The Big Move
By Paul Davis
Dominic Fortino was
forced to serve out many after school detentions in the school’s small
library.
Fortino was ordered to detention again on this particular day
due to his attempt to push Mr. Pidot’s desk out of a second story classroom
window.
Jonathan Pidot was a pompous, dumpy young man of 28 with an
oversized head, wispy light hair, and huge ears that turned bright red when he
became angry or frustrated. His cartoon character looks and high-pitch squeak of
a voice made him the perfect foil for teenage class clowns.
He was the
most hated teacher in Thomas Junior High School in South Philadelphia during the
mid-1960s.
Pidot spent much of the day complaining about the excessive
heat coming off the radiators in his classroom. Although it was 30 degrees
outside, it was close to 90 degrees in the classroom. Pidot threw open the
classroom’s oversize windows to let in the cold air, but it didn’t help much.
The students were hot, but many of them were glad that the math test scheduled
for that day was postponed due to the heat and Pidot’s fit over the
heat.
At one point Pidot told the class that he was going to confront the
custodian and walked out of the classroom. Fortino and a few other students
jumped out of their seats, picked up Pidot’s desk and attempted to push it out
the window.
Although the open window was wide, the old, wooden desk
jammed in the widow frame, with half of the desk and two legs dangling over the
Johnson Street pavement. The more they tried to push the desk through the
window, the more it wedged firmly into the frame.
Someone called out that
Pidot was coming and the students rushed back to their seats. Fortino ignored
the warning as he was determined to push the desk out of the window with his
brute force.
“What are you doing? Are you insane?” Pidot screamed in
disbelief as he entered the classroom.
Pidot was not amused by the prank, but
the students’ laughter was heard throughout the school. Pidot’s large ears were
flaming red as he shrieked insults at Fortino.
Fortino sat down in his
seat calmly. He was impassive throughout Pidot’s verbal assault, as he was twice
Pidot’s size, and he feared no one. “Big Dom,” as Fortino was known, was a
teenager, but he looked like a forty-year-old man. Make that a large, tough, and
rugged 40-year-old.
Winded from screaming at Fortino, Pidot threw up his
hands in disgust and stormed out the classroom. He charged down the hall and
bounced down the stairs to the vice principal’s office on the first floor of the
school.
Later in the vice principal’s office Fortino told her that he
never intended to push Pidot’s desk out of the window. It was just a joke. The
vice principal was not amused. She placed Fortino on suspension and ordered him
to return to school in a week’s time with his parents.
Pidot was not
satisfied with the punishment and he insisted that Fortino also serve detention.
Pidot was big on detention. The vice principal agreed and instructed Fortino to
report to detention after classes.
At detention that afternoon in the
library Pidot ordered Fortino to read something — anything. A book was out of
the question, so Fortino picked up a magazine and glanced at the photos simply
to placate Pidot, who sat nearby grading papers and muttering.
The “desk
in the window” stunt became a huge joke throughout the school. Even the
custodian, who had to dislodge the desk from the window frame, laughed about it.
Like the students, the custodian hated Pidot.
The stunt so irritated
Pidot that with the vice principal’s permission he formed a teacher’s committee
with the goal of identifying and removing the school’s 12 most disruptive
students.
Of course, Fortino was one of the designed “12 Most Wanted.”
I was another.
I was a class clown and I used to crack jokes and
offer sarcastic asides during class. I always received a good laugh when I would
mimic Pidot’s catch phrase, “Is this a joke?” Pidot would often utter this
phrase when students did not meet his so-called high standards of
learning.
Other students picked up on my impression and when Pidot walked
through the halls one would always hear several students in falsetto voices say
“Is this a joke?” This infuriated Pidot and he knew I was the
originator.
I was an idea man as well. I pulled my own stupid stunts, but
I also conceived of pranks and mischief that Fortino and others went on to
commit on my suggestion. In fact, I must now admit that it was I who suggested
we push Pidot’s desk out the window. I hated Pidot and the feeling was
mutual.
Pidot and his committee came up with the Pidot Plan, which called
for teachers to watch the designed 12 Most Wanted, catch us, one-by-one, in the
act, and then transfer us to Daniel Boone, which was a special disciplinary
school for young hoodlums.
Pidot told his fellow teachers that Fortino,
for example, was not only disruptive; he was incapable of learning. One teacher
on the committee, Mr. Rockland, disagreed.
