The Sacrificial Circumcision of the Bronx (11 page)

18

T
he notion of dying in this place, with all the rotting corpses around him, terrified Uli. Even Paul had friends. Yet other than Teresa and her kids, the only people who consoled him at his mother’s funeral were Maria and her daughter Lucretia. Apparently, everyone believed he had neglected his mother during her final days. Mr. Robert and Edna stood near her coffin.

As the oldest, Paul spoke first. He eulogized his mother respectfully, explaining that depite the endless spats between them, their love had only increased over the years. Robert then spoke eloquently about her zealous philanthropy and eternal wisdom. Edna said that Bella had been both her mother and her best friend. They made their moody parent sound like a regular Florence Nightingale. Afterwards, none of Paul’s aunts, cousins, or close family friends seemed to even notice him unless he approached them directly.

Two weeks later, the family lawyer verified that Paul had been left with whatever interest could be generated from a hundred-thousand-dollar trust. Furthermore, that trust was to be administered by Mr. Robert and Wilfred Openhym, a cousin. The final humiliation was a clause stating that if Paul ever contested the will, he’d forfeit every cent. This had all the fingerprints of his dear brother.

Around this time, Paul started noticing Robert’s name in the paper again. He had just been appointed as the first citywide Parks Commissioner of New York. Small articles began appearing, announcing ribbon-cutting ceremonies at small parks throughout the five boroughs. Soon the son of bitch seemed to be pulling playgrounds and swimming pools out of thin air. “Vest-pocket parks,” they were called, unused city property that Robert snatched up and converted into recreation space. Then it was announced that after years of neglect, Central Park was being extensively renovated. A new restaurant, Tavern on the Green, was being built in a former sheepfold near the Great Lawn, which was being re-sod and seeded.

Paul called Robert at his office one day, and when the secretary asked his name, Paul facetiously explained that he was a reporter intending to write a puff piece on how Robert Moses tamed Central Park. He was surprised when the call actually went through. As soon as Robert picked up, Paul said that he was sorry about the way things had turned out between them and that he had made peace with their mother’s will.

“All I hope,” Paul said, “is that maybe we can bury the hatchet and be brothers again.”

Robert listened patiently. When Paul asked if he could secure a short loan for his business, Robert said that with his own mounting expenses, he simply couldn’t afford it. Paul had already asked Edna and she, too, had claimed that her money was tied up and that she couldn’t help him. The Depression was taking a toll on everyone.

Meanwhile, membership at Llenarch was slowing down, so Paul began working around the clock at Con Ed to try to keep up with his growing debts.

19

U
li felt a strange sense of calm when he thought about Paul’s relationship with Teresa. They worked really well together. And he took an immediate liking to her two kids. When she learned that he had moved out of his place to save money and was living in his Con Ed office, she insisted he move in with her.

One afternoon she popped in for an unannounced visit at his office and learned he hadn’t come in at all that day. Teresa had divorced her first husband for cheating on her; for this reason, she’d been discreetly checking on Paul every once in a while. Usually he was at work, but occasionally he would simply vanish. When he’d come home, he always seemed quiet, even contrite.

She started suspecting the worst and hired a private investigator. After a month, she learned from her gumshoe that Paul had attended ribbon cuttings for five new city parks and even the Triborough Bridge. The PI further reported that Paul would always stay in the back of the crowd and remain long after everyone else had left.

One night over dinner, she delicately confessed what she had done and apologized for it. He didn’t say a word.

“Paul, you have to push your brother out of your head. The feeling of betrayal will eat you alive. I know cause I went through this with Mike.”

“Envy, jealousy … that’s only a small part of it. When I see Robert and all he’s doing with his life … well, it’s the life I expected to live. His very existence is a monument of my failure.”

Driven by Paul’s growing despair, Uli became even more intent on making his own mission a success and finding some way out. As he moved in the direction where he had last seen the murderous miner, piles of stones started appearing in wooden boxes, which turned out to be desk drawers. They covered the ground, though there was not a soul in sight. He kept walking until he eventually came to a corner doorway that opened to a long, narrow corridor.

