Dominic Missereli, R.I.P.

By Ken Thompson

Dominic Missereli died a week ago.

Actually, I only found out that he died a week ago. I don’t know when he actually passed away. The news came to me through a mutual acquaintance who visited Brooklyn Memories and dropped me a note.

I've tried to get more info but my emails get no replies. I’ve dropped my efforts.

Dominic wasn't a particularly good friend of mine. I might say that he wasn't really a friend... just someone I knew from the neighborhood.

He was about two years older than me and a kid who seemed to always be in trouble. I stayed away from him but there was something exciting about him. He was always where the action was and that wasn't always good for him or the people near him.

The way I recall it, Dom went to PS 179 and then to Montauk JHS. He was probable supposed to go to Erasmus but I think he went to Grady or Automotive. I would guess that he never graduated. He always seemed to be around, hanging out... not at school.

He was the only child for his Mom and his father had died in WWII. Things were hard for them and they were barely able to scrape by with his Mom working two jobs... one at the A&P on Church Avenue near E. 3rd Street and the other somewhere else.

Mrs. Missereli always looked tired and old. Her clothes seemed clean but well-worn. She had a nice smile and women found her easy to talk to, at least my Mom did.

I first saw Dom get in trouble shoplifting small items from Kenny's Variety Store on Church and E. 3rd. It seemed pretty stupid to shoplift right next to where his Mom worked but who knows. He usually got off with a lecture and having his Mom told but he never seemed remorseful or committed to change behaviors. He seemed to have an attitude that he would try harder and smarter at shoplifting.

I once heard that he had gotten caught trying to shoplift a plastic model airplane kit from Victor's Toy Store on Church and E. 5th Street. I was told that the Cops had come and that Dominic was taken away in a Police car.

He wasn't around for awhile but finally showed up with a new "look". He told everyone that he had been staying with an uncle, his father's brother, in the Bronks and that he used to get beatings.

His new "look" was '50s hoodlum-ish... greased pompador hair with a DA, pegged pants with an inset of red satin on the legs, very pointy shoes, and a nasty and intimidating attitude.

Where we lived was just north of an area controlled by the Ditmas Dukes and south of Gremlins territory. Dom announced that he was a Gremlin and that he could get 500 guys to beat anyone's asses. This is where I became even more remote from Dom.

I couldn't figure out how Dom could afford his new style till I was told that he was stealing checks out of mailboxes on Ocean Parkway and was also snatching purses from old women. I understand that he did get caught and was "sent away" but he always reappeared after three or six months.

While most of us were still playing ball and hanging around, Dominic was with the "fast" girls who he referred to as "cunts" or "cock teasers". Neither Dominic nor his girls were really in our crowd.

I heard that one of them got pregnant and that Dominic wouldn't marry her. More probable was that the girl's family had regrets but good sense and wanted nothing more to do with Dom.

As we all got older, I would sometime see Dom hanging out at the Burger Rail Diner with other wanna-bees of the Gallo family. I assumed he ran errands and did other small "jobs". Dom had bulked out and looked much older than he was. His hoodlum look had changed to something closer to young, successful dockworker or carpet salesman.

Once in awhile, when he saw kids from the neighborhood, he would offer us deals on things that had "fallen offa truck". The stuff was often leather jackets, portable record players or real 18-karat gold jewelry. Maybe I was a wuss but I never bought anything, except one transistor radio for almost nothing, because I was afraid of getting caught.

I think it was 1961 or '62 that I had an opportunity, if you could call it that, to get to know Dom better.

It would stay with me to this day.
I had come out of the alley behind my apartment house, heading for the subway to go to work in the City, when I saw Dom crumpled up and bloodied behind some bushes on one of the lawns on E. 4th street.

As I approached, I looked around, scared to be walking into the middle of something. When I asked what had happened, Dom, through a still bleeding mouth and missing teeth, said some "pimp buddies" were jealous and had jumped him and then dumped him.

I offered to call an ambulance but he said that he didn't need any help. It was obvious that he had no understanding of the shape he was in.

I ran upstairs and called the police and by the time I was getting back to Dom they had already pulled up and were over him. I stood back, out of sight, and sorta just watched.

