My Visit to Eliza Jumel's Mansion to Research my Book--I Made Eliza's Ghost Laugh!

Those of you who have seen the play Hamilton are now familiar with Aaron Burr's last wife, Eliza. She started out dirt poor in Providence and with her street smarts and business acumen, became  New York City's richest woman. Read about my visit to her mansion and my 'ghostly' experience:

Me on the Steps of the Jumel Mansion

In researching my biographical novel about Aaron Burr and his last wife, Madame Eliza Jumel, I visited her mansion in Washington Heights, NYC. It's beautifully restored and maintained, befitting the once-richest lady in New York. 

You can also hear the many stories of her ghost wandering the mansion in a purple gown, rapping on walls and windows, and yelling at schoolkids to shut up! 

One July night in 1833, Aaron, age 77, showed up at Eliza's door with the same minister who married him to his first wife Theodosia fifty years before. After several rejections of his proposal, she finally agreed to marry him in the front parlor (photo below). 

Front Parlor

When she realized he was a gold-digger (as by then, he was broke), she began divorce proceedings, also charging him with adultery, as he had a mistress in Jersey City. In an ironic twist, she hired Alexander Hamilton Jr. as her lawyer. But in the most ironic twist of all, he died the same day he received the final papers. 

When we visited, my husband Chris & I were on the 2nd floor where the bedrooms are. I was standing in the doorway of her bedroom (Aaron's is across the hall), and said out loud that I wondered if they ever slept together, or always in the separate rooms. Chris said, 'she was so old, and he was 80!'

I replied, 'Well, from what I've read of him, he could still get it up.'

A minute later, Chris asked me if I laughed after saying that. I definitely had not laughed.
That means somebody else did! He'd heard a woman's throaty chuckle, NOT my voice at all.

Aaron's Bedroom

We were the only (living) people up there at the time. I'm convinced it was Eliza, eavesdropping on us, and I was able to give her a laugh.
Have you ever heard of a ghost laughing? I never have! 
If you're ever in the area, visit the mansion--it's an unforgettable experience.

My biographical novel is titled ELIZA JUMEL BURR, VICE QUEEN OF THE UNITED STATES. I enjoyed researching this fascinating woman's life.

Purchase ELIZA on Amazon

Visit the Jumel Mansion website

An Old Italian Holiday Recipe--Honey Balls--and an Old New York Romance

Can an Italian sweatshop worker and an Irish cop fall in love on Manhattan’s Lower East Side in 1894? The answer is a big YES, and once they’re enjoying wedded bliss in their Greenwich Village brownstone, they spend their first Christmas together feasting on her Strufoli! (Italian for honey balls).

In FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET it's 1894 on New York's Lower East Side. Irish cop Tom McGlory and Italian immigrant Vita Caputo fall in love despite their different upbringings. They know their love can survive poverty, hatred, and corruption. 

Purchase FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET on Amazon

Here’s Vita’s Honey Balls recipe:

When my grandparents came from Naples and landed at Ellis Island in the early 1900s they brought many recipes with them, but only in their heads. No one brought cookbooks or recipes along with their possessions. A favorite Christmas treat is Struffoli, better known as Honey Balls. One Christmas when I was a kid, I watched my grandmother make them and scribbled down the ingredients as she sifted and mixed and baked and drizzled. Here's an accurate recipe in English!

Ingredients
Dough:
•2 cups flour, plus extra for dusting
•1 large lemon, zested (about 2 teaspoons)
•1/2 large orange, zested (about 2 teaspoons)
•3 tablespoons sugar
•1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
•1/4 teaspoon baking powder
•1/2 stick (2 ounces) unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces, at room temperature
•3 large eggs
•1 tablespoon white wine, such as pinot grigio
•1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
•Canola oil, for frying
•1 cup honey
•1/2 cup sugar
•1 tablespoon lemon juice
•1 1/2 cups hazelnuts, toasted (see Cook's Note)
•Vegetable oil cooking spray
•Sugar sprinkles, for decoration
•Powdered sugar for dusting, optional

Directions

For dough: In the bowl of a food processor, pulse together 2 cups of flour, lemon zest, orange zest, sugar, salt, and baking powder. Add the butter and pulse until the mixture resembles a coarse meal. Add the eggs, wine, and vanilla. Pulse until the mixture forms into a ball. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

Cut the dough into 4 equal pieces. On a lightly floured surface, roll out each piece of dough until 1/4-inch thick. Cut each piece into 1/2-inch wide strips. Cut each strip of pastry into 1/2-inch pieces. Roll each piece of dough into a small ball the size of a hazelnut. Lightly dredge the dough balls in flour, shaking off any excess. In a large heavy-bottomed saucepan, pour enough oil to fill the pan about a third of the way. 

