New York, New York

C

 

 

 

 

 

NEW YORK, NEW YORK

 

My name is Eric. I live in New York City. The date is August 4, 1851. The city is a squalid hell-hole in which gangs roam the streets, perch on tops of roofs and make homes in the city sewers.

 

Hogs roam all over, even rooting along Broadway. Elegant ladies cross streets in the company of loose pigs and dogs.

 

Sidewalks are made of wood. Streets in summer are a mixture of mud, horse defecation and urination, dead animals, noise pollution and an incredible, noxious stench. In winter, all freezes, making walking an adventure.

 

Everything is transported by horses from food to fire engines to police vehicles, etc.

 

There are no sewers or no indoor plumbing. Large areas of tenement housing have no daylight, natural ventilation, sanitation or security.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

None of this bothers me. I live away from this chaos on Fifth Avenue in an ultra-fashionable mansion with my mama’ and my papa’. We have five nannies (one for each child), two butlers, a kitchen staff of ten, a cleaning staff of five, two footmen, two personal maids for mama’ and a cadre of well-armed guards to protect us from the riff-raff outside.

 

We are the Seigel family. My papa’ (nick-named Bugsy by his friends) is a prim and proper man, adored by his wife and kids. He never spoke of his business, but we heard rumors of some nefarious doings. He told us that he made all his money in the market.

 

One day, papa’ didn’t come home. Mama’ told us he was run down by a horse cart on Broadway. I’ll never forget the funeral with so many mourners and so many black hearses.

 

Only many years after mama’ died did I learn the truth. Papa’ was a notorious gangster. He had stolen and murdered his entire life. I was devastated.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eventually I was accepted at New York University and then Columbia, where I received my law degree. It served me well as the consigliore to the Don Corleone family.

 

It was simply a way to continue my opulent lifestyle, which I did with gusto. I never looked back.

 

Note: Eric Seigel was killed in a gangland massacre on St. Valentine’s Day, 1871.