Some years ago author James Brown ran into a childhood friend, who said to Brown,
“Jesus, man, I thought you were dead.” Brown’s memoir, The Los
Angeles Diaries, chronicles his wicked, wicked ways, a childhood and young
manhood crammed with drugs and criminal behavior and narrow escapes. When I read
Jerry Castaldo’s Brooklyn NY: A Grim Retrospective, I found myself
experiencing the same sort of madness found in Brown’s book, the same fascinatingly
insane territory.
Castaldo’s formative years in Brooklyn were filled with burglaries, brawls
with gangs, Grand Theft Auto, drug and alcohol addiction, mob violence, car accidents,
destruction of relationships and a continuous downward spiral that should have put
him six feet under before he was out of his teens.
The book is swift, always full speed. It opens in the middle of a deadly fight.
Sixteen-year-old Castaldo has a “large carpenter’s hammer” with
which he is bashing the face of a man with a knife trying to stab Castaldo who eventually
escapes. The next day his pals are calling him “Jerry the Hammer.” The
hammer becomes his chosen weapon until one night a gang jumps him, strips him of
the hammer and beats him with it. He ends up in the hospital and no longer wants
to own a hammer. Does he learn anything else from his near fatal encounter? Not
this kid.
He gets into stealing cars, joy-riding, picking up girls, drinking. Everything is
a thrilling adventure, until one night he steals the wrong person’s car. “Someone
who could make you disappear.” The car belongs to a mob boss. His henchmen
track down Castaldo and bring him to the boss. Who says, “You stole my fuckin’
car, you son of a bitch!” Castaldo says he’s sorry. He didn’t
mean to. He starts crying. The boss asks him his age. “Seventeen,” mumbles
Castaldo. His age is probably what saved him.
The violence and mayhem continue and we are left to wonder how in the world did
this guy survive all this stupidity? Not only survive but turn his life around later
and thrive. For that’s what Castaldo ultimately did. He learned to play the
guitar. He learned to sing and dance. He slowly taught himself to be an “entertainer.”
It’s all in the book, so it must be true, right?
Actually, I’ve looked Castaldo up on-line and I’ve watched him perform.
He’s witty, he’s funny, he has a so-so voice, he plays a mean guitar.
Yeah, he’s likeable. And he looks nothing like the crack-brained hoodlum he
used to be. He’s kicked his drug and alcohol problems. But he says he still
fears that those old habits might come back and claim him. James Brown has those
same worries as well. Clean and sober but the Damoclean Sword of addiction still
hangs over his head, he says. Castaldo and Brown and how many others? Thousands?
Millions?
Brooklyn NY: A Grim Retrospective is not great literature, but it is
an incredible read—fast-paced, breathless, with a nice uplift at the end.
If you know someone fighting the demons of drugs and drink and/or other self-destructive
behaviors, buy him or her Castaldo’s and Brown’s memoires. Their riveting
stories might make a difference. Stranger things have happened. People do what they
do and very often we write them off. And then they turn around and fool us. Thumbs
up, hoo-hah, and good for them.
is the author of six novels, and recipient of an AWP Award for Best Novel
(The Book of Mamie), a National Endowment for the Arts Award, a
South Florida Sun-Sentinel Award for Favorite Book of the year
(The Altar of the Body), a Milwaukee Magazine Best Short
Story of the Year Award, and a Pushcart Honorable Mention.
Brenna’s stories, poems, and essays have appeared in Cream City
Review, SQ, Agni, The Nebraska Review, The Literary Review, The Madison Review,
New Letters, and numerous other literary venues. His work has been translated
into six languages.
www.duffbrenna.com