Ronald Rockland was a short
fireplug of a man with short-cropped gray hair. He was a tough, no-nonsense
English teacher. We all thought he was a cool guy, and no one would have dared
to push his desk out of a window.
Rockland, who encouraged my dream of
becoming a writer, must have felt there was some hope for me, as he took me
aside and warned me about the Pidot Plan. He advised me to stay out of
trouble.
I continued to pull stunts, of course, but I was careful not to
get caught. Although I had in turn warned my fellow 12 Most wanted about the
Pidot Plan, Fortino and nine other guys would eventually be kicked out of school
and shipped off to Daniel Boone.
Of the 12 Most Wanted, only Mike Rossini, who,
amazingly, was a straight-A-student, and me, a class clown, minor hoodlum and
marginal student, went on to graduate Thomas Junior High School.
I loved
my three years at Thomas, even if I didn’t learn much there. I had fun goofing
off throughout school, which is probably why I’m not a millionaire doctor living
in Gladwyne today.
And Pidot, I recently discovered, was wrong about
Fortino. He was capable of learning.
That afternoon in the school’s
library Fortino sat and looked at magazine photos of a luxury high-rise
apartment in Center City Philadelphia. He stared at the photos of a wealthy
couple’s splendid furniture, electronic equipment and art. He was impressed.
Fortino was so impressed that he vowed to one day steal it all.
Along
with Fortino and most of our South Philly street corner gang, I dropped out of
high school in the late 1960s. I enlisted in the Navy when I was 17 in 1970 and
I sailed off to Southeast Asia on an aircraft carrier. Fortino was sent up the
river the same year. Fortino spent most of his late teens and early twenties
incarcerated, and he later became a member of the local mob.
I had not
seen “Big Dom” Fortino in many years so I was somewhat taken back when I was
contacted by his lawyer. Fortino was sitting in a federal cell waiting to
testify against his fellow criminals. He told his lawyer that he wanted to offer
me an exclusive interview before he entered the Witness Protection Program and
left Philadelphia.
According to the lawyer, Fortino read my column in the
local paper. Well, I suppose he may have glanced at my column photo, but knowing
that he was not big on reading, I doubted that he actually read my
column.
I met with Fortino in the Federal Detention Center, located
across the street from the Federal Courthouse in Philadelphia. Big Dom had grown
even bigger since our last meeting. He was now a massive, muscular guy, wide as
a truck, and he had a face that only a hatchet could love. Fortino stood up and
welcomed me with a rib-breaking hug and a couple of slapping thuds on the
back.
We sat down on chairs facing each other across a table. I set out
my notebook, pen and tape recorder on the table, and Fortino launched straight
away into his story.
Fortino was a member of a rough crew that worked out
of John Doe’s Bar & Grill in South Philadelphia. He had a reputation as a
capable burglar and a vicious and effective strong-arm guy. He and his crew hit
stores and warehouses at night. Fortino’s mob captain, Joseph “Joe Darts,”
Argentieri, ran a major bookmaking and load sharking operation out of John
Doe’s. Fortino, with his killer-reputation and killer-looks, collected gambling
and loan shark debts for Argentieri.
When a doorman for a Center City
high-rise apartment building fell behind in his gambling debts, Fortino recalled
his school days and saw an opportunity to fulfill his dream of looting a
high-rise, luxury apartment.
The doorman, Bill Canfield, was a lean,
hawk-faced, 50-year-old. He was a fast-talking, ingratiating, compulsive,
degenerate gambler. To clear some of his dept and remain healthy, Canfield
agreed to assist Fortino.
Canfield identified the richest tenant in the
building as John Joyce, a 62-year-old real estate developer. Joyce was a
balding, tall, thin, almost frail man, who wore large glasses on his pinched
face. He lived alone in his vast apartment, and Canfield told Fortino that Joyce
entered the lobby early every Sunday morning after spending Saturday night at a
girlfriend’s home.
When Joyce walked into the lobby that one Sunday
morning Fortino walked up to him and rammed the four-inch barrel of a .357 Smith
& Weston revolver in his side. He forced Joyce into the elevator and they
rode up to his apartment. With the gun barrel laid up against Joyce’s temple,
Fortino had Joyce unlock the door and disable the alarm system once they were
inside. Fortino called down and had his crew come up to the apartment. The
four-man crew, dressed as moving men, carried dollies, hand trucks and other
moving equipment.
With swift and quiet efficiency, the four experienced
men moved every stick of furniture and household item out of the apartment. They
moved the load into the freight elevator and then out into a large moving truck
that was parked in the back of the building. If anyone happened to see the crew
at work they would assume that a tenant was moving out of the
building.
