My father was becoming more and more predatory. As time went on, he would beat me! Not spank me, mind you, beat me. These beatings were coming more and more often. I believe that was because I reminded him of my mother who had disgraced him in the eyes of the family. In the Sicilian culture, if a man’s wife left him, it was assumed that it was because he couldn’t satisfy her in the bedroom. This, I believe, mortified him and he hated me around as a reminder of his assumed inadequacies.
My Grandmother knew very well that my father, Frank Addotta, as she would say, “Had shit in his veins.” So, for my protection, we got on a train and traveled from Rockford, Illinois, to Brooklyn, New York, to lay low at her other son’s (my Uncle Victor’s) home. There, as it turned out, I got a reprieve or at least a break.
We arrived after a three day train ride. My Uncle Victor picked us up at the Grand Central Train Station and drove us to his home in Brooklyn, at 180 Sterling Place, at Flatbush Avenue, just three blocks away from the home of Albert Anastasia, the head of Murder, Incorporated.