La Mano Nera

In 1927, the area surrounding Oak and Cleveland Streets in Chicago was still considered an Italian slum. For Jonathan Morani, gangs, prostitutes, and peddlers were a common sight across this ten-block area.

Jonathan was not a "new" immigrant. Rather, his parents immigrated from Southern Italy in 1901, giving birth to their first surviving child, Jonathan Morani, in 1903. Drifters of some degree would ask Jonathan "Why you don't youa have Italian name, ragazzo?" Jonathan would simply reply in a stereotypical manner, "Looks-a like-a Ima not an a Italian?" In fact, Jonathan's parents chose his name in light of "Americanizing" their only child. The birth certificate read:
Jonathan Smith Morani
December 1, 1903
Jonathan was named after his Uncle Sam.

Although the young man sounded starkly Angloid upon introduction, his appearance and demeanor suggested otherwise:
"Gentleman's Tonic" was the product of choice, when Jonathan slicked back his hair daily. The tattoo from 1920 on his right arm, below his shoulder, read "La Mia Famiglia," attesting to the ramshackle relationship between he and his parents.
The leather jacket, found second-hand at a nearby church, shed small pieces of leather daily from the decaying elbows.
Jonathan only wore one type of shirt: tanktops, now commonly referred to as "wife-beater's."
The small scar across Jonathan's cheek suggested a loss in a past knife fight.

Between Oak and Cleveland Streets, the area known as "Hell's Corner," Jonathan worked three days a week at Scardinio's Deli. The remaining four days were spent accosting incoming immigrants, just as the Padroni had done nearly half a century earlier. The new Italians were ignorant, and trusted that their American counterparts would offer help and consul in their time of adjustment. In many instances, Italian-Americans did help the new immigrants find work and settle into America.
Jonathan saw fit to levy a tax on the foreigners for "protective services." Those who refused payment were not protected against the fists of Jonathan Morani.

Jonathan was not working at Scardinio's the day of November 17, 1927. He wore a scarf in addition to the leather jacket; the wind from lake Michigan lowered the wind-chill to 16 degrees. A new face appeared on the corner; a dark, older man, clearly from the Mezzogiorno region of Italy. He carried a sack which seemed to contain all of the man's possessions. Seeing the opportunity to make a quick few dollars, Jonathan quickly approached the cold immigrant.
"Scusarlo, parlate inglese?"
"Yes. Uh, I speak some of tha Englishe"
"Ok, then you know who I am by now, right old man?"
"Im sor-ry, I duna know who youa are."
"Well then allow me to introduce myself, Paesan: I am Jonathan Morani, and I take care of the Italian immigrants, here around Oak Street."
"Oha, well it's a good to meet you, Gianatho."
"It's Jonathan. You need to learn that, old man. If you can't learn English they'll ship you right back to the streets of Salerno."
"But I am di Napoli..."
"The Americans don't care about that! You'll have to pay your own fare with interest, and be shipped back to where ever they take you, old man! This is why I'm here, to teach you the American way and help you stay in Chicago."
"Okaya, that soun-ds good."
"Bene! Now I'll need a tax from you in order to protect your investments in this great country."
"But I hava no money! All I a have is my sacka of the clothes."
"Old man, you are running out of luck. Here's what I'll do for you: you give me that nice hat you got on, and we'll call it even for now. But the next time you have some money, you gotta give it all to me. Capisci?"
"Si, si, grazie mille, thank-you so a much, Gianathan."
"Eh, don't mention it. And when youse lookin for a job, you know where to come..."
Jonathan points his finger to the intimidated immigrant, ordering him to fill in the blank.
"Cuomo, Cuomo Giacinto"
"Cuomo, that's right. Cuomo. You know where to come from now on."

Something about Cuomo, as he departed, struck Jonathan: the medal around his neck was that of St. James the Greater, indicating his patron saint. St. James was an exclusive saint of a family in the agricultural region around Naples. Jonathan shook it off as a mistake or possibly a fraud, seeking fair treatment for all of his "clientele."

Once again, two days later, Jonathan was not scheduled to work at the deli. Because it was an ordinary Tuesday, Jonathan found little use of combing the streets for new clients to "befriend." He grabbed his jacket from the hook attached to the door of his one-room apartment on Cleveland Street, and made his way to the deli despite his day off.

After grabbing several meats and cheeses, Jonathan sat outside the deli, smoking a cigarette. He enjoyed the free meals he was able to get from work, and saved money in doing so.

Cuomo approached the deli, still carrying the bag upon his back.
"Cuomo! You got that money I wanted?" Jonathan asked.
"Noa, sir. I gotta job working the a construction, but I gotta fired today because Ima not able to work enough. The boss man said 'You get out of here you old wop, you got no business in the a construction'"
"Cuomo, Cuomo. This is bad, mi amico. Now you're turning into a drifter in my neighborhood. You gotta leave. You can't stay here and be a drain to the community. Go up to Lincoln Park, maybe they'll find some use for you there."
"Buta Gianathan! I have no a money! I don't know how I'm sup-posed to geta to Linconi park!"
"That's for you to figure out, old man."

As Cuomo walked away, Jonathan caught a glimpse of the St. James medal once again. He almost said something, but didn't bother, figuring it would be bad business.
"ehy, Jonathan, come here a minute," said the large sweaty man from behind the counter of the deli. He left the door open even in the blistering cold, in hopes of attracting customers.
"You handled that real good, Jonny."
"Thanks, Tony, I gotta look after the neighborhood."
"You know you gotta keep bums like that off the street and send them somewhere else. It's not our problem, ya know mang?"
"Yeah, Tony, I know."
Tony left the deli with his meats and cheeses, back to his apartment for a nap.

That night, Cuomo woke up from the mattress he found in the alley between LaSalle and Cleveland to find a bag with a note attached.
Go to the mission at DePaul in Lincoln Park. They'll help you get back on your feet. Un regalo dai figli di Napoli. ('A gift from the sons of Naples').
Inside the bag were several half-eaten meats and cheeses. Cuomo grabbed his medal of St. James and began to cry, wishing only to see his homeland of Naples again.