The Feast of Saint Anthony

On August 31st I decided to go on one of my usual city exploring adventures, and I had set the North End as the focus of the semester's explorations.  The idea was that I would find a nice backstreet cafe and read.  So I headed down on my bike and when I got there I thought to myself "Wow, north end is crowded as hell on Sunday"  I soon realized I had run into the Feast of Saint Anthony.  The italians had all sallied from there trendy (and I think subsidized like New York) housing to celebrate their Roman Catholic Heritage (A tradition I have abandoned, partially forgetting my Mongiello and Napoli roots.)  This particularly interested me because my great grandparents, who migrated from a small rural town outside of Naples, are from the town where my Won Buddhist Temple is in Boston, a neighborhood that housed poorer Italian immigrants.  I can say, it was quite funny to hear an italian man call out in a strong accent "EY! Gepetto!"  Really?  People in this neighborhood are still named Gepetto?  I'm impressed.  I wonder if they know about Pinochio, they probably do since the theme makes it sound like some traditional italian story rather than an italian themed disney creation. Now on with the story.

So this street made me realize that it wasn't just crowded, it was a festival, note the things hanging above the street

After wandering through the streets until I reached the Old North Church, I found this cafe and decided it was time for my daily latte.

After getting my drink, all of the lower cafe was full, but there was this little tiny loft (I can't think of a better way to describe it) with four tables and one little window.  I sat down to enjoy my latte, when suddenly the horn of a tuba floated down the window, I rushed out of the cafe to take a picture of a little band (Of what I originally thought was police, but they were actually just uniformed italians) playing italian brass music but I didn't quite get why they were there because there was no parade.  After taking several pictures and listening I went back into the cafe to my seat.  (Note the brick building in the picture, that is the Old North Church were Paul Revere signaled the arrival of the British)

No sooner did I sit down then a blob of money floated by the window "WTF was that?"  again I ran out fumbling my (new) camera, which I did not need to do because the money tree thing was not moving very quickly.  In fact they were putting it down every 10 feet and people were attaching money to it (Or at least to these rotating sticky paper rolls that were being wrapped around it).  I soon realized it was not a tree at all, but a statue of saint, and with my genius powers of deduction, I will venture that it was none other than Saint Anthony, with the Money, in the North End.  I win clue.

I felt so fortunate to have seen the band and the saint go by, because I honestly had no clue to look for them.  They came to me.  I finally returned to my latte in my nook of the coffee shop, when 3 italians came up, one of which was clearly the owner, to get the bathroom fixed.  They paid no attention to me, perhaps not noticing that anyone was even in this little nook when I tuned into some things I probably shouldn't have heard, but perhaps were harmless.  I picked up "Some black kid" blah blah blah "stabbed in the back 9 times" blah blah blah "You did the right thing"  My entire face turned red and hot, these people were about 2 feet from my nook but I don't think they knew I was there, I scrambled to pack up my stuff and leave.  Because of them I took no pictures in the coffee shop.

Later on the bike ride back I thought about what I had heard and it could have been multiple things.  Perhaps the black kid was stabbed in the back, perhaps he did the stabbing, perhaps the right thing was telling the cops (which I didn't hear but I like to hope) or perhaps the right thing was the stabbing itself.  Either way, somebody, somewhere, got stabbed in the back 9 times, and they either went to the hospital or are dead, perhaps both.  Sicily to this day is still held hostage by the mafia, the local government cannot get a hold over tyrants who have weaved a web over the island.  We always think, "oh, Italian organized crime is an old steryotype" but russian organized crime isnt, neither is chinese, jewish, probably even nativist (I'm pretty sure that would be the KKK) whatever I heard, I didn't like it.  And when they watched me leave was probably the most awkward and uncomfortable moment in my life recently.  But I WONT be going back to that particular cafe and I WILL be thinking more about what the state of the world's organized crime orders really is.  (And the stabbing doesn't even have to be organized crime, perhaps it was some sort of racist fight between some local blacks and italians I have no I-frickin-dea)