Joyce sat still in a dinning room chair, too frightened to
speak or move, as the crew moved all of his belongings out the door.
“A
rich guy like you should eat more,” Fortino said as he lifted Joyce from the
chair with ease. The chair was the last piece of furniture in the apartment, and
Fortino handed it to one of his crew. The large apartment was now empty save for
Joyce and Fortino.
Joyce was forced to take the elevator down to the
garage with Fortino at his side, and they drove off in Joyce’s Lincoln Town Car,
one of three cars that he had parked in the garage. They drove off towards North
Philadelphia, while the moving truck drove off in the opposite direction towards
a wholesale candy warehouse in South Philadelphia.
Fortino swung the car
to the curb near a subway stop on Broad Street. Fortino was stealing the car as
well, so he told Joyce to get out and take the subway home.
“Call the
cops when you get home and say you was robbed,” Fortino ordered Joyce as he
eased out of the car. “Say you found the place cleaned out when you got there.
Got me?”
Joyce nodded in agreement.
“Hey, you’ll collect big-time on
the insurance,” Fortino said with a grin. “Go rob those guys.”
Fortino
abruptly turned cold and menacing and yanked Joyce back into the car. “But if
you ever tell the cops about me or my guys, you’ll end up fuckin’ dead. Ya got
me?”
Joyce again nodded in agreement and Fortino shoved him out into the
street and drove off.
Joyce initially followed Fortino’s instructions,
but as this was a bold crime, the detectives were persistent in their
questioning. Joyce finally broke down and told the detectives the true story.
But Joyce, still fearing retribution from the mad, giant criminal, claimed he
could not identify any of the crooks, even though Fortino’s photo was one of the
mug shots laid before him.
A University of Penn graduate student who
believed his superior intellect would ensure that he made a killing on sports
betting — but didn’t — was coerced into working for Fortino. Alec Pines, called
“Smart Alec” by the crooks, was a grubby-looking nerd who appeared out of place
among the rough-hewn, but better dressed hoodlums. Fortino wanted Pines to
report to the candy warehouse so he could identify and place a value on the art,
antique furniture and any other items of special value.
This was a big
score for Fortino. “Joe Darts” Argentieri, a slim, dapper, silver-haired man of
60, was proud and happy as Pines added up the estimated value of the
score.
Argentieri and Fortino discussed “moving” – the criminal term for
the profitable disposal of stolen items — the contents of the lavish apartment.
Argentieri said he knew some people in New Jersey who would be very interested
in the haul.
“This is a big fuckin’ score,” Argentieri told Fortino.
“You’ll get a lotta respect for this work, I gotta tell ya, and you’ll make us a
lotta fuckin’ money.”
This would have been a perfect score had not one of
Fortino’s crew been arrested by the FBI. The FBI pinched Steven Fritts for
federal drug charges unrelated to the apartment job. With a growing family and a
growing drug-habit, Fritts feared doing hard time in prison. So he gave up Big
Dom.
He told the FBI about the apartment job and the location of the
warehouse. The FBI and the Philadelphia police raided the warehouse. They also
hit John Doe’s and arrested Fortino and his crew.
Despite his record as a
poor student, Fortino did the math. As he was in his late 50s he knew he might
die in prison. So he gave up Joe Darts.
Fortino was a gold mine of
information concerning the local mob, and he confessed to aiding Argentieri in
the murder of two rivals five years prior. He offered to tell the FBI and the
Philly detectives where the bodies — or to be precise, the body parts — were
buried. The Assistant U.S. Attorney was very happy with Fortino, and she
arranged a very good deal for him.
So there we were in the Federal
Detention Center. Fortino told me that his wife and young son were already out
of state, safe in the Witness Protection Program. He said he would join them
when he finished his testimony.
Fortino said that he was thankful that
before the FBI went out and arrested Argentieri, the FBI agents escorted Fortino
to his home, where he, his wife and his brother-in-law loaded up a truck with
all of their household belongings for the trip out of state.
“Nobody
suspected a thing, we were in and out in two hours,” Fortino said proudly.
“After all, I know how to fuckin’ move furniture.”
© 2009 By Paul Davis
Note: The above short story originally appeared in the online journal When Falls the Coliseum.
While I mourn the death of any person, and I feel sympathy for his family, I can't forget or forgive Michael Jackson for the countless children he has abused.