Inside the passageway, a massive hole had been cut right into the cement wall and the hard stone behind it. A stale aroma of concrete dust and decay vented out. The hole forked off into three different directions; with his flashlight he could see that two of them were dead ends. Following the third channel and passing by several dark caves, he could hear faint snoring and movement. Peering into one of the caves, he realized he was in the presence of sleeping bodies—this was some kind of dank, narrow bunk room. Uli tiptoed away, fearful of waking them.

He eventually counted six tunnels that went varying distances into the earth. The opening of one foul-smelling cave in a particularly remote section of the tunnel system was covered by old sacks hanging from the low ceiling. Pushing through and flicking on his flashlight, Uli could make out dozens of shriveled feet; bodies were piled sideways like cords of wood.

As he ventured forward, he heard more moans and a constant shuffling of feet. The tunnel pitched downhill at a sharp angle for about a hundred feet, then opened into a larger area that seemed to be another supply depot. In fact, it turned out to be a treasure trove of stock. Stacks and stacks of wooden boxes, presumably food, and green metal barrels marked
FRESH WATER
were piled to the ceiling.

To Uli’s horror, he discovered that what he had been hearing was a chain gang, a paddle wheel of filthy men and women—not particularly old, all nearly naked—shackled together at their wrists and ankles. Their lower quarters were spattered in dirt and excrement. They held wooden boxes and desk drawers loaded with stones and dirt. Uli watched them dump the contents of their boxes into a large pile in the depot area, then one-by-one loop back down into the same broad tunnel they had just exited—a human conveyor belt.

Strangely, though, there seemed to be no guards monitoring the activity. After twenty minutes, Uli stepped boldly into view. “Excuse me!” he said to one and all.

Some looked up as they passed, but no one said a word. They just continued dumping rocks and shuffling back into the service tunnel.

“Who’s in charge here?”

None replied.

“Are you being held against your will?”

Nothing.

Drawing closer, Uli realized two things: First, the workers weren’t really chained; they were merely tied loosely together with frayed rope. Second, they were all exhibiting some type of dementia or possibly late-stage Alzheimer’s. Uli shoved past the two lanes down a short tunnel in search of guards, or at least supervisors. Soon he arrived at a large dome-shaped room, where the tragic chain gang picked up boxes and then turned around. Not a single monitor or guard was anywhere in sight. As best as Uli could tell, each drone worker was simply following the lead of the person in front of him or her.

Uli squeezed past them back up to the supply depot.

Ignoring the human conveyor belt, he headed over to the mountain of stock. Unmarked wooden crates filled the place, much like those he had seen under guard at the depot near the catch basin.

Moving along the far wall of the room, Uli started looking through the crates. Most were filled with C-ration crackers straight from World War II. There were enough survival rations here to feed a small army.

A moment later, Uli tripped over a small pile of dirty metal rods—digging tools. A large case of candles and a small box of matchsticks were sitting on one of the crates. Uli pocketed some matches, then lit a single candle and rummaged through the stock for food. Aside from the ubiquitous crackers, there were boxes of aspirin, lime juice, and NoDoz. After chomping down two tins of crackers, he popped open one of the barrels of fresh water. It tasted heavenly. At that moment, a bedraggled young woman broke out of the line and grabbed Uli’s arm.

“Benny!” she groaned.

Jumping back in shock, Uli could immediately see that the poor woman was suffering from severe dementia. The rope attaching her to the chain gang had snapped. Gently pulling her off, he looked in her eyes and said, “I’m not Benny.”

“Where is he?”

“Waiting for you,” Uli answered, deciding that deception was kinder than the truth. He pointed her back toward the others and she slowly stumbled away. Uli returned to his crates.

A sudden loud crash was followed by low moans coming from a small utility closet. The poor woman was on the ground—apparently she had wandered inside and climbed up on something which then collapsed. After Uli helped her out and directed her back down the service tunnel from where she had come, he checked out the closet. Turning on his flashlight again, he saw that a large rectangular fuse box had been dislodged and was hanging by a bunch of old cables. The wall next to the utility closet had a stack of crates leaning against it. Moving them carefully forward, Uli discovered that the utility closet serviced an old freight elevator. When he located a pipe and pried open its door, he found that the elevator shaft was packed solid with concrete, utterly impassable.