Heat over medium heat until a deep-frying thermometer inserted in the oil reaches 375 degrees F. (If you don't have a thermometer a cube of bread will brown in about 3 minutes.). In batches, fry the dough until lightly golden, about 2 to 3 minutes. Transfer to a paper towel-lined plate to drain. (The rested and quartered dough can also be rolled on a floured work surface into 1/2-inch thick logs and cut into equal-sized 1/2-inch pieces. The dough pieces can then be rolled into small balls and fried as above).
In a large saucepan, combine the honey, sugar, and lemon juice over medium heat. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally, until the sugar is dissolved, about 3 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat. Add the fried dough and hazelnuts and stir until coated in the honey mixture. Allow the mixture to cool in the pan for 2 minutes.

Spray the outside of a small, straight-sided water glass with vegetable oil cooking spray and place in the center of a round platter. Using a spoon or damp hands, arrange struffoli and hazelnuts around the glass to form a wreath shape. Drizzle remaining honey mixture over the struffoli. Allow to set for 2 hours (can be made 1 day in advance). Decorate with sprinkles and dust with powdered sugar.

Remove the glass from the center of the platter and serve.

Note: To toast the hazelnuts, arrange in a single layer on a baking sheet. Bake in a preheated 350 degrees F oven 8 to 10 minutes. Cool before using. 

Total Time: 4 hr 12 min
Prep: 1 hr 30 min
Yield: 8 to 10 servings

THE END OF CAMELOT, My Historical Romance Set Around the Assassination of President Kennedy--55 Years Ago November 22

The End of Camelot by Diana Rubino

November 22, 1963, a day that changed America forever. Who killed President Kennedy?

I've been a HUGE JFK assassination buff since that very day. Everyone who was alive on November 22, 1963 knew exactly where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I was in my first grade classroom. The teacher got a call on the classroom phone and told us ‘the president was shot.’ A collective gasp went around the room. I was 6 years old and in first grade. It was ten years before I saw the footage of Ruby shooting Oswald, on an anniversary documentary. 

          But it was my grandmother who got me interested in the biggest mystery since 'who killed the princes in the Tower?' (I'm a Ricardian; that's for another post).  She got me embroiled right along with her. 

          She listened to all the radio talk shows (those who lived in the New York area might remember Long John Nebel, on WOR, WNBC, and WMCA, all on AM radio (FM was really 'out there' at that time).

          She recorded all the radio talk shows. She bought whatever books came out over the years, along with the Warren Commission Report, which I couldn't lift at the time, it was so heavy. But my interest never waned in the 51 years that followed.

          In 2000, I began the third book of my New York Saga, set in 1963. The heroine is Vikki McGlory Ward, daughter of Billy McGlory, hero of the second book, BOOTLEG BROADWAY, set during Prohibition. This was my opportunity to write a novel showcasing all my current theories, and continue the saga. It took a minimum of research, since I remember all the 60's brands, (Bosco, Yum Berry, Mr. Bubble...), the fashions, the songs, and I even included a scene set on that unforgettable night when the Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, February 9, 1964.

About THE END OF CAMELOT     

The third in the New York Saga, The End of Camelot centers on Billy McGlory’s daughter Vikki, whose husband is murdered trying to prevent the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Vikki uses her detective skills to trace the conspiracy, from New York to New Orleans to Dallas, and at the same time, tricks her husband’s murderer into a confession. A romance with her bodyguard makes her life complete.

November 22, 1963: The assassination of a president devastates America. But a phone call brings even more tragic news to Vikki Ward—her TV reporter husband was found dead in his Dallas hotel room that morning.

Finding his notes, Vikki realizes her husband was embroiled in the plot to kill JFK—but his mission was to prevent it. When the Dallas police rule his death accidental, Vikki vows to find out who was behind the murders of JFK and her husband. With the help of her father and godfather, she sets out to uncover the truth.

