Kevin. Kevin kidded him, insisting he must be looking for Whitey McGrail, a South Boston guy who owned a bar. The cop smiled at the joke but told him theyâd just received word that Whitey and Kevin had hit this kid and knocked his teeth out. âI just want to let them know,â the cop had told Kevin.
It turned out that the father of the kid, whose name was Frank Bolstad and who came from City Point, the more affluent section of South Boston from G Street down, was a Capitol cop who guarded the State House, and his mother was a crossing guard. His folks were all upset and knew it was Jimmy and me who had done this to their kid. Someone reached out to Jimmy, and he ended up paying $1,600 for the kidâs dental work, which included a bridge for his missing front teeth.
Later, Jimmy said to me, âWhy did you hit him so hard?â
âYou told me to hit him,â I said.
âYeah, well, I didnât tell you to hit him that hard,â he answered.
When I looked at him and said, âNow, weâre gonna have degrees of hitting?â he just started laughing. I still canât figure it out. It was just a jab, not a powerful punch. Maybe the teeth were loose to begin with.
But there were fights when I didnât use my fists, like the one involving Chucka Devinsâs brother Franny. Chucka, who was a little older than me, around six feet tall and heavyset at 280 pounds with brown hair, was always easygoing, laughing and enjoying himself. He worked at the doorat Triple Oâs with me. One night when I was standing at the door, he got a phone call. âIs he all right?â I kept hearing him yell into the phone. âIs he all right?â
When he came walking over to me, I could see he was visibly shaken. âChucka, whatâs the matter?â I asked him.
âThey just stabbed my brother Franny,â he told me, his eyes filling up.
âWho stabbed your brother?â I asked.
âThese guys in Dorchester,â he said. âI know where they are and Iâm going over.â
âIâll go with you,â I said. The two of us went outside and I hopped into his car with him. Larry Bavis, a regular down at the bar who played on the Triple Oâs softball team, jumped in the back on his own accord, and the three of us drove over to Dorchester, which was about three miles from Triple Oâs. When we got to the park where the kids were, the three of us got out of the car and walked over to the bunch of Frannyâs friends who were still there. As soon as they saw us, three other guys in their mid-twenties started walking away. We didnât pay any attention to those guys until one of Frannyâs friends said, âChucka, those were the guys who went after Franny.â
As we approached them, they turned around with their backs against the fence. When I put my hands up to fight one kid, he broke the beer bottle he was holding against the fence. All he had at that point was the neck of the bottle, which was of no use to him. I looked at him and laughed. âCome on, motherfucker,â I said, and with that, he whipped out a knife with a five- or six-inch-long blade.
He looked at me and said, âNow fuck you. You come on.â
I started backing away and had my hands up. âHey, take it easy,â I told him. When I had backed up about four or five feet away from him, I reached inside my jacket, pulled out a pistol from my belt, and shot him in the leg. All of a sudden, all hell broke loose, and everyone started yelling. The kid Iâd shot was on the ground, people were yelling, and Iwas in the middle of the street as this car came flying around the corner, heading straight at me. I dove over the hood of the car, but it sideswiped two other cars trying to hit me. Then I turned on the car and shot out its back window. The car kept on going, and the kid I shot in the leg went limping down the street.
Chucka, who had no idea who was shooting,