20

I
f Paul’s mother had left him a hundred-thousand-dollar principal ten years earlier, Uli thought, it would’ve been a great help, but since it was the beginning of America’s greatest depression, there just weren’t a lot of good investments. And since Mr. Robert, of all people, had been assigned as the executor of his trust, Paul knew it would forever doom their relationship to one of suspicion and antagonism.

Robert deemed that the best investment he could find for his older brother was in purchasing a loft at 168 Bowery and letting the business that occupied the space pay out a monthly rent that more than covered the mortgage. This investment would be far safer than the stock market and would yield a larger return than any bank or bond. The problem was, the clothing company that occupied the loft was doing no better than the rest of the country. They had cut their staff down to a skeleton crew, and though they weren’t going out of business, they were hanging on by just a thread. After the first two years, they were barely able to make their rent. Paul was only seeing a fraction of the money that he expected. When he finally demanded to inspect a financial report of his principal, he was horrified to see that both his brother and cousin—as well as a collection agent—were drawing income from his minuscule profit. Paul convinced Teresa to borrow ten thousand dollars from her father to help pay off his creditors.

By 1933 the Depression was in full swing and to Paul’s great dismay, Con Ed terminated his position. But the summer was a scorcher that year, and since he had already closed all the club’s side businesses, greatly reducing overhead, the pool actually started earning money again.

One morning in February 1934, Paul opened the
New York Times
to read that Robert was running on the Republican ticket for governor of New York. He closed the paper and shoved it into the garbage can without mentioning a word of it to Teresa. Upon learning the news later that day, she said that perhaps he should contact his sister. But he still felt betrayed by her because of the disinheritance.

“She always liked you, Paul,” Teresa argued. “Give her a chance.”

When he finally got up the strength to call Edna and ask about Robert’s run for public office, she said, “I learned about it in the newspapers just like you.”

Exasperated, Paul told Teresa that he didn’t want to hear anything more about Robert. Nonetheless, he continued researching his brother’s progress. Robert’s office published an aggressive campaign schedule to challenge the incumbent, Governor Herbert Lehman, who was trailing in the polls.

“If that son of a bitch gets elected,” Paul lashed out, “I’m moving to Pennsylvania!”

“Now just calm down,” Teresa reasoned.

“Don’t ever tell me to calm down!”

Over the next few days, she found him increasingly difficult to deal with. Paul was in an obvious slump. In the mornings he stopped getting dressed; he just sat around in his T-shirt and boxers staring out the window.

After a lot of thought, Paul decided that this was his lot in life. His younger brother was destined to be successful and he was doomed to live in his shadow.
The sooner I simply accept I’m a failure, the easier life will be
.

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Teresa said when he shared his pessimistic outlook. “I just think he’s having his time in the sun. Think about it: You launched a great business smack in the middle of a terrible depression. Any other time and you’d have been right up there with Rockefeller. Just wait, you’ll have your day.”

Feeling as though Teresa was his only rock to stand on, he finally proposed marriage and she accepted. Not wanting to get another awkward rejection from Robert’s wife, Paul didn’t bother to invite his brother, though Edna came to the ceremony.

With a family to support now, Paul contacted everyone he knew, trying to reignite his electrical engineering career, but there were only a handful of places hiring someone with his broad expertise. That May, out of the blue, he got an invitation to have lunch with a mysterious Mr. Paul Windels. It turned out that Windels was a close personal friend of Mayor Fiorello La Guardia.

The “Little Flower” had a serious problem and had asked Windels to help him find the right man to fix it. He sensed that Con Edison was vastly overcharging the City of New York on its monthly electricity bill. Finding a properly qualified person who could prove such a thing would be a challenge in such a small, tightly networked profession. Despite this, Windels had been referred by no less than four different people to Paul Moses. All seemed to agree that he had the perfect combination of faith in the public trust and bottomless knowledge of such particulars.