Hudson County Facts

Back in the late ’60s, there was a dispute in my family over a small inheritance. Out of spite, one in-law — a construction worker — took a number of items of sentimental value from the home of the deceased.

One night, my father (whose nickname was Big Boy) was on his way to the Union City Transfer Station. He spotted the construction worker walking up Central Avenue by the then new apartment building. My father wanted to be the peacemaker. He intended to offer a cash reward for the return of the mementos.

Big Boy parked his Buick Wildcat, got out and approached the in-law. But, before Big Boy had a chance to say a word, the construction worker quickly stepped forward, and, without warning, punched my father in the face. Surprised and confused, Big Boy took a step backwards and got clipped by another shot. This time he immediately countered with a left jab, following up with a solid right that sent the construction worker to the pavement.

Big Boy walked over to where the failed pugilist now lay. My father wanted to make sure that the fall to the sidewalk had not resulted in some serious injury. Since the very groggy construction worker was soon propping himself up on one arm, there didn’t appear to be any need for a trip to the hospital.

Just before turning to go back to his car, my father happened to look up towards the entrance of the apartment building. The doorman was staring out a window, obviously having watched the entire little boxing match.

- – -

To try to explain away the bruises, my father fibbed to my mother. He told a vague story about standing in front of a door that suddenly sprung open. That worked for a week or so. Then a summons came in the mail. The construction worker had signed a complaint charging Anthony Olszewski with assault and battery. Big Boy had to go to court in Union City.

At first, my father thought the whole thing a joke. In Jersey City, after losing in a fair fight, no one would ever think of going to the police. What was to be expected if anyone was silly enough to go to court complaining that they got knocked out after hitting someone with a sucker punch? The only hope would be for the judge to be in a good mood and just throw the whole thing out the door with a laugh. A more likely prospect was a severe and quite public warning from the judge: “If you EVER again waste the court’s time with something like this, I’ll send YOU to jail!”

But, little by little, the certainty drained away and was replaced by anxiety. My father started to think, “Yes, that’s how things are HERE. But, is it the same in Union City?” So, he decided to speak with a friend who was a Business Agent for Tony Provenzano at the 560 Teamsters Union Local.

Telling the Business Agent the story of the altercation, Big Boy got to the part of receiving the notice to appear in court. He expected, hoped, at this point that the union official would start laughing. Instead, all color drained from his face.

“Did you talk with Musto?”

“Musto who?”

“Bill Musto. The Mayor.”

“I gotta talk with the Mayor abouta fight in the street!?”

“YES. ANYTHING in Union City gotta go by Bill Musto first. I’ll make the appointment for ya.”

- – -

A day or so later, my father waited to see the Mayor of Union City, Bill Musto, at City Hall. Once in the office, Musto bluntly told Big Boy that the construction worker had promised his lawyer a two thousand dollar bonus if there was jail time involved. The lawyer contacted the judge and offered a 50-50 split. Musto told His Honor that the deal was off. The thousand dollars had to go back.

Musto continued, “Now, there’s one thing that you’ve got to promise me. You never hit him.”

“But sir, the doorman saw the whole thing. I got whacked two shots first and all, but I knocked the other guy out.”

“Never mind. Just say he came charging at you. You held your forearms up in front of your face to protect yourself. He ran into you and knocked himself out.”

“But, nobody’s gonna believe that!”

“No matter. I need your word that that’s what you’re going to say in court.”

“If that’s what you want me to say, that’s what I’ll do.”

“Good. It’s all over. Don’t worry.”

As my father got up to leave, he put his hand in his pocket.

“Is there any way that I can thank you?”

“No, no. You’re a friend of ——, that makes you my friend. If there’s ever anything I can do for you don’t hesitate to ask”