked. With about $350.00 remaining, we furnished our living room. We bought a rug, a large sofa with a matching chair, and a large Philco radio. After graduation in 1935 Frances found it difficult to get a job. Since we had no phone, she was forced to leave that space blank on all her applications for work. I told Mom and Dad it was now time for us to get a phone and that we three would pay for it. Again, it worked. I went to see several stage plays in Cleveland. One, in particular, made a big impression. It was "Merrily We Roll Along", by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart. The play opened with a scene showing a tragic end for three characters that formerly were very close friends. As the play turns back the clock, the last scene shows the same three characters when they started out in college. Indeed, they were very close friends. One of them is giving the Valedictory Speech and it's a gem: full of confidence, loyalty, inspiration, and love. But, sitting there in the audience, I knew what was in store for these three innocents. It got me thinking about Cause and Effect, Fate and Destiny. Like the three characters in the play was I, too, rolling gently down the stream? By seeing another stage play, I got acquainted with Mary Brown. She was putting on a religious play in Bedford at the Baptist Church, which faced Bedford's Public Square. She and Mrs. Herman Osborn were in the audience. Recognizing me, Mrs. Osborn told Mary that I had worked for her husband at the rubber factory. That was enough for Mary. Ipso facto, I was going to be in her play. One actor quit or became unavailable, and she only had three days to find a substitute. She begged, but I told her it was impossible, that I worked nights and had to sleep during the day. She then cajoled me to visit her at the church. She assured me that I could memorize the lines, and if prompting were necessary, she would be there behind the curtain. Dumbfounded, I accepted the role. I returned to the church the next day, again to memorize and rehearse my lines with Mary. I started to agonize and worry. With only one more afternoon to study my lines, there just wasn't enough time for all this memorizing. It was a long part. That evening I did not go to the steel mill. I went to sleep. The next day, I surprised Mary by showing up early in the morning. We were able to memorize and rehearse my lines all day. With Mary behind the curtain, prompting others and me in the cast, the play unfolded into a resounding conclusion. The audience showed its appreciation when a "collection" was made and presented to Mary. After her thank you speech to Mrs. Osborn, the church members, the cast, and the audience, she started to talk about my contribution. She singled me out as the most sincere person she had ever met. I was flabbergasted. I nodded in appreciation for the applause from the audience. The next day I thought about the play and Mary Brown. In praising me, I felt she went overboard. I went to my dictionary. The adjective "sincere" meant: true, honest, without affectation or pretense. But aren't we all sincere? To think so, in 1937, I may have been naïve. A few days after the play, Mary Brown was ready to move on, and take her play to another community. On her invitation, I went to Mrs. Osborn's home to say goodbye. In front of the fireplace, Mary showed me a small, thin book, "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran. It became a memorable moment as she read to me. The short poetic essays were superb, especially the one on Work. It rang a bell. Here are a few excerpts from the lines on Work: Always you have been told that work is a curse and Labour a misfortune. But I say to you that when you work you fulfill a part of earth's furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born. And in keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving life. And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's inmost secret. You have been told also that life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary. I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge. And all urge is blind save when there is knowledge. And all knowledge is vain save when there is work. And all work is empty save when there is love. And when you work with love you bind yourself, to yourself, and to one another, and to God. And what is it to work with love? Work is love made visible. And if you cannot work with love, but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work, and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy. For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man's hunger. And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes, your grudge distills a poison in the wine. And if you sing though as angels, and love not the singing, you muffle man's ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night. On my way home, I could only think and ponder on Work. "All work is empty save when there is Love". This was the ingredient that was absent from working at the chair factory, the rubber factory, and now at the steel mill. There was joy in finding truth, but this discovery lead to my uneasiness knowing that "if you work only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work". The die was cast. Some day soon, I had to quit the steel mill and get something more to my liking. But where could I go, and what would I like to do? I had to ponder this question from now on. I continued to see great movies and the occasional stage plays that came to the Hanna Theater in Cleveland. I continued to bowl and make it to the annual ABC's. And I continued going to the Thomas Club, on Saturday afternoons with my buddy "gamblers". These activities all helped to sustain me as I continued to work the rotating shifts at the steel mill. This scenario had to end and it did when I requested a three-month leave of absence and it was granted. With a joyful feeling of freedom, I felt I was released from prison. I intended to find something new, and work on something that I liked. With anticipation, I started to bet on the races at the Thomas Club. My system for wagering, if I could stick to it, would allow a profit after cashing a bet. My plan was to double my bet after a loss. My goal was to at least get even money or better on cashing a bet. By concentrating my betting mostly on Place or Show, I increased my chances of cashing in that wager. Guess What? In about three weeks I had accumulated over $300.00. My system was working. Each afternoon I went to the Thomas Club in Clarence's taxi with $30.00 in my pocket. I diligently studied the racing form, selecting the best racetracks with the higher-class horses. I had to be thorough in handicapping the race, and cautious in placing my bets. One Saturday, I had a terrific afternoon. I won 15 out of my 18 wagers to place or show. I made $90.00 and was ready to go home. The taxi had arrived, but the driver, Clarence, was waiting for two buddies still playing craps at a crowded table I sauntered near them to watch the action. The man who was throwing the dice was "hot". According to my buddy, he had already made ten or eleven "passes". As I watched he kept making more. I was sure he would soon crap out, or seven out. Within seconds, I opened my wallet. Without thinking, I wagered against the "hot" shooter. Increasing my wagers, I lost 5, 10, 20, 40, and then another 40 dollars. That "hot" S.O.B. was still making "passes" as I backed way from the table. Dazed and angry with myself, I couldn't believe what happened. In a few minutes my wonderful day with the horses turned into a horrible nightmare. It was a mistake to even go near that crap table, and a bigger mistake to watch the action. On Monday, still seething over my stupidity, I returned to the Thomas Club. In betting on the horses, I wasn't as cautious and diligent as in the previous weeks. Instead of place or show, I made large wagers "to win". Desperate to recoup my loss I abandoned my system. I repeated this madness until all my money was gone. Before the week ended I was broke and finished. I never again went back to the club. Now, I had to work. I had to return to the steel mill. However, after three months, when I showed up to reclaim my job, there was no work for me. Feeling down and out, I decided to leave home. But, I wasn't quite ready to bite that bullet. I got a temporary job as janitor at the Bedford Theater. Daily, I vacuumed the rug area and cleaned the rest rooms. Also, three times a week, I changed the Marquee and the posters in the window displays. My pay was $9.00 per week, not enough to pay my room and board. By borrowing a dollar from Vito, I was able to give Mom ten. Eventually, I got in the projection room and learned how to thread the two machines. After a good while, when he was sufficiently confident, the projectionist asked me to sub for him so he could have a night off. He only gave me two dollars, but I was happy to be "the projectionist". I told my family and friends that I planned to return to California. As the months passed, I kept advancing my day of departure. My buddies started to razz me with "you're just talking", and they were right. Procrastination and fear held me back. Finally, on Tuesday, August 2, 1938, I left for California. Hugo P. Cipriani |
