Death Mayhem and Family Feuds

After the Moyamensing prison was razed the city of Philadelphia left it as an open wound in our neighborhood for close on to 10 years. We were at a lost not knowing what to make of the vacuum where once stood the stone edifice. We still referred to the space as the Prison, sometimes refining the description to the Prison Lot.

The Prison Lot was a monument to municipal plight. Yet we played soft ball there, had snowball fights there , held mock battles there, and even skated on the water puddles when a freeze set in. But people dumped trash here, did drugs here, engaged in sexual tryst here and left and discarded all sorts of things they no longer wanted, from appliances to cars. It was a playing field of the absurd.

Old autos would be dumped unceremoniously and eventually removed by the city of Philadelphia to their old car grave yard. Meanwhile we got to play in the broken vehicles. An urban decay theme park was born in the shadows of the Moyamensing prison.

There was one car we did not play in however, the burnt car, the Scorched Coupe.

The Scorched Coupe

The Scorched Coupe occupied the Prison Lot for a few months in 1974, a time when I was nearly 16 and no longer playing in abandon cars. But even if I were to still play in abandoned cars, I would not go near the Scorched Coupe While it sat in the Prison Lot I, like everyone else, carefully avoided it..

The Scorched Coupe told a story of death mayhem and a family feud. A story that shattered the lives of two families and caught in its tentacles two boys I knew.

I begin the story in 1971 while I was in 7th grade at the Annunciation BVM elementary school at 12th and Reed. Midway through the school year it was decided to move me into a different math group. This Math group included some 8th graders. Among the 8th graders was a boy name Sabbie, short I would imagine for Sabatino. He was a dark Italian of hot temperment , from a family equally known for their dark looks and hot tempers. Sabbie was a tough kid but not a bully, don’t mess with him and you would be alright. Cross the boy and that Southern Italian temper would singe you. I had seen him in enough fights to know not to cross him.

I had some initial concerns about the new Math class as it was run by a nun/teacher I did not know, Sister Carmel Maria, and had a number of bad 8th grade boys- including Sabbie. Imagine my angst when Sister Carmel Maria placed me directly in front of Sabbie. I feared for my life for surely I would commit some terrible faux pas like speak to him or step in his shadow. Amazingly things turned out quite the opposite, Sister Carmel Maria turn out to be one of the best and most caring of the Nuns that ever taught me and Sabbie was in reality a friendly boy who easily helped me and took help from me. He even spoke up for me when other more bulling students made negative comments. Sabbie and I never became friends , he was older and very different from me, but we did get on well. After a few years we were both at John Neumann High School and he would even stop in the hall and say hi to me.

While in High School I started to hang at 10th and Cross Streets. Hang, short for hanging out, was a major aspect of teen life in old South Philly. You had your corner or place and mine was 10th and Cross. I hung with a nice groups of kids- among them Stanley, Roy, Carmen, Mary, Wendy, Karen, Danny, Joanna, Jeanni , Biagio ( watch those Candles) and a boy a year younger then I named Steven.

Steven was a natural comedian and one of the most easy going and funniest kids I ever came across. We became fast friends and I always enjoyed a night out with him and the 10th and Cross gang at the CYO Dance or the Colonial Movies, which looked and smelt I would imagine like some porn house, or a meal at Fiore’s Pizzeria on Passyunk Avenue or the little steak and hoagie shops along 11th street. During these nights out Steven would entertain us with jokes as well as humorous stories of the neighbors that lived on his street. Steven lived on a small side street around 12th and Tasker- a street that dead ended, literally. We called it the Blind Street, or Blind Camac as it was a franchise of the famous Philadelphia street that runs the breath of the city from South to North.

This Street was also shared by a number of other friends and acquaintances, Stanley, Roy, and Biagio, Sabbie even lived around the corner.

I can not lie and say in old South Philly we lived in a gravy hazed Nirvana. We did not, people had likes and dislikes, prejudices, obsessions, vices, envy, bad habits and some families even had feuds. In the summer of 1974 our nights out started to darkened by some not so funny stories, stories that involved Steven and Sabbie- or rather their families.

