How to Write a Story: #82. Popular Culture, the Mafia, and the Past: “Tony’s”

In writing, we draw on the past, but we draw on popular culture. When the Twilight series of books about “sparkly” vampires became popular, horror magazines became flooded with vampire story submissions, so much that many of them started stipulating in their guidelines that they would not accept vampire tales. The popularity of those books influenced what manner writers wanted to produce (me too—during this time I submitted and published quite a few vampire stories). Another bit of popular culture was the HBO series The Sopranos, a gangster show, but unlike most of the films or TV programs in that genre. One critic called it a “postmodern gangster story.” Tony Soprano, leader of crime gang in New Jersey, is not your typical mob boss. He goes to a psychiatrist for counseling. He has troubles with his kids. He has to deal not just with rival gangs and the cops, but with many of the issue that affect our society today. It was a fascinating TV drama and ran for six seasons. I had never written a story about organized crime; but I did have memories from my past.

I lived in a small Midwestern city. I don’t know how active organized crime was in the city, but one man we knew because we lived next door to his aged Mother, and because my mother worked with him as an election judge, seemed to at least be a front man for it. The reason I suspected this? He owned a small pool hall about four doors down from my house on a corner near a man street. It had two pool tables inside. That was all. It was called after his first name—to keep on the Soprano theme, let’s call him Tony—and so it was “Tony’s.”

It wasn’t a fancy building:  a concrete block Quonset hut with a small parking lot to one side. The parking lot was what made me begin think something more than games of eight-ball went on there. When me and my friends would walk home from school afternoons, certain days, in the parking lot by the side of Tony’s, sat a row of cars. And not just any cars—not Chevys, Fords, Packards, or (they still made them back then) Studebakers. Parked outside this shabby little buildings were Cadillacs, Mercedes, BMWs, Lincoln Continentals—well, you get the idea. They were not the kind of cars people who went to pool halls to play eight-ball or snooker drove.

When we were young, we didn’t take much notice. But when we got to the sixth and seventh grades, the appearance of these big, fancy cars by a nondescript pool hall a in our working-class neighborhood looked suspicious. We decided it must be a front for illegal gambling. The fancy cars had to be there for a reason. And Tony was Italian. So the evidence seemed overwhelming. Whether we were right or not I don’t know. But combine this incident with the popular of The Sopranos and with all the George Raft and Jimmy Cagney films plus The Godfather—I had the makings for a story.

So in writing stories, we can combine the fictional, the speculative, and life experience. We can draw on cultural tropes like the organized crime and the Mafia. Personal experience can be woven together with fiction, speculation, adolescent fantasy, and facts (there is organized crime; it is not a myth). This gave birth and shape to my story.

I wondered what would have happened if we, as adolescent boys, had seen something that would expose the gambling ring and maybe put some of the Mafia leaders who drove in from who knows where in danger? I had recently seen Road to Perdition, a film with Tom Hanks about a small boy who sees a mob hit and becomes the target of a crime gang. If we, at age twelve and thirteen, became a threat to the Mafia, what would they do to us?

In the story, two boy walk by Tony’s and witness the aftermath of a gunfight. One man is killed, another wounded. As they gaped at the sight, they are suddenly surrounded by mob soldiers and the head of the mob. He comes over to question the boys, asking if they saw what happened. They tell him they heard noises, people shouting, thought there was a fight on, and ran over to see what was going on. Phil, the head man, seems not to believe them and they are perceptive enough to know the danger they in.

Just then, Tony shows up. He says he knows the boys, they are good boys, and they can be depended upon not to tell anyone what they witnesses. Phil seems reluctant, but he respects Tony, they’re friends, and he lets them use his place for—well, whatever it is that goes on inside. Tony says he’ll talk to them. This exchange occurs:
“Do you boys know what happened here?”

We nodded.

“You’re in trouble, but I can get you out of it. You’ll be okay.”

We did not know what to say. I felt like I might cry but didn’t think that would be good. I managed to hold it.

“I know Phil,” he continued. “He and I are friends and he respects me. I’ll get you out of this, but you can’t say anything about what you just saw—not to anyone. I mean anyone. Not to your parents, teachers, friends, brothers, sisters—no one—not a word. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

We did. We could only nod.

“I’ll talk to Phil. He’ll want to talk some more with you. It will be okay. Just be honest and give him honest answers.”

Phil reiterates what Tony told them. They must not tell anyone. They nod. Phil smiled and tells them to go on their way. They walk home. The story ends on a positive note—of sorts. This incident will haunt them for years to come. They will not feel safe. They will never know if the mob will need “protection”—that is, will protect itself by eliminating everyone who might be a witness or reveal the crime. The ending is semi-happy but also dark because it is ambiguous.

“Tony” appeared in Sparkbright, another magazine that has bit the dust and is no longer in publication.

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