Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

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he's nobody's pretty boy now (Continued from page 32) given another featured role, and long before the release of that picture, Tony's fan mail was flooding the studio, outstripping by far the mail of the established stars on the lot. In the vernacular of show business, Tony is the hottest thing in Hollywood, and he himself is even more puzzled than the studio. Recently, he went into the office of Al Horwits, publicity chief, and flopped into a chair. "I can't believe it," he said. "I just can't believe it. Yesterday I was collecting black eyes in the Bronx, and today I have a car and I'm living in a house. A real house!" These material things, while astounding to Tony himself, are not the real miracle of the boy's career. His childhood gave | him every opportunity to end up in the world of crime, and the fact that he got off the streets of New York is in itself the miracle. Tony's parents were born in Hungary, met and married in New York City. In Budapest his father had been an' actor, but difficulties with the English language prevented such a career in the United States, and Manuel Schwartz became a tailor. Tony was their first-born, and being people of great sensitivity and great faith, they blended their efforts and their prayers to keep the boy on a straight path. There was little else with which to accomplish their goal. Money was scarce, and the job of tailoring kept them within the confines of the city of New York. Manuel Schwartz set up many tailor shops, selling them when they became established, and moving on to another place. Tony's childhood was lived in thirty different apartments, most of them in neighborhoods that were taut with poverty. Bums slept in the halls, and the buildings reeked of stale food odors. For Tony, the air in the street was better than that of the tenement houses, and the alleys, fire escapes and vacant, sagging houses afforded opportunity for adventure. When he was seven years old he was playing one day in a condemned house near the East River. His companions were two boys of his own age, and of Czechoslovakian parents. Their play was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a much bigger boy, a lad whose red hair and pug nose marked him as a son of Ireland. He approached them threateningly. "What's yer name?" he asked one of the Czech kids. The boy was no fool. "Murphy," he said. "Yours," said the big boy, pointing to the second kid. "Sweeney." The intruder drew the cuff of his sleeve over his mouth and looked at Tony. "How about you?" Young as he was, Tony had his cue. "O'Flaherty," he said. The bully grabbed him by the collar. 'What's your real name, dog?" Tony felt tears welling to the surface. "Schwartz," he said. "Bernie Schwartz." The big boy directed a stinging slap across Tony's face. "That's one fer lyin'," he said, and let go with another blow. "That's two fer sayin' yer Irish." Then he doubled his fist and struck Tony full on the mouth. "That's fer bein' a Jew," he said. TJ1 very time the Schwartz family moved -*-J to a new neighborhood, Tony found he had to fight his way into the reigning gang, and once accepted was free to breathe easily until the next move. He never told his parents the cause of the fights, knowing how it would hurt them. Always he was careful to wash the telltale blood from his face before he went home. One night his mother sat by the window for hours, waiting for him to come home. By ten o'clock she was furious at his disregard of the curfew hour set by his parents, and by midnight she was distraught with worry. At one o 'clock she saw him approaching on the streets below, and when his steps sounded on the stairs outside the apartment door, she jerked it open and started to berate him. Then she saw his face. One eye was swollen, his nose was bleeding, and there was a gash across his chin. "You've been fighting," she said, and reached out to strike him. "Ma! Ma!" There was anguish in his voice. "Don't hit me, ma! I'm tired of fightin'." He broke down then. "Three guys, ma. They called me a dirty Jew. Three of 'em, ma. I had to fight. Don't you see?" Helen Schwartz sat down on the top step and cradled her son's head in her arms. The tears streamed down her cheeks as she recked back and forth with the ageold sorrow of the mothers of a persecuted people. The next morning Manuel Schwartz asked his son to step into the tailor shop before leaving for school. Tony found his father with a long stick in his hands. It was the "clopper," a board used in pressing suits. Without a word, Manuel took Tony's schoolbooks and slipped the clopper tni _gh the strap that bound them. He smoothed Tony's hair with his big hand. "Good luck, my son," he said. HPhere was another reason Tony had to A fight his way into each new neighborhood. The kids used to taunt him by calling him "pretty boy," and it made Tony tingle with fury. His parents, weary as they were of the perpetual brawls, knew that the code of the streets required that Tony prove himself, and as time went on they seldom upbraided him for fighting. Helen Schwartz concentrated on cleanliness, respect for elders and good manners, and her efforts were rewarded, for Tony was always a neat and a polite boy, and while he and his cohorts fought with other boys, they observed an unwritten law of chivalry and never molested a girl. The years went by slowly, as they are inclined to do in childhood, and Tony spent an increasing amount of his time on the streets. The boys played Johrrny-onthe-pony and Ring-a-levio. They swiped potatoes, which they called mickeys in those days, and put them in empty bean cans punched with . holes. The potatoes were then surrounded by hot coals and a long string attached to the can. If a boy was adept at the art, a few minutes of swinging the can violently above his head would result in the most delectable potato ever eaten by mortals. They followed the inevitable parades of New York City, throwing pebbles and poking sticks between the legs of the marchers. They went over to Third Avenue, where the street cars ran on a double track. Here they jumped on the back of a trolley, and when another passed from the opposite direction, they risked their necks by leaping from one to the other. They removed the hard rubber from roller skates, making the front wheels flexible, put a board atop the skate at right angles, squatted on it and sailed down hills thick with traffic. W/ hen Tony was about eleven years old *ยป he was admitted to the toughest gang in the neighborhood, making five in all. Frankie, the leader, was Italian, Johnny was a Negro, Mike an Irish Catholic and Emil was of German descent. 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