Aldobrandi Po , the bodyguard hired to protect Vikki, falls in love with her almost as soon as he sets eyes on her. But he's engaged to be married, and she’s still mourning her husband. Can they ever hope to find happiness in the wake of all this tragedy?

Purchase THE END OF CAMELOT on Amazon

Excerpt:

It was New Year’s Eve, they were alone, and he was harmless. So far. So she took the necessary two paces over to him and placed the honey ball between his custom-made choppers.

He closed his eyes, and she watched him savoring the sweetness. She didn’t dare say another word as she ran her index finger over a glob of cream on the cannoli plate, raised it to her lips and licked. “Mmmm,” she voiced, wishing she hadn’t.

Their eyes met and locked. Faster than lightning, they came together like magnets. Their lips met, sweet and sticky and hot. She didn’t want him to stop, but her inner voice screamed how wrong it was—It’s forbidden!—echoing the nuns in Saint Gustina’s. She shooed it away like an annoying fly. Leave me alone, I’m not a kid anymore. Her arms circled his neck, and his hands slid down to the curve of her back. Dare she move in closer, pelvis to pelvis, an unthinkable act three seconds ago? Her body was betraying her, betraying Jack, taking on a will of its own as she crushed herself to him. The kiss intensified. She tasted cannoli, and her fogged mind told her he’d been sampling them all day. She breathed in his cologne, so foreign it repelled her, so new it aroused her even further. Her tiara slipped off her head. She caught it just as he pulled away.

He held her at arm’s length as in a tango. “Oh, cara mia,” he growled—and if he said another word in Italian, she knew she’d explode. A passion long dormant stirred inside her.

My favorite passage from the book:

Billy came down the stairs for a nightcap and glanced into the living room. He noticed the glow in the fireplace, Vikki’s eyeglasses and the anisette bottle on the table. The couch faced the other way, but nobody was sitting on it. “Where’d they go?” Then he realized they hadn’t gone anywhere—and they were on the couch, but not sitting. Before he got out of their way, he placed a long-playing record on the phonograph. Jackie Gleason’s “For Lovers Only.”

Book Quote from Depression/Prohibition Romantic Thriller BOOTLEG BROADWAY

For Book Quote Wednesday, the word is LUCK. Authors, find LUCK in your book and Tweet using #BookQW.
A short snippet from my Depression/Prohibition novel BOOTLEG BROADWAY, Book Two of the New York Saga:
With a few hours till the joint opened, Billy went behind the bar, filled his flask, then went outside to lean against the brick wall and watch the world go by. This entire scene was foreign to him, this workforce who made their living by day and slept by night. A life he wasn’t cut out for. Bored with watching that after two minutes, he walked towards the Columbus Circle subway, passing all the briefcase-toting workaday stiffs in suits. He glanced at the tired and haggard faces. And these were the lucky ones-­they had jobs.
The subway reeked of stale urine, and for the first time in years, he had to stand and be a straphanger. The train swayed and jolted. The lights dimmed and blacked out, on and off. He lost his balance several times, bumping into bodies pressed up against him; he couldn’t have fallen if he’d tried. He mouthed silent thanks he’d been born with musical talent; he’d go off his nut if he had to live like this.
getBook.at/NewYorkSagaBookTwo

Meet Eliza Jumel Burr, a True Rags to Riches Story, in my new Biographical Novel

A true rags-to-riches story: how “Bouncin’ Bet Bowen” George Washington’s daughter, became Eliza Jumel Burr, wife of Vice President Aaron Burr and 

New York City’s wealthiest woman

While researching Hamilton, I became fascinated with his political nemesis Aaron Burr, which led to Aaron's last wife Eliza Bowen Jumel. Only a handful of biographies of her exist, so I learned as much as possible about her from these books and other sources I found.

Eliza Jumel Burr, Vice Queen of the United States--On Sale at Amazon

She came from the filthy streets of Providence and wound up owning to the grandest mansion in New York City, which has been Washington’s headquarters during the Revolutionary War and is open to the public. The urchin Betsy Bowen used her street smarts and business acumen to become Madame Eliza Jumel Burr, Vice Queen of America. Her legacy lives on—in the Morris Jumel Mansion of Washington Heights, where her spirit still lingers, 147 years later.

