The Old Oak Table

By Michael J. Bruno

Michael was born in Larchmont, New York, the 3rd youngest of 11 children. With sports being his first love, he earned 9 letters playing varsity sports in high school and college. In his first book, The Old Oak Table, Michael invites the reader into his boyhood life in a gentler time, through marriage, fathering 6 children, up to his current retirement in Southern California with his wife, Jan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jan 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483420905

Book preview

BRUNO

Copyright © 2015 Michael J. Bruno.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2091-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2090-5 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 1/8/2015

Contents

Introduction

Del Mar Introduction

In The Beginning

Growing Up In Larchmont

School And Work

Army Years

Family Years

Cast Of Characters

Sunset Years

Musings & Ramblings

Poems

About The Author

INTRODUCTION

When I was thinking of a title for this brief glimpse into the Bruno family history, the big oak table that stood in Mom’s kitchen kept returning to my mind. That wonderful old table where the family would gather three times a day. Thirteen of us all crowded together, always sitting in the same place at the table. Years later when I would return and just Mom and I would be having dinner, I discovered that I still would sit at the same place at the table and even though just the two of us were to eat, and the table was full of wonderful food; enough to feed thirteen people. Does this experience sound familiar to you also?

The big oak table was there as long as I could remember. What great times and special memories it holds for all of us. I hope you enjoy these remembrances of our lives in Larchmont around the big oak table.

Mike Bruno

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DEL MAR INTRODUCTION

The morning fog had burned off early and it was a beautiful fall day in Southern California. The rays of the sun were warm and comfortable; a light breeze however was a clue of cooler weather ahead. The town of Del Mar is a trendy town in the North County of San Diego.

It was a Saturday and the town was crowded with the last few tourists and the locals enjoying one of the last few weekends before the cool and rainy weather set in. I found a space in the underground parking at the Playa, and walked up to Classico Café.

The Café was very busy and all of the outside marble tables were taken. After getting my espresso, I searched again for a place at one of the tables.

As I was about to give up on finding a seat, a gentleman smiled at me and motioned me over to join him at his table. I introduced myself Hello my name is Mike. He reached out to shake my hand and said, I’m Charles. I thanked him for sharing his table. He responded Its great to have company. He made me feel welcome and we talked for a long time. He related many interesting and humorous stories about his life. Charles said, You are a good story teller and have a keen sense of humor. He added, You never seem to run out of stories.

It was getting late and I explained that I had to leave. After a few moments Charles asked, would it be possible to meet again next week? I hesitated than said, that would be great. We continued to meet once a week for several years.

This book is a collection of the stories told while drinking coffee at the Del Mar Playa. I hope you will enjoy these stories as much as I have.

IN THE BEGINNING

It is said that God created man because he was highly disappointed in the monkeys. Well, on June 21, 1932, God, being greatly disappointed in mankind, created yours truly.

I was the third youngest of eleven children and was born at a very early age. People who know me well believe that I was born under the zodiac sign of Pistachio, the nut. I made my appearance at home at 106 Chatsworth Avenue in the small, sleepy town of Larchmont, which was in Westchester County, New York and had a population of 2,000 people in 1932.

We lived in a three-bedroom home above the restaurant my family owned on Chatsworth Avenue. I remember sharing a bedroom with seven of my sisters and my older brother Art, he and I slept on a cot. Once you got into the bed you were in that position for the entire night; there was no room for turning. To add to this problem Terry our Boston terrier slept between us. Our bedroom was not only crowded but it was impossible to get room service. My younger brother George and my sister Gloria slept in another bedroom with my Mom and Dad.

Amazingly, with all these people sharing a small area, I can never remember a fight or disagreement among the Bruno clan.

There were, of course, many hand-me-down clothes. My jeans always had patches on both knees. I did not know at the time that this would be a fashion statement in the 90’s.

The kitchen had an extra large round table that we could all sit around. Every meal was a feast. Each person was assigned a seat in which we always sat. Years later as an adult I would visit Mom and as a creature of habit always sat in the same assigned place.

My mother was a fantastic cook, especially since she was cooking all these delightful meals on a wood burning stove. On that wonderful old stove we roasted chestnuts and on cold days we could open the oven door and put our frozen feet in front of it to warm them.

Christmas Eve at Mom’s was a family tradition. The wonderful aromas of homemade cookies and other treats coming in from her large kitchen; an endless parade of people arriving; laden down with gifts; a hug and a kiss for each preceded by a loud Merry Christmas. Eggnogs with brandy were enjoyed along with whiskey sours, which my mom liked. As tradition would dictate, thirteen different foods were to be served; one for each apostle and one for Jesus. Before dinner each would line up around the table according to age, oldest first and would walk to my Mom and Dad’s place at the table and wish them a Merry Christmas and give them each a kiss.

Also in the winter months the milkman would leave our ten quarts of milk on the back porch. Upon awakening there would be a mad dash down the back steps. The first one there would get the prize of cream that had risen to the top of the frozen bottles.

What fun we had listening to the teardrop shaped radio that stood in the corner of the living room. We would all crowd around the radio after school. We would listen to the episodes of Jack Armstrong, All American Boy, Smiling Jack, and Terry and the Pirates. After dinner we would again gather to hear Amos and Andy, Inner sanctum and Mr. and Mrs. North.

Life was good and simple then and the most responsibility I had as a six year old was to try not to wear down my black canvas high top sneakers in less than six months.

My Mother

My Mother was the force behind our family, she was the core of love and joy and the center of everything. Holidays were tradition. It was always Lets go to Mom’s or Mom is having a 4th of July picnic in the park. She was the strength and the compassion of the family. When she died in 1978 hundreds of people came to her funeral and her story along with her picture made front page news.

