ADDRESS Pepe Stories Mario P. Navetta BklynMario@aol.com Foreword I was fortunate enough to know Robert Notaro during his princely apprenticeship as a neighborhood icon in Brooklyn. His charisma was nurtured by a temporal and social environment that symbiotically thrived on his talent and incredible zest for living large in a relatively modest sociosphere. Robert "Corbett/Pepe" Notaro was, at once, our leader, teacher, big brother, witch doctor, psychiatrist, and bon vivant. He was also our chief inquisitor and hit-man-- which was often his way of transmitting to us a greater awareness of our far too frequent violations of our Italian-American culture, and our proper place in that hierarchy. When, and only when, he allowed it, he was our friend. We never knew if we were going to be hit or hugged when he summoned us with a "Hey, kid! Get over here. I wanna talk to you." We wanted hugs, but we accepted the hits with increasingly sage stoicism. In addition to my personal accounts, I've included several stories from others that still only minimally personify the magnitude of Pepe's life. You had only to meet Pepe once to never forget him. The brevity of his life was in doubly inverse proportion to his impact on all of us. Thus the need for "Pepe Stories." *An afterthought: Recently, Carol Hooton asked me to verify the spelling of Pepe's surname, as it has been given as both "No" and "Na." In asking, she added that, "...after all, you are the expert when it comes to Pepe." I asked Carol to please retract that designation, as I feared hearing a voice call out, "Hey, kid! Get over here! I wanna talk to you." Mario P. Navetta August 27, 2000 "Pepe Stories".............Part 1 *Initially prompted by a posting on RAMD, by an admittedly young, corps member asking, "Who was Pepe?" Just a thought...I am certain that many, if not most, younger corps members are unfamiliar with the person beyond the persona of the man that we, "more experienced" aficionados, refer to so often. The simple fact is that you had to had to be in Bob's presence only one time in order to believe even the most bizarre tales about him. If what was said wasn't true, but Pepe thought it was worthwhile, it would become part of his living legend- especially if he could get a laugh out of it. Descriptives fail when discussing him. Of course he was multi-talented, witty, and had a humanity proportionate to his physical being. But there was more - there always was more. Maybe it was something akin to Donnie Solinger's observation of the Skyliner's and their music, that Ron Allard tails his messages with, "Because there was always something about the Skyliners...and that music..." It seems to me that this could be easily juxtaposed to one statement summation of who Robert "Pepe" Notaro was. So my suggestion: I think it would be worthwhile that we share some of our memories, both for the enlightenment and- I am certain-enjoyment of those who never knew Pepe. At the same time, I think it this would give those of us who were fortunate enough to visit "Pepe World," a chance to take a second trip to a dimension of drum corps history and life that will not happen again. Pepe, was not always "Pepe." In our Brooklyn neighborhood of Williamsburg, he was nicknamed "Corbett," a moniker bestowed on him by him by his father early in life because the senior Notaro believed his son to have the physical stature of the legendary heavyweight boxing champion, "Gentleman Jim" Corbett. And it was because of my misinformation as to the origin of his nickname that I caught my first "official" beating - beatings had to be deemed official by Corbett or they didn't count and thus had to be administered again. This may require some explanation. At the time I first became aware of Corbett's lofty hierarchical position in our Northside community, he was well on his way to icon-dom. Our local church drum and bugle corps, Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, (Joe Gennaro, Carmen Cluna, other super talented, but non-continuing-in-drum corps people), had realized national fame (which then meant - from here on the East Coast - all the way to Chicago) when they placed fifth in the American Legion Championships in the early fifties. The acknowledged madcap - yet magisterial - leader of that city-street-urchins-turned-marching-musicians gang was Corbett. His in-corps rank was well-matched by his street status as a "tough-technician" with a youthful, godfather-like benevolence. And, Corbett was a bit eccentric and fun loving - to the point that we were allowed to say, "He's crazy!" and say it in the most respectful way. These were virtues much admired in our nearly total