Cowboys & Cadillacs

Cowboys & Cadillacs - Chapter 1

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Chapter I – Mickey's Return Home

"A-a-a-a – You're my sister Marie and I love you but I thought your flavor was lesbian. What's with the big diamond, wedding dress and cake top groom?" I asked sincerely astonished.

"Please Mickey you've kept my secret all these years you have to help me through this." She cried.

"I hear this boy is an Italian from the City Marie. How do you think he'll react if he finds out about your past love interests? His family will blame him for not knowing."

"You need to realize something my brother. --- I'm pregnant."

"You know I was just about to make an off-colored joke about bed partners but that tidbit of info rings loud and clear that you have a full plate sister dear. I give you my word that I will say nothing and I wish you well." I promised.

This was all said against my better judgment. But 'A' it was far too late for any kind of real intervention and 'B' we were big kids now and it was really none of my business.

Marie had been playing spin the bottle with the girl next door and her little butch buddies since the seventh grade. She would also take personal field trips with her dyke spiked female gym teacher at the all-girls Catholic High School that she attended. It was all kind of fun, games and experimental, as she tried to explain, until I realized that there had been no jock straps in the mix. Homosexuality had been given a pass in many cultural settings bynow but it had not crept out of the dark Catholic much less Italian closets.

Knowing when to back off was a lesson well-learned, especially considering that I had my own secrets to sit on. Besides, blood always trumped judgment, whether good or bad.

It was April of 1973 as I had come back to Chicago to enjoy my Mother's pasta and reunite with my old crew in the suburb of Cicero. Reality uncovered the fact that the boys from the corner were either married or had moved out of the city so reunion-wise my sister's wedding would have to do.

The wedding was held with a High Mass at our family parish of St. Anthony's. This beautiful House of God with its white pillars and coved altar made the ceremony seem as authentic as authentic could possibly be. The Church Choir rang out a melodious religious strain switching to the mandatory wedding march for the escape. Marie looked beautiful in her flowing white gown that must have cost our Father a fortune. Her heart shaped perfectly symmetrical face was set off by flawless olive skin and bedroom baby blues, any man or woman's dream. Frank Van Degna, the head of the third generation, was all smiles and tears as he marched his daughter down the aisle to whatever marital bliss she might have been expecting. Her groom and the groomsmen appeared like something out of the newly released movie "The Godfather" while the bridesmaids all decked out in pink chiffon looked good enough to eat. My gorgeous sister walked the plank to a clueless Italian boy who was marrying a pregnant Italian girl at a wondrous Italian celebration.

We then proceeded to Burbank's Martinique Wedding Venue that sported a huge polished dance floor, glittering chandeliers, 400 seats covered with white linen and an orchestra sized bandstand. The chairs would soon be supporting Italian and Lituanian asses but these folks spent most of their time at the two open bars.

Three parts Italian and one part Lithuanian, the crowd's mix was quite a tribute to nationality prejudice. The Lithuanian relatives, my Mother's blood, sat on their side of the room staring at the Italian mob scene across the dance floor that again was reminiscent of an updated Godfather's wedding. My Baltic kin looked as though guns-a-blazin' was about to happen at any time from the old gang of the Boot and no one seemed to interface except my two loving Grandmothers.