look homeward, angel, or...

a jersey girl remembers.

this morning, as i type this, a team of specialists are on their way to my grandmother's house, to remove the underground oil tank that my great-grandfather sank a hundred years ago into the soft sandy soil. the soil samples revealed contamination, the oil tank must go, even the oil consigned as toxic waste.

this morning i read about the recent corruption scandals in north jersey, how pervasive corruption is, how deep and how far back it goes. i can't help seeing a connection.

do you ever watch the sopranos, daddy, i asked my father once.

he laughed and said, oh honey, i lived the sopranos.

and then he told me the story of how one evening he was at dinner with a judge and a gentleman who was part of, as my father put it, "myer lansky's organization that ran atlantic city." the judge made a comment that meant nothing to my father, but to which the gentleman from atlantic city replied, after a long pause, "your honor, you're problem is you talk too much." and a week later, someone shot the judge, someone who never got found.

this morning i realized my father's never mentioned exactly why he was at dinner.

i hope they don't find any bodies buried under the tank.

and furthermore, the war will end. blessed be.