Italian/American neighborhood, because it meant that the kids, (of which I was then one),would be taught our hybrid American values, while maintaining the life-sustaining Italian insularity of our parents and grandparents which separated "us" from "them". In Corbett, we had a master teacher. Pepe Stories...To Join Drum Corps "Whadda ya doin' in that faggot sailor suit?" I got justifiably nervous whenever Corbett talked to me that way. By now, I was (in my best estimation) in the third grade of the "Robert 'Corbett' Notaro School of How You're Supposed to Behave If You're Italian and Live in Brooklyn and Want to Grow Up the Right Way" Emboldened by this, I retorted a bit too smartassy, "Whadda ya mean 'faggot'? I'm in the Sea Cadets, and I just got a promotion." Just in case he didn't believe me, I pointed to the three petty officer stripes that confirmed my newly elevated power. As soon as I spoke I knew I was going to get hit. The insolent pointing would earn me an additional smack and a mini-lecture on my lack of respect towards the "big guys" of the neighborhood. Didn't I want to grow up to be one of those guys someday ? Yes. And didn't I want to help carry the several thousand pound Giglio during the feast of Our Lady of Mt.Carmel that was held each July in our parish, and eat dinner at Bamonte's, and drink so much wine that I didn't realize that my shoulder was bleeding when we, the big guys, drunkenly muscled the Giglio upwards for its dance? Yes, yes, yes, ! Then what the hell was I doing wearing that faggot sailor suit? "I like the Sea Cadets. We go to parades and drill team competitions and..." "Join the drum corps." "Nah, I don't want to play a bugle" "It's not a bugle, it's a valve horn." "I don't want to play a valve horn." Smack. "What church do you go to?" "You know I go to Mt.Carmel." "What church did your grandmother go to?" This was it! The fully loaded question that was later to become the basis of Pep-ian logic. These quizzical queries were cunningly contrived to guide the inquisitee to the one and only answer that Chief Inquisitor Notaro wanted to hear. In this case, the answer was self-evident: every Italian woman who ever lived in our Northside neighborhood went to Mt.Carmel. There was no second choice, no alternatives. He had me. "Mt. Carmel" "And wasn't your uncle in the Navy?" "Yeah." "And how do you think your grandmother felt when she saw your uncle going to fight in a war and wearing a sailor suit?" "I dunno. She probably cried ." "You bet she cried! And every time she saw somebody wearing a sailor suit, she thought of your uncle and cried some more." "I guess so." "And now you're wearing a sailor suit! Don't you think she's going to cry when she sees you?" "I dunno. She's been dead for about ten years." "What difference does that make? Don't you think she still sees you?" I had no answer for him. To answer negatively would be a disavowal of all the fundamental Italian Christianity the good sisters had smacked and scared into me for so many years. He knew this. And, in spite of the fact that I was now just a few years away from high school, and not (at least in my mind) a "kid" anymore, he was still intimidating. I wanted him to like me, and maybe even have him call me by my first name someday. "Yeah, I guess so." I stayed in the Sea Cadets for another year or so. It wasn't easy. Each time I put on my "sailor suit" I felt I was being watched. Despite the fact that I got another promotion to Chief Petty Officer, and a requisite change of uniform, I was still uncomfortable. Occasionally, when I passed Corbett's house, he would see me and make a comment about my "new sailor suit" The next year I quit the Sea Cadets. Pepe Stories...the First Contest It was my first, and like all "firsts" in our lives we are given to embellishments and enhancements that are initially made as " situational adjustments" for our (hopefully!) eager audience. Combining this with reunional bar stool encounters, gives our tale liquid legitimacy. And, when the final elements of increasing time and decreasing recollection are factored in, we have conceived fable. Rather than masochistically victimizing myself with a flawed fable-which I may have already done- I looked back at something I posted in 1997( I almost typed1957!). With just the very slightest of editing ( for the really dumb mistakes) I haven't changed it..... The first show I ever watched was in 1956; a pre-season show in the Newark, NJ armory. Our parish corps-- Our Lady of Mt. Carmel, in Brooklyn, Pepe's original corps-- was trying to reorganize, and figured that taking the kids to see a show would be a good way to motivate us. Our busload of Brooklyn