Sonny Averona Jr. - Sonny: A South Philly Story

Sonny: A South Philly Story

By Michael Averona and Darren Hunter

Copyright 2020 All Rights Reserved

Based on a True Story

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

Book design by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

In loving memory of Bobby and Stephen Averona

Those who met my father did not soon forget him. A popular singer, pal of Frank Sinatra, successful businessman, and nightclub owner, Sonny Averona lived life to the hilt. From as long as I can remember, my father was a key influence in my life. Only with the perspective that time gives have I understood just how profound his influence was. My mother, Roseann, liked to tell my brothers Bobby, Stephen and me that he was one in a million. I like to think that was not an exaggeration.

October 1968

Sonny sat tensely in an armchair. Church bells from Stella Maris had finished ringing, and Sunday with Sinatra was on the radio in the kitchen. The aroma of garlic and basil was in the air as an NFL game blared from a television. The game wasnt going his way.

Sonnys wife Roseann walked down the steps. She was raven-haired and stunning.

Sonny, I need to start the meatballs. You want a couple of them early? I already got rolls from Sarcones after mass.

He didnt respond. He started pacing.

She knew he was losing, and there was a palpable tension. Sonny, you promised.

He stared at the TV like a madman. The Eagles werent even close to covering. Not now Roseann.

Ten seconds later, he blew up.

You muthafuckas! You no good muthafuckin bums. Get the fuck outta here!

The television sailed out the kitchen window. It hit the cement out back. Crash ! Two kids from a half a block away ran over. They surveyed the pieces and then one looked up at the window.

Thats just Mikes dad. He gets mad sometimes at the Eagles. I guess they wont have a TV no more though.

The other kid thought for a second. Yeah, hell probably just have to come watch ours now.

My brothers and I were playing in the basement, and the chaos drew us upstairs.

She had enough. Again? Thats itwere getting out of here! Youre an animal! Im going to my mothers house! Cook your own damn macaroni!

She yelled for the three of us. Five minutes later, we climbed into a 68 Eldorado and drove ten tight blocks to my grandmothers house.

He didnt give chase. He knew wed be back. For now, the bad bets had him disgusted and five grand down. Thats it. Fuck this!

He dialed up Steve the Shark.

Steve my friend, how ya doin, huh? Hey, listen, I need five grand by tomorrow.

Jesus Christ, Sonny, youre already into me for five fuckin grand!

Sonny was unrelenting. I dont give a fuck! Just bring me the money. I pay you every fucking week.

Sonnys voice got louder. Did you hear me? Bring the money to the gas station on Moyamensing at noon.

The Shark winced. Sonny, listen

No, you listen! I need that goddamn money like I need oxygen. Just bring me that damn money!

Shark liked Sonny and wanted to trust him. He exhaled. You sure youre gonna be able to make these payments? Because youre like gettin in pretty deep, man.

Sonny heard enough. Yeah, yeah... What the fuck.

Sonny, Sonny, listen, you got to understand my

Shark was interrupted by the dial tone. He dumped the phone and muttered aloud.

This fuckin guys drivin me crazy. Do I gotta give this nut the money? If I dont, he wont give me the other money. Ah, what the hell. Only me with this shit.

We returned home at 8:30. After we fell asleep, my mother confronted my father while he was watching the Dean Martin Show .

How much did you lose today?

He sounded convincing. Dont worry about it. I got it covered.

She wanted to believe him. Yeah, well, you better be able to pay the bills. Thats all I got to say.

She walked away.

My father didnt turn around. Besides, I got to collect a lot of money tomorrow.

The Next Morning

Sonny jumped into his 58 Corvette convertible and headed to Jersey. He was going ninety and ran a red. The tires screeched as he rounded the circle. He ignored the cars that laid on their horns. Ahh, get the hell out outta here, would ya!

He made a beeline for the Garden State Racetrack with an adrenaline-pumping $200 in cash and a hot tip on a horse. Sabu, Big Ernie, and Frankie Germano were already waiting impatiently at the track.

Germano said, Cmon, Ern, lets fuckin go already. We gotta get in there! Were gonna miss the goddamn race!

No, no, we gotta wait for Sonny. Hes got a sure thing.

Yeah, well, sure thing dont mean nothin if it happened yesterday.

Sonny pulled into the lot like a maniac as the sound of tires cut through gravel. He jumped out through the window, without opening the door.

Jesus Christ, Sonny, we gotta get the fuck in there right now!

The four men dashed in and looked up and down the corridor. Only one cashier was open, so they darted behind two other guys in line. They were fidgety as they cased the joint. Big Ernie barked, Yo, buddy, cmon already, aint got all day here.

They placed their bets with seconds to spare.

As the horses rounded the first turn, Sonny willed on his horse. Go, ya dumb son of a bitch!

After a few minutes, boom! The tip came through paying 20 to 1. The guys jumped up and down. Sonny grinned ear to ear and looked skyward. Thank you, Sweet Jesus! I needed that one!

One Week Later

Steve the Shark pulled up out front, wearing a porkpie hat and smoking a big cigar. Shark peered determinably through the front window. He was under big pressure to collect.

Sonny was all smiles as he opened the door. Youre lookin a little scared there Steve, like you saw a ghost or something.

Shark looked exasperated. Cmon Sonny. This aint no time to be making jokes.

Sonny laughed. Yo, Steve, just relax. I mean, am I always good for it or what? Dont ever doubt Sonny Averona. I say what I do, and I do what I say.

Three Weeks Later

Frank Sinatra did a last-minute gig at the Alhambra Club at 12th and Morris. Sonny had pulled some strings and scored a ticket. Sinatra featured a few songs from his years at Capital Records. A group of stoned hippies who got free tickets crowded the lobby. One of them started heckling Sinatra from the back. Hey, Frank, play something from this century, will you? This shits for squares, man!

Sinatra took the heat. This aint some protest rally, you little malcontented son of a bitch.

Someone threw some rolled-up trash onto the stage. Sinatra was incensed.

Last night I played in Manhattan. Classy people. But I got news for yas. Philly didnt show any class tonight.

A bottle hit the wall behind him. Sinatra flipped. Thats it!

Sinatra turned to his crew. Okay, gentlemen, the shows over; pack this shit up. As a matter of fact, Im never playing Philly again. Screw all of these goddamn bums!

Things got worse. Chairs were thrown, and the event quickly turned into a real ruckus. Sonny walked out the door and watched from across the street. Five minutes later, the cops came, brandishing nightsticks. Frank Rizzo was one of them. He was a police captain in South Philly and pushed past Sinatras security. Mr. Sinatra, this is a law-and-order town. I got half a mind to run you down to the roundhouse.

Sinatra barked back. Give us ten minutes to get the hell out of here, and youll never see my face in this crummy town again.