Where Confidence Dwells: The Balance of Joy & Sorrow

It’s been said that the freaks come out at night. As a self proclaimed night owl. I must convey I'm no freak nor coward. Coming of age in Little Italy in Gotham. Merely stating with conviction. Either you adapt and survive, or cower and die. It's evident I went with the latter. Though until recently, I had no choice in the matter. The path I was to walk. Had been laid waiting for me before I was born. For I, Nino Falcone, am the nephew of Don Carmine Falcone.

However, for the first time. I hold the pen to my own story. Puffing on a Rocco Patel sipping three fingers of Remy Martin. Basking neath the glow of the moon. As the wind swings and sways. Dancing with the aroma of floral smog. That screams and wails out of the old neighborhood. Ruminating from the lounge chair on the balcony. That reaches out from the bedroom of my Gotham Heights home.

Finishing my first glass drinking to the memory of Zio Carmine. Funny how memories flow like alcohol. One can get wasted by them. To the excess of a drunkard or wino. Given it's the one year eve of Carmine’s passing. I indulged the memory as I refilled my glass. After my ceremony Carmine informed me. I was to be a working made man. Given my intensity and disposition for violence.

“Nipote, tuoi capo e Vittorio Bruno, capisce?(Nephew, your captain is Victor Bruno, understand) You're a working made man now, an executioner, capisce? You already know that the first body. Is the only buttona(bitch). It haunts you, which is an unfortunate circumstance that comes in our way of life.”

I stood up in agreement. Gave him thanks and a kiss on the cheek. Turning to leave he called out to me.

“Nino I’ve something for you to ponder. A hero and a coward feel the same. Their only difference is how they behave.”

I think about that statement from time to time. Only one thing: I'm no hero. Still, part of me can’t believe he’s gone. A whole year has passed since his heart attack. A year since my younger brother Angelo was christened Don. With his ascension I found my way out. I harbor no ill will. Nobody was killed for me getting out of the “family business”. I’m not even envious. I never wanted it. All I did was ask for his blessing to walk away. Given that I saved his life 20 years ago. He feels we’re finally even. As I now turn my focus on my recent purchase of the boxing gym I grew up in. Indulging the fantasy of becoming the trainer I had.

My younger brother will always have my attention. It’s a foolish perspective to think “I’m out, I’m no longer in danger.”

As I refilled my glass. Returning to the Patel stogie. Adding cigar smoke to the floral smog. While Remy Martin and memories danced passionately beneath the moonlight. On top of the skyline of the old neighborhood. Observing my current reality objectively. Acknowledging the change of events that led me to my current place. Reflecting my inner turmoil that has dissipated over the past week or so. I feel the term “product of one’s environment" is bullshit. Provided the individual understands the circumstance. Taking God out of the explanation. Outcomes of life can be boiled down to one's environment. Coupled with the options that are present from your current situation. Then culminating with the conscious or unconscious choice you make.

My environment was being born into a crime family. The circumstance was I’m the runt of my family. Fighting early on became a means for survival. Up until that point I only met my dad’s brother a handful of times. Sunday dinner at casa di nona’s(grandma’s house) or randomly in the back room at Grazianno’s Bar & Lounge. My father Angelo sr was an asshole to his credit. Threw me into Stillman’s Gym off Columbus Ave in Sheepshead Bay. Being a handsy adolescent. I quickly married the rhythm and nuance to the sweet science. Which caught the attention of my Zio Carmine(Uncle Carmine). As he came around the gym and watched more often. The energy in the gym took a nose dive. After two weeks of my Uncle making appearances. We formally met as I was coming out of the locker room. It was a normal Saturday in the midst of my first year at Stillman’s. Which was an 8 hour workout, two four hour periods. Carmine and his goons called for me as I was leaving for my 3 hour break.

“Nino nipote, never woulda thought you’d have a disposition for the sweet science. Have you given thought about joining the AAU? Give it some thought and let me know if you’re interested. You’re my nephew, I’d gladly help you with that.”