street urchins and urchinettes, got there a bit late and we were unable to get any decent seats. Someone who knew someone who knew someone else, somehow managed to allow us to sit on the floor the front sidelines. And that was the beginning. Needless to say, I was awestruck, dumbfounded, overwhelmed, bewitched, and beautifully bothered and bewildered. I fell hopelessly in love with drum corps---or maybe it was just the way the Bon-Boons majorette looked -- forever after. The lineup that night included the Holy Name Cadets, St. Vincent Cadets, Wynn Center Police Cadets (an all African-American corps), St. Joseph's Hilltoppers, Bon-Bons, (whose majorette lost a tassel which I purloined from the armory floor and kept for the next forty years!) and Blessed Sacrament. The Seniors who put on an exhibition, were the George Washington Carver Gay Blades (yet another all African-American corps), and the Hawthorne Caballeros, who played a song called "Cherry Pink, and Apple Blossom White," (which was at the top of the Pop charts back then) Then, as now, the crowd loved them. And there was "Corbett" (Pepe's father- given nickname)being greeted by literally everyone in the place: "Hey, Bob!"---he had yet to assume the Pepe persona. Of course I had come to terms with his neighborhood popularity, but this was something different. Already he was holding court, and his subjects were gathered around him for a word of princely wisdom. Although I didn't know it then, I was a witness to an early part of drum corps history that would soon become legend. I half-slept on the bus going back to Brooklyn, still hearing the sounds of drums and bugles in the Holland Tunnel merging in rushes and whispers in my brain. Corbett (henceforth Pepe) was somewhere in the back of the bus laughing and ministering to his vassals. I don't recall that he ever stopped talking. Back at the church hall, Pepe interrogated me," Well, whaddaya think, kid? Did ya' like it?"...I don't remember exactly what I said. I do recall that I must have said too much, because Pepe smacked me in the head, in a friendly way -- we did that sort of thing in Brooklyn -- and told me to go home, it was getting late. And I had better practice tomorrow, or else! I knew where this was going, so I dutifully nodded, said goodnight, and walked home in the early spring Brooklyn night of a time that will never exist again except in dreams that I don't want to wake from. I had a hard time falling asleep that night...I kept hearing music and..... A Pepe Memorial Day Story Although at 17, I was already Tommy Martin's only "failure," I somehow learned to play well enough to earn a place in Loretto's solo soprano line alongside such greats as Joe (Da Fig) DaFiglia. Make no mistake about it! I wasn't so good that I could actually play a solo, but I managed passably when I was part of the ensemble. For all my limited talent, I was grateful for what I had achieved. More than all else, I had, at least somewhat, measured up to Pepe's expectations of me. As I swaggered - we were required to swagger in Brooklyn - my way down our local streets one late spring evening on my way to the subway, I was "summoned" to the corner candy store/hangout, by none other than Robert "Corbett/Pepe" Notaro. "Hey, kid! Get over here." "I can't. I gotta go to practice." "Get your ass over here or it'll be your last practice." "But I'll miss the train..." "@*(*$# the train!" "Okay" "Whaddaya doin' tomorrow?" "We got a parade." "What time?" "2 o'clock." "Good. Meet me at the square at ten. Bring your horn." "Why?" "Because I told you to." "But why?" "Because you're goin' to play Taps for the vets." "But I don't want to play Taps." "I don't give a shit what you want to do. You're goin' to play Taps, and you'll get ten dollars for it." (Ten dollars "Back Then" bought a month of Saturday -and some Sunday- movie dates, replete with post pic pizza and Pepsi) "Every time I play it, I screw up. I can't do it." "Listen to me. I'll start it off. You're goin' to be the echo. You stand under the expressway, and 'echo' what I play. Do you understand?" "Yeah, but I don't want to do it." "Mario, how old are you?' "Seventeen. " "Do you want to be eighteen?" "Yeah." "Then you'll play the echo, or the next Taps will be for you. Do you understand?" Of course I did. Luckily, I got it right. ............Damn! I miss him...........mario "Pepe Stories... Friends" "Pepe World," was open to everyone. There was never an admission charge, except for an occasional smack in the back of the head, if that night's "performance" took place on a long busride home on the New York State Thruway. Aside from that nominal cost, the show was free and