They stood over Dom and were laughing. They were kicking him and spitting on him. I heard one say to the other "Let's wait till we get another call about this piece of shit." They got in their car and drove off. I stayed hidden till they were gone and carried/dragged Dom down into the cellar of my apartment house.

Prior to the apartment owners hiring Mr. Moscone as Super and giving him an apartment on the first floor, the Super duties were handled by a black man, Cleo Hall. The residence Cleo had been given for his wife and two daughters was an area of the cellar. He had put up walls and run electric and water.

When he vacated it, the utilities got disconnected but we used it as a sorta clubhouse but soon gave it up... too depressing and hot in the summertime.

This is where I dragged Dom.

As he lay on the floor in a fetal position with his right hand wrapped in the jacket we often wore, did I see that his index finger was gone. The jacket was pretty bloody but Dom was holding it tight to stem the bleeding.

I just looked at him, I didn't know what to say or do.

Dom looked at me through his blood-shot eyes and said, "Don't tell anyone I'm here. I'm okay. Get the fuckatta here you scumbag."

I left and went and told my Mom what had happened. She asked me twice what the cops had done and she became pretty agitated.

After a few minutes she phoned Dom's Mom but got no answer. She then called the A&P and asked to speak to her. When she got on my Mom said, in a manner very calm and controlled, "Something has happened and you need to come home right away. Dom is with us and he's okay. Go home to your apartment and the come across the roofs to our building. Kenny will be waiting for you. Be in control of yourself, like nothing is the matter."

We sat and waited. My Mom would peek out the windows but saw nothing out of the ordinary. She saw a Police car slow as it passed where I had found Dom but it continued on. I listened for the door from the roof to open.

When Mrs. Missereli came my mother told her to sit down and for me to go to work through the front doors of the apartment door. When I told her that I wanted to stay and call-in sick, she gave me a look and told me that she had work to do. I left.

At the Chase Bank, coming in late was almost as bad as being sick and not coming in.

When I got home that evening nothing was out of the ordinary. My Mom explained that after she told Mrs. Missereli the story she got her calmed down but stopped her from going into the basement right away.

After they discussed options they decided to ask Mrs. Lynch on the second floor to help out.

Mrs. Lynch worked as a nurse’s aid at Kings County Hospital and would he better able to render care. My Mom told Mrs. Missereli that she could not go to the basement in case someone was watching. "You'll just have to trust us to take care of Dominic."

Evidently my Mom and Mrs. Lynch took separate trips to the basement to drop off "bags of garbage". In the bags were medicines, bandages, linens and clothing for Dom.

After Mrs. Lynch saw and fixed Dom as best she could, she told my Mom that his finger was a clean cut but that Dom might loose one of his eyes. She finished by saying, "He looks like one of the bodies that gets dumped in the street in front of the Emergency Entrance at County. Many of them are already dead."

Over the next two weeks Mrs. Lynch and my Mom kept on taking out "garbage" and were able to make Dom comfortable and better.

Mrs. Missereli stayed away from Dom and went about her daily schedule. (She was able to write notes and my Mom passed them to Dom.)

Mrs. Missereli reported that she had been asked about Dom's whereabouts by two guys from the Burger Rail and by some cops. She told them that she didn't know where he was but wasn't particularly upset since he seldom came to the apartment anymore. She told them to check with one of his girlfriends.

Every so often we would see one of the guys cars prowling the neighborhood... "just lookin'".

Dom didn't loose the eye but his vision wasn't good with it. As he regained his strength he would bluster as to what he was gonna do to the bastards. But he did nothing.

The times I visited him with sodas and magazines he was angry and boisterous. He was frightening and my visits became less frequent.

His staying in the cellar was the smartest thing I had ever seen him do. He seemed to be listening to the Moms in his life who were taking care of him.

About two months after the beating, Dom was spirited out of Brooklyn and taken to the Port Authority Bus Terminal and then to points unknown.

I didn't see Dominic again.

His Mom kept living in the same apartment and working and, once in awhile, talking with my Mom.

From time-to-time I'd hear that Dom was in Detroit, or Kansas City, or Miami, or L.A., or somewhere else. The story was always that he was doing "okay".