In Old South Philly parking was a God given right to some and as I have mentioned in other stories some people took parking issues very seriously. Perhaps it is a sort of delayed road rage? The steady chain of terrible events that broke upon the blind street began with a parking. Sabbie’s family had a new 1973 Gran Prix Coupe. A car of great value and beauty in old South Philly. However a disagreement over a predetermined parking space for the car caused a conflict between Steven’s parents and Sabbies brother , father and mother. This soon spiraled into a fill fledged Feud between the two families. The feud resulted in nightly shouting matches and threats thrown about the blind street while the Cumares were putting on the water for the macaroni and setting their tables. Since Sabbies family were not known for their calm disposition or smooth dealings with people, it was becoming obvious to us all that the situation was headed for a tragedy. Steven was spending less time with us as his family did not want him out and about for fear he would be attacked or jumped by Sabbie and his brother. I can recall one night when the Grand Prix made a turn onto Cross street and Steven hid behind us as I waved to Sabbie as he passed in the passenger seat. This situation was made worse by the fact that both families hunted and were known to possess fire arms.

By the fall of 1974 the situation was about to blow. The explosion came one crisp early fall night as the sun was begin its decent along Tasker street. Sabbie with family came to Steven’s house for what was to prove the final showdown. Threats, shouts , curses then Steven’s father appeared at the steps of his row home brandishing a gun , calling Sabbie’s family off, telling the wolfs to leave. In the course of this increasingly out of control situation Steven’s father fired a warning shot ,then leveled the gun toward Sabbie’s mother. Sabbie leaped to her protection. The gun was fired ,why -accident, fear? But fired it was and Sabbie took it full in the chest falling back into the arms of his mother and brother.

The violence had been unleashed , the feud was consummated.

Sabbie, only 17, fell back. His family realizing their son was mortally wounded, were brought to reason, they let go of the feud to save the boys life. Sabbie’s brother loaded him into the Grand Prix and rushed to St. Agnus Hospital. Sabbie was gushing blood in the car, staining the seats with his expiring life.

Sabbie died in the emergency room soon after. (Requiescat in pace).

I was with my friends at 10th and Cross when word came via Biagio, we rushed to what was now a crime scene. Police everywhere , neighbors in the street all pontificating on how and why this happened. Good neighbors, where were they while this feud was boiling over? Where was the Old South Philly sense of community they all like to talk about? Why didn’t the cumpare bring peace instead of hiding behind their gravy pots discussing with zeal in their kitchens each new twist in the feud.

Among the crowd was a girl who claimed to be Sabbie's girlfriend, a post I believe she held unofficially. She was a pretty girl but a fashion catastrophe. She gave what must still be her greatest performance of grief and whaling, and of course fainting into the arms of her friends- certainly providing the comic relief.

Steven’s father had already been taken into custody. We were able to comfort Steven who was pale and distraught. Soon his extended family came and spirited the boy away from the tragedy. The sun had set and we were left amid the throng the pundits and the curious. I stood by the curb and below me on the sidewalk I noticed what was the stain of Sabbie's blood, illuminated by the street lamp. The spot of the tough kid who once befriended me. I looked up and saw sister Carmel Maria the nun who originally seated me in front of Sabbie. She had came to comfort those that would be comforted. Her expression revealed a sincere sadness as she taught both Sabbie and Steven.

Sabbie's brother was maddened with grief and remorse. He drove his once prized car now stained with the blood and stink of death to the Prison Lot. Once there he cursed the vehicle plummeting it with rocks and his fist- blaming the car perhaps? His tirade ended with him setting fire to the car. Engulfing in flames the recent misery. No one dared douse the flames, including the firemen.

The fire burned itself out, the Gran Prix was now the Scorched Coupe.

Steven’s father was arraigned on Manslaughter charges and received a very light mostly suspended sentence. Mitigating circumstances the jury and judge felt. Steven moved out and away from South Philly and we never saw him again.

I lost two friends that fall night.

Sabbie’s family also moved- but only to the next street. They never again engaged in a feud.

Sabbie’s brother married and named one of his sons Sabbie, he was a good neighbor and eventually left South Philly in the late 1980’s.

The Scorched Coupe remained in the Prison Lot for a few months and then, like Stalin’s body, was quietly removed.