ongoing. Convoluted wisdom and situational comedy were dispensed equally. While few topics were publicly sacred, no "play" was ever presented without our common humanity as the focal point. The inviolable rule was that we had to be able to be to laugh at ourselves before we had the privilege to laugh at others. If the prince could accept this self-proclaimed dictum, then so could we. Many years ago, a police-drama film about New York City, called "Naked City," had as its tag-line, "There are eight million stories in the 'Naked City'. This has been one of them." I'm not quite certain that there are that many "Pepe Stories," but there might be! In any case, "There are ______________ stories in 'Pepe World.' These are some of them." Getting Married The Time: Late 50's The Scene: Annual Tournament of Drums in Rochester, NY (Skyliners [Pepe], Grey Knights, Brockport-Batavia, Reilly, Appleknockers, Purple Lancers, Crusaders [Me]) My parents who had heard a lot about Pepe were finally getting to meet him. Me: Mom and Dad, This is Pepe Notaro from Gabarina. Dad: Nice to meet you. We've heard a lot about you from Carol. Pepe: Nice to meet you too Sir especially since I'm going to be your son-in-law. Mom: What? Pepe: We've finally decided to get married as soon as I can teach Carol to talk right. Dad: You didn't tell us anything about this. Me: -- Pepe: Why didn't you tell your parents, Carol.? Me: -- Mom: I would've thought you would tell us something as important as this. Pepe: I don't know if I really want to marry someone who doesn't have any respect for their parents. Dad: Carol? Mom: Carol? Me: -- Pepe: I'll see you around kid. Let me know if you learn respect and I might reconsider. - Carol Hooton Pepettiquette Pepe's view on when to arrive for any function: 1) If you show up early or on-time - nobody cares. 2) If you show up a little late - everyone is irritated with you. 3) If you show up very late - to the point where you're not expected to make it - everyone is glad to see you again. We foolishly interrupted one of Pepe's rambling stories once and asked, "Pepe, aren't we going to be late for rehearsal?" To which he aptly replied, "Rehearsal don't start till Pepe gets there." Our rookie lives were well protected by the Pep! - Andy Lisko Driving Lessons Okay ... so I kinda laid the groundwork for you knowing that Pepe's driving to/from a rehearsal/show was not one of his favorite chores... So, we're in the car one night and he puts his seat all the way back and is kind of lying behind the steering wheel with his head tilted way back. He said, "Ya know. I got this theory that if ya get real relaxed while yer drivin'... put yer head back like this... and keep yer eyes open just a sliver-- it's almost like sleepin' while yer drivin.' Ain't that sumptin'?" The next week we noticed that the front-end of his car was a little banged up. We ask what happened and he sheepishly replied: "Guess I blinked." - Andy Lisko Motivational Speeches Before taking the field in Hamden, 1969, Pepe sez: "Remember - it's the first show of the season - so the corps with the fewest ticks will win." The corps burst into a roar - nailed a good job - won the show. The man was utterly brilliant at motivational speeches. - Andy Lisko And how about this gem: Pepe says: "Gentlemen, we have reached a critical time in the season and must make a decision. The future of the corps depends on it. We must either unite... or... we gotta get together. It's one or the other... the choice is yours... but you hafta choose one." We all found ourselves saying, "You know... he's right." God, I love this. - Andy Lisko French Horn 101 I've told this so many times-- most of you have heard it-- but here it is for those who may have missed it... Late 60's... show in Upstate New York somewhere... I'm in Brigs and Pepe walks up to me outside the stadium and says "Hey, Peash... can I borrow your horn for the show?" We still had French Horns-- not mellophones... Being a smart ass kid I replied... "For you Pepe... sure, but we just converted our horns to G/F and the fingering is different..." His quick response... "That's OK kid, I don't use the f--kin' valves anyway..." My horn never sounded so good. And you know, he just might not have bothered with the valves.... - Tom Peashey Funny Farm During the 60's, we would always take a weekend off in the summertime to have a corps picnic. Once we invited the Skyliners who had often jokingly referred to us as a "bunch of farmers" because of the small size of our town as compared to New York City. It was maybe '65 or '66. We had a ball. We played games, sang songs, solved the worlds problems, drank beer and gorged ourselves on