The absence from view had made Dom almost absent from memory. I tend to shut out the bitter and painful events.

Fast forward to Las Vegas, 1982.

I was attending a technology conference (definitely a boondoggle) and enjoying the sights though despising the Vegas heat.

On one of the evenings, without a conference dinner and boring speaker, I walked the strip and wound up at the Flamingo. I had a drink, lost
$50 at blackjack, and then went to the buffet for some nourishment.

As I pushed my tray along, looking at the endless display of food I came up to the carving station for some roast beef.

As I looked up to ask for "lean and not too rare", I made eye contact, and paused. I wasn't his eye patch but there was something about him. I don't know why but I glanced at his hand holding the knife and saw a finger missing. I looked up to his chest and saw the name-tag with "Jerry".

Without thinking I said, "Pardon me for staring but you reminded me of a guy I knew... Dom Missereli."

"Hi-ya Kenny"

We just looked at each other... astounded.

He placed a pile of beef on my plate and said, "Let me see where you sit. I got a break in about 10 minutes."

As I walked away and chose a table I wondered if I had made a BIG mistake.

While we recognized each other, I didn't know if I really wanted to renew this acquaintance.

When Jerry came over he had an iced-tea in his hand and sat down.

We talked superficially and he told me that he used the name Jerry to avoid being more easily recognized. He told me he had traveled a lot but had worked mostly in Reno and Las Vegas. He mentioned he lived in a trailer park about 20 minutes outside the city with his girlfriend Valerie.

I gave him a very brief rundown on myself and family but indicated I lived in Dallas. I can only guess not that I lied to avoid a renewed relationship with Dom.

We never spoke of things Brooklyn except for his Mom (deceased), my Mom (deceased), and Mrs. Lynch (unknown but probably deceased).

There were pauses and uneasy gaps of silence in our conversation.

I finally spoke of one of the few things we had shared.

"Ya know, I thought for sure you were gonna wind up dead. You lived on the wild side and dangerously."

I thought to myself, 'Why the hell did you say that. He seems to be doing okay and you have to bring up something from 20 years ago that both of us would probably prefer to forget.' Whatta jerk I was.

Dom just glanced at me and fiddled with his glass.

"Those were different time and I was a little crazy. The beating and the chop job on my finger wound up changing my life. For the first year I was mad as hell. I wanted revenge in the most awful way.

"In Chicago I wound up in a rehab for drunks and abusers and I came around to realize that I wasn’t dead and that if I continued the way I was going I would be. After about six months I got a job on an offshore rig as a cook. The money was good and the solitude had me come around. The Brooklyn past was finished and I really started my life.

"It’s been okay."

He looked at me again and kept fiddling with his glass.

After a pause I said, "You never know what’s gonna direct your life... both for good and bad. You gotta roll with the punches and make the best of it."

We just sat there, neither saying anything.

When Dom peeked at his watch and said he had to get back to work, I told him I was glad he was okay and that I wished him well.

As he stood by my table, he extended his hand to shake and said, "Thanks for dragging me to the cellar back then. I'd probably be dead if you didn't. You take care of your family and yourself. God bless."

We shook and he turned to go back to work.

It was the "God bless." that got me. It was so out of character for the person I remembered.

This wasn't the same Dom Missereli I knew. This was a much better one and I was ashamed for being so shallow and lying to him.

I went back to the buffet two days later but I didn't see Dom... or Jerry. I sought out a manager and asked for Jerry and he said he had quit. I then told him I was an old friend and would like a phone number for Jerry. The manager simply said that that information was personal and confidential and couldn't be given out.

A search in the phonebook and with an operator gave no information for a "Missereli" or anything close to it.

Dom was out of my life again and that was probably okay.

When I got the email about his dying, it didn't say when or where or under what name or circumstances. My curiosity wanted to know but some things are best unknown.

My memories of Dom mark him as an interesting man who survived a life that none of us would probably want. Through the high and the lows, the smiles and the pain he was able to end his relationship with me with a wonderful "God bless."


If you are so inclined, say a small prayer for Dom Missereli.

May he rest in peace.

[end] © Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2005.