During her ninety-one years, she begged on the streets, sold her body, married a rich man, married a former Vice President, and as New York City’s grand dame, traveled Manhattan in the coach Napoleon Bonaparte gave her. 

Throughout her adventurous and unconventional life, Eliza’s one regret was that she could not publicly announce that George Washington was her father. When Eliza was ten years old, her mother told her of Washington’s visit to Providence. They spent one night together at the home of Freelove Ballou, an aunt who later adopted Eliza. She was born nine months later. Her many attempts to reach her father gained her an invitation to Mount Vernon weeks before his death. 

Eliza’s love of make-believe brought her to Manhattan’s John Street Theatre, where she played many leading roles. When the theatre was bought by a speculator and torn down, she “made a living how I could” – at the brothel of Manhattan madam Sally Marshall, whose ladies entertained senators and other prominent figures.

Eliza met the charismatic Aaron Burr when he became New York’s Attorney General. While standing outside Federal Hall after President Washington’s inauguration with her best friend Susannah Shippen, she caught a flash of dark eyes that sparkled and caught the sunlight like jewels. Susannah innocently introduced them, unaware of their instant attraction. 

Deeply in love, Eliza wrote: “Colonel Aaron Burr appeared to me the perfection of manhood personified. Wherever he went he was petted and caressed by our sex. And yet, he never took advantage of his position.”

Eliza named her only son George Washington Bowen, believing Aaron was the father. 
While Aaron climbed the political ladder on his way to the Vice Presidency, Eliza met wealthy wine merchant Stephen Jumel, a native Frenchman. Knowing Eliza’s heart belonged only to Aaron, he wooed her and trusted her to invest his capital in Manhattan real estate. With her shrewd negotiating skills and street smarts, they amassed an empire.

Eliza Jumel Burr

On Eliza and Stephen’s first trip to France together, the fallen and beaten Napoleon Bonaparte boarded Stephen’s brig the Eliza,seeking an American vessel to ensure his escape from the British. Stephen, in all seriousness, offered the Emperor a wine barrel to stow away in. The Emperor, haughtily put out when he realized Stephen wasn’t joking, accepted Eliza’s invitation to hide in their New York home, but never made it to the new world. However, he did give Eliza his yellow coach and other costly gifts, now on display in the Jumel Mansion. Stephen’s business connections afforded him and Eliza introduction to the upper echelons of  Paris society. She met King Louis XVIII, but he shunned her begging to let Stephen join court circles. 

Back home, she resumed her love affair with Aaron, whose wife Theodosia had died of cancer. He was now Vice President, having lost the presidency to Thomas Jefferson. Eliza asked him to marry her, but he turned down her proposal. He just wasn’t ready for remarriage.

After the most famous duel in American history, Aaron fled New York City while Alexander Hamilton lay dying. When Hamilton died the next day, Aaron was indicted for murder. After four frantic months, Eliza finally received a letter from him, under an assumed name, R. King.

Financed by his son-in-law Joseph, he’d bought the rights to a half million acres in the South. He planned to make it into a new state, settle it with adventurous pioneer men, attract a slew of colonists and settlers, and make himself Governor.

His next hurried missive told her that he’d abandoned the entire plan. Why? He didn’t say. But President Jefferson had filed a formal charge of treason against Aaron. He was brought to Richmond, Virginia for trial.

He’d gathered so much support and adoration from Richmond, he was wined, dined and acquitted, with his daughter at his side.

He finally returned to Eliza after finishing out his term as Vice President, but soon sailed for England. Believing her life with him was over, she dragged herself back to Stephen and proposed marriage to him—only to be turned down once again. Determined to become Mrs. Jumel, she faked her impending death with the help of a loyal servant, a bottle of hot water to raise her temperature, and white powder to mimic deathly pallor. She called her doctor and had a stable hand inform Stephen that she was dying. When he rushed to her bedside, she begged him, “Before I leave this world, it would mean so much to me if I could leave as Mrs. Jumel.” He summoned a priest and they were wed even before she received last rites. But of course she made a miraculous ‘recovery’ and once again, returned to her wheeling and dealing.

While tending to his farmlands, Stephen fell from a cart and died in