clambakes. The picnic grounds were in a very rural setting with cornfields plainly visible on two sides. Late that afternoon while sitting at a table across from Pepe and Red Harrison I picked up the following exchange between the two men: Pepe: You know Zero, these guys are really farmers! Red: (Laughing): Yeah, I know. A bunch of hicks... Pepe: (Seriously, his voice almost a whisper): No, I'm SERIOUS. They're REALLY fahmahs! (Gesturing toward the cornfields) I mean look, DEY GROW TINGS! There will never be another Pepe. Goodnight Funnyman! - Donnie Solinger Miracle The year was '63 I believe. There was a contest somewhere in English speaking Canada and it so happened that some of the Skyliners and Caballeros were eating at the same diner. George DelMonte and Pepe were sitting with each other. Pepe was sitting there mimicking a deaf-mute and George was playing the part of Pepe's brother and translator. The waitress came over to the table and asked what they would like to eat. Pepe began his act, mumbling and pointing at the menu. George translated to the waitress that Pepe had asked for "a cup of coffee" ...Pepe gave a short mumble... George translated... "with cream" ...Pepe mumbled again... George translated again... "no sugar." The waitress asked if he wanted anything to eat. Pepe again mumbled... George translated... "He said he wants eggs, over easy"... Pepe mumbles again... George translates... "and don't break the yokes or they're goin' back." The waitress takes everyone else's order and retires to the kitchen to put the orders in with the cook. While the waitress is away, there is a elderly couple in the next booth and they've been watching this whole thing go on. They ask George, "Has he always been a deaf-mute?" George starts giving them a sob story about how when they were kids growing up that his brother (Pepe) had witnessed the tragic accident that took the lives of both their parents and that since that day he has never been able to speak. The elderly couple are really taken in by George's story and begin to show a lot of sympathy towards Pepe. Then, Pepe mumbles something to George... George call to the waitress... "Excuse me, could you tell me where the men's room is?" ...the waitress points... Pepe gets up and starts for the men's room. As he passes a cigarette machine, he accidentally bangs his knee against it and yells out in agony, ..."SON OF A BITCH!!!" With that George jumps up and yells, "IT'S A MIRACLE!!! IT'S A MIRACLE!!! THOSE ARE THE FIRST WORDS HE'S SPOKEN IN 22 YEARS SINCE THE DEATH OF OUR PARENTS!!!" The elderly couple don't know whether to shit, piss or go blind. There are tears in their eyes. Others in the diner who had overheard all that had gone on were all looking at Pepe who is in agony. DelMonte goes running over to Pepe and asks him, "Are you okay?" What does Pepe do? He starts mumbling like a deaf-mute again. The rest of the Skyliners and Caballeros who were in the diner are rolling on the floor laughing their collective asses off. Ya hadda be there... or so I was told. - Michael T. Siglow Motivation, Pt. II What about the "motivational speech" when he told the corps, with a deadly serious face, "Remember, tonight there are only two types of judges out there. They can either hurt you, or harm you." - Michael T. Siglow Final Question I always remember Pepe saying that when you get to Gods Golden Gates, St. Peter will only ask you one question: "Did you ever march in the Dream?" - Carol Ann Fallon "Pepe Stories... Afterword" Here is the shortest of my "Pepe Stories." In fact, there is no story at all. I can't (even here I hesitate both intellectually and emotionally) end these tales-- so I'll make the decision not to end. Were it not for him, I wouldn't be writing this at all. I really hope that he likes what I've done. I think I'd like to hear him say, "Hey, kid! You did good!" From Carol Hooton: There are so many funny stories I can't think of which one to tell first. My favorite however speaks to the humanity of the man. I was on a Caribbean cruise run by the World Drum Corps Hall of Fame. I got up early (5AM) to jog around the deck and came upon Pepe. I was totally surprised because he was still going strong with his riddles when I went to bed at 2AM. When I questioned him he said, "I promised myself before I came on this cruise I would see the sun rise over the ocean-- I don't know how anybody can't believe in God after seeing a sunrise-- say a prayer with me." So, we stood on the stern of the ship, said a prayer for all our Drum Corps friends who had passed (mostly Skyliners because Pepe was doing the talking), gave each other a hug and went our separate ways. What a guy!