Come to find out years later my uncle made his bones underneath Frankie Carbone. Which would explain his ease in guiding my ascension through amateur and golden glove fights. As I continued to train. The fall began to show its face in the turning of the leaves. Just after the climax of the August heat. Uncle Carmine with his 2 goonies came through Stillman’s. I was working the pads with Jackie. Jackie was a black Irishman from Sheepshead Bay. Former welterweight trained by oldman Stillman himself. Jackie saw the fire in me my first day at Stillman’s. Though he was worn out and old. Jackie swooped me into his tutelage. First he humbled me and then taught me the way. The art of 2 to 1 and the dance of angled footwork.

Though that fall day working the pads with Jackie. When my uncle came in and handed me my AAU card. My entire life changed. For better or worse is subjective. Over the next 5 yrs I found myself. Walking the amateur line under the tutelage of Jackie. At 132 I gloved, finishing 76 and 2 with 52 ko’s. Upon moving up to 139. I gloved twice finishing 173 and 1 with 120 ko’s. Jackie encouraged me to move up again. Citing it was my natural weight. At 142 I found my flow only cutting three pounds to make weight. I gloved regional, state and national undefeated twice. Fighting the most I ever fought in a two year span. Finishing 260 and 0 with 246 ko’s. My amateur record overall was 509 and 3 with 418 ko’s. Which is an 82% knock out ratio.

After my fifth year as an amateur. Undefeated national golden glove junior welterweight. Revered as the top prospect in the country. Hailed by Ring Magazine as the second coming of Marvelous Marvin Hagler. Romanticizing the idea of the Olympics. Dreaming of a fight of mine being called by Teddy Atlas. Tragedy struck like a lightning bolt. As the bell sounded to end the sparring session. Turning from my opponent walking back to my corner. Jackie was hollering out pointers and missed opportunities. Upon closing the distance Jackie collapsed onto the cement floor. I slid out of the ring to him. A few of my gym mates and some other trainers aided in getting Jackie comfortable.

Sensing his heinous ambiance my Uncle Carmine appeared. Billy, my sparring partner, brought him over. While he was calling an ambulance.

“Heartattack, huh? Expected nipote, after all Jack’s 88 years old. His last student has an upside that would make Sugar Ray Robinson nod.”

Cognitive of what Uncle Carmine said to me. However the weight of the emotional intensity of Jackie passed in my arms. I was unable to articulate a response. Jackie died telling me he was proud of me. Time lapsed the rest of the day and the next three days were a blur. At the funeral my Uncle Carmine’s goons kept reporters at bay. On my way back to my car. I noticed one of the reporters was from the old neighborhood.

“Johnny Munzi? Cuomo stai paisano? I’ll talk to you.”

Johnny flicked his smoke and practically ran over. As he dapped me up. Johnny furnished a pen and pad.

“My condolences paisan, it’ll be a hard one to swallow. You’ll be alright tho champ, fuhgettaboutit. You don’t talk to the press. What’s on your mind, how ya feeling? No questions, just a hard quote, shoot.”

Following a deep exhale finally present. I spoke concisely through one voice.

“Jackie McTulley is the only trainer I’ll ever have. Sure I still feel his love for me. I’ll never make the walk and get in the ring without him.”

Without a word Johnny hugged me. Slowly walking back to the other reporters. As I began to get into my car. My Uncle Carmine walked up to me without goonies.

“Nino mio nipote spiciente. Is that true that you’re done, you’re through?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to know what it would look like without Jackie around.”

“Fair, now that you’re done with boxing. Come have lunch with me. There’s something I want to discuss with you. I caught wind of what you did for Angelo. Tagging a few Morni gumbas to save him from the hit. One of the boys will take your car back to Grazianno’s. Come let’s go eat and have a discussion.”

How it all played out and unfolded. Knowing I should’ve listened to Jackie. He suggested I turn pro. After my two years as an amateur at 139. I’m at peace with my boxing career. Leaving it when Jackie died. Getting into my uncle's car at the funeral. Dropped me off at my current destination. In the wake of my uncle’s passing. My younger brother repaid his life debt. Allowing me to walk away from the live “the family”. Regardless of the balance of joy and sorrow. If I had the chance to do it again. I’d still get in my Uncle Carmine’s car at Jackie’s funeral.