The Sunday Club

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2022 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

nhall@tickiestories.us

Preface

“History is the witness that testifies on the passing of time: it illumines reality, vitalize memory, provides guidance in daily life, and brings us tidings of antiquity.”

(Marcus Tullius Cicero) 

Herodotus, born around 484 BCE and dying sometime around 430 BCE, is often credited with being “the father of history” as a result of his written works “History” recording and discussing the wars between Greece and Persia (CA 499 BCE -479 BCE). This is not to say there were not historical events before his time or the lack of recording or disseminating occurrences of any event.

The human animal, as do many other creatures, has long communicated to others of the species, both current and future, various activities in life which could bring danger, sustenance, shelter, and other information vital to survival. In the Pre-literate stage of history, (before the invention of writing) from Pithecanthropus Erectus on back and up to and through Cro-Magnon to modern times, events were communicated through spoken language, pictographs on cave walls, to more refined art works as humans developed.

Just because an event or occurrence wasn’t recorded, doesn’t mean it never happened! Indeed, most events in the human life cycle of time, were not recorded, especially those events singular to family groups or individuals in their everyday life. Those events might be considered insignificant to the development of life, culture, and living of society as a whole, but the opposite might be argued; in that they may well have been the background for growth. This type of information would’ve been and is handed down from generation to generation through the spoken word; family stories until it was lost to antiquity or oblivion since the originators were no longer able to verify it or provide peer review.

Folklore, stories told by the elders, the older generations to the young, carried forth family traditions, family histories, and those small, seemingly unimportant activities to others, but of significance to the small, intimate groups of people comprising the backbone of each culture. This word-of-mouth communication continues into modern times, at family dinners, family gatherings, over coffee, and social interaction, even though written language developed enabling generations future to benefit from past heritage and preserving some of it in writing. The small events, those not recorded in a formal archival state, are an extremely important part of the development of individual family groups, their culture and continuity.

Alas, the caveat remains, when generations die, stories tend to expire with them if there are not those who will carry them on, and there is naught to refer to and guide the young. Without that history, those stories, that folklore, clans of people, families, would float out of existence with no previous knowledge of what came before. Repeating, retelling, assimilating the folklore keeps the families alive and honoring their forebearers.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental or used in a fictional content.

Forward

“Never on a Sunday”

“Oh, you can kiss me on a Monday

A Monday, a Monday is very very good

Or you can kiss me on a Tuesday

A Tuesday, in fact I wish you would

Or you can kiss me on a Wednesday

A Thursday, a Friday, and Saturday is best

But never never on a Sunday

A Sunday, a Sunday ‘cause that’s my day of rest

Come anyday and you’ll be my guest

Anyday you say but my day of rest

Just name the day that you like best

Only stay away on my day of rest.

You can kiss me on a cool day

A hot day a wet day which ever one you choose

Or try to kiss me on a grey day

A May day, a pay day and see if I refuse

And you make it on a bleak day

A freak day, a week day why you can be my guest

But never never on a Sunday

A Sunday’s the one day I need a day to rest.”

(Lyrics by Manos Hadjidakis) 

Have you ever, while dining on your buttered bun ham sandwich at a funeral luncheon, looked across the table at another person, perhaps a relative or a friend, and asked the question, “Do you remember when so and so …….?” Hopefully, that person will remember but the likely-hood is not. The one person who could answer your question is now being covered with six feet of dirt by the cemetery burial crew.

Our quest for answers for the history and background of our family and extended family was exacerbated by the occurrence of a severe heart attack our beloved Uncle Billy (William James Thompson and our Uncle in a most convoluted way) and legal guardian suffered. Seeing him in the hospital bed, various monitors attached to him giving evidence of his progress and continued life, and the concerns of my brother Eddie, the medical doctor, was gut-wrenching and heart saddening. One of Uncle Billy’s hands was being held by the love of his life and soul mate, Edward Hartman who was struggling to hold back his tears, fearful of losing his best friend and lover. The sight and realization we could easily lose our “Poppa” caused my brothers, Eddie Marchetti, Jimmy Marchetti, and me, John (Micky) Marchetti, Jr to resolve we’d ask those questions, seek the background information in order to satisfy our curiosity concerning our family, as convoluted as it may be since we entered the family at a young age and from outside the area.

We felt the importance of family history being passed on to future generations so they might better understand and gain knowledge from was best set into a printed form while those prime individuals in that history were still alive and able to give peer review to the stories we’d record.  Our family, we reasoned, if one would include the extended, non-blood-related members, was probably no more dysfunctional than some, but we must admit, quite unusual and different than most. We admit we did take some artistic license or creativity in the writing and editing of the stories when we did the final editing before putting it to print.

The “Sunday Club” is a collection of short stories, centered around a small group of boys bound by friendship, by location and age, economic circumstances, social status and cultural environment, sexual orientation, and born into a country on the brink of war! They lived on the edge of “nice” society in one of the less desirable areas of a relatively medium sized city and laced with some dangers from activities others might find somewhat outside the law. It was and is their home, their neighborhood, their lives to live without concern how others felt or reacted to them.

Their homes were in an eclectic section of the city, as some would think a collection of eccentrics, misfits, and characters of dubious legal standing. It was, in some ways, no different from similar areas in other cities throughout the nation or world. One spoke little of its existence and those outside generally knew better than to cause any trouble there or with any of the inhabitants.

The factors, situations, and men shaping the lives of this stalwart band of sometimes mischievous and “naughty” boys were crucial in the development, the self-acceptance, and strength to grow into manhood by the men who shaped our lives!

There are, throughout the document, stories containing subtle and some not so subtle references and descriptions of the boys and men sexual orientations and activities. There are those who’d find some language offensive and not in good taste. It’s who they were and are and is part of our history! We spent a great deal of time with the survivors, the second-generation members of the “Sunday Club,” listening, questioning, and setting down to print the stories they told about themselves, their relationship with others, and how closely they were bound together as friends. The language can sometimes be crude, explicitly descriptive, and sometimes hilarious, but it’s how they were and are. If you find it offensive, we would urge you to seek other literary works to enjoy.

Edward Marchetti, the middle brother of the three of us, commented as we put these stories to print, “We could call this non-fiction and readers would say it was fiction or we could call it fiction and note there are readers who would miss the truth of what is being told.”

Acknowledgments

For our lives, our education, their love and support. Without these men we would not be where we are today. We are forever thankful.

William (Uncle Billy) James Thompson

Edward (Hardy) Hartman

Danny (Skeeter) Taylor

Patrick (Moocher) Shaw

Terry (Skip) Jennings

Steve (Buzzy) Carlson

Adam (Sketch) Donahue

Russell (Stick) Morgan

And most of all

John Marchetti (Fr. Johnnie)

 without whom we would not have life and live in the loving home and environment that we did and do.

John (Micky) Marchetti, Jr

Edward Marchetti

James Marchetti

To be continued...

Posted: 03/18/2022