Everyone called her Mom. She was a beautiful woman even after having given birth to eleven children. She loved to hug you and if she was saying goodbye and knew she wouldn’t be seeing you for a while lines would appear on her beautiful face. She was loved by everyone. She would be a void that would never be filled. My family meets every five years, a group of over 200 people to remember my Mom and my Dad. I still miss the Christmas love at Mom’s and those wonderful hugs.

Mom – Woman Of Many Bonnets

To write about my mother is a difficult thing for me to do. She was a very dominating person. I do not say that because she was difficult or strict, but because she had unbelievable strength and energy, and we all got swept up in her whirlwind of life. It is quite amazing for me to look back on what she accomplished in her lifetime.

She was born in the town of Calabria, Italy in 1901 and with her family she migrated to the United States in 1904. They settled in the small, lazy town of Larchmont, New York. Larchmont’s population at that time was just over one thousand. It was twenty-six miles north of New York City, on the Long Island Sound.

They moved into a shanty up on Myrtle Boulevard. A shanty was a place to sleep with no running water or toilet facilities. She would tell me that as a small girl she walked up Chatsworth Avenue about two miles to get water from the well.

Her parents raised goats and sold them to the local market. They also sold the goat’s milk to the New Rochelle Hospital to be used for babies that were allergic to their own mother’s milk. That area of Larchmont is still known as Goat Hill.

My mother went to Chatsworth Avenue Grammar School. The same school that her children and grandchildren would attend. She went to eighth grade and then left school to help at home. At age sixteen she was married to my father who was twelve years older. Their first home was above a drug store on Myrtle Boulevard. They had their first child a year later. During the next twenty years their family would grow to eight girls and three boys.

In 1933 they and my Uncle bought a building on Chatsworth Avenue. There were two stores below and an apartment upstairs. They opened a restaurant in one of those stores and the Brunos moved into the apartment above the restaurant.

Her daily routine was amazing. She would be up at 5:30 A.M., fix breakfast for her husband, who started working at 6:00 A.M. She then would get breakfast for the eleven children and pack lunches for those old enough to go to school. To help pay bills at this time my parents took in three boarders. She got them breakfast and fixed lunches for them also. A large pile of laundry was done each day – all this with only one bathroom. This, one might say, is a full day for any human; but not Mom. She also spent at least six hours a day cooking at the restaurant.

Church every Sunday was a must, no excuses allowed. We would all be dressed in our best hand-me-downs. Mom was a devout Catholic and always had her rosary beads with her. She prayed for everyone and everything. I used to kid her and ask how many laps she had taken around those beads.

After working at the restaurant each day, she would prepare a fantastic feast for her family in the evenings. We all sat around that wonderful old round table in the kitchen. What terrific meals and unforgettable times.

Recently the Village of Larchmont celebrated its 100th anniversary. I was so pleased that the book had a full page picture of my Mom and Dad. What a wonderful legacy she has left for us. She enjoyed life and had an amazing, positive attitude and above all, family was top priority.

She died at age 78 on April 11, 1977. Her picture and a story about her was on the front page of the daily newspaper. And God in heaven smiled.

The Quiet Hero

He had an unusually large chest for a man of medium size. His face was handsome even though he had several Abe Lincoln type moles. His eyes were a deep hazel color with tiny brown spots around the pupil which seemed to dance in the sunlight. His hands were strong and his knuckles swollen as if to testify to the many years of driving a team of horses and working long hours on the tracks of the New Haven Railroad.

He appeared to be a quiet man who kept to himself; however, those who knew him well, spoke at great length of his sharp mind and amazing sense of humor. He was an Italian immigrant to America in 1904 and as a twelve year old his education was limited to that of grammar school. He worked several jobs to save enough money to marry a beautiful young lady who was twelve years younger than him. She was sixteen and he was twenty- eight. They were married in 1920 during the Great Depression. They would have eleven children in the next sixteen years.

An heroic man who worked two jobs for years to provide for the large family of eight daughters and three sons, he drove a truck for the village of Larchmont, rising at 5:00 in the morning so as to be at work by 6:00. After eight hours he would return home to take a nap, have dinner, then off he would go in his trademark white shirt and suspenders to work at the restaurant which he and his wife opened in 1933. He would leave the restaurant at midnight and start the same routine the next day.

I remember that he enjoyed smoking Camel cigarettes. His cigarette always had a long ash, which never seemed to fall off. He also enjoyed working in his garden on Myrtle Boulevard. He wished had had more time to spend there away from a busy life. In the garden was a tall, beautiful, purple lilac bush, which he tended to lovingly. Whenever I see a lilac bush, I am reminded of him and his garden.

In the morning for breakfast he would have a large cup of black coffee into which he dunked his Italian bread and butter; a family tradition he learned from his childhood in Italy.

Another of his unusual delights was a large bowl of clear chicken broth into the center of which he would set a peeled boiled potato. He called this his Alcatraz soup.

He was a quiet hero who dedicated his entire life to his family; something his children would learn from him. I know because I am his son.

GROWING UP IN LARCHMONT

The Larchmont Playhouse

On Friday evenings the exhausted members of the Wendt Avenue Gang headed home for a well-deserved dinner and restful night. It had been an afternoon of playing ball, capture the flag and kick the can – a full agenda. The Wendt Avenue gang had about 30 members, all of whom lived within several blocks of Wendt Avenue and of course, there were no girls. On the way home someone would yell out Is your mother going to make you go to the movie tomorrow? which meant in good New York logic, is your mother going to give you a dime so you can go to the Saturday matinee.

The Larchmont Playhouse was a