By Richard Valeriote
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Additional info for Alice Street: A Memoir
Sample text
For a split-of-a-split second, I saw a hand, palm facing me, sweeping with alarming speed 12 / The Ward toward my head. smack! The blow sent me sprawling across the hallway floor, through an open classroom door. My head spun and my left ear roared. My focus slowly returned and I looked up into the grim scowl and bared teeth of Sister Monica. “richard! You’re to walk in the hallways, never run. ” “Yes, Sister,” I muttered. My face blazed from the impact, and the shame. Sacred Heart was just a half-block or so down Alice Street from our house.
But, unknown to the family, he’d been diagnosed years earlier with Hodgkin’s disease, a fatal form of lymphoma cancer. Only his wife, Velma, a nurse, and his two children knew about it. The disease had been in remission for nearly a decade. Now, suddenly, we learned not only that he had been sick but that he was on his death bed. Silvio’s doctors had been treating him with chemotherapy and blood transfusions, but he had become so weak the treatments were abandoned and they were doing their best to keep him comfortable as he faded away.
I’d join him on the sofa, wordlessly enjoying the music and soaring voices. We were one of the lucky ones to have a piano and occasionally he would play a piece from Giuseppe Verdi’s popular “Il Trovatore,” with its plot full of kidnapping, beheading, burning babies, and bloody revenge. ” Listening to him play and watching him lose himself in the music left a powerful impression on me. From those moments, music became an essential presence in my life, as basic as air and water. Church, with its hymns in Latin and English, was a great pleasure.