Once upon a time there was a little boy whose parents were very poor. They lived in The Bronx, in a drab backwash of a great city.
Joseph Vitolo Jr., nine years old and small in the underfed fashion of the poor, was the 18th child (nine still living) of an immigrant Italian who makes a little money working on an ash truck, and a fat Italian mother who helps buy food by cutting flowers out of cloth. He went to school, where his teachers considered him bright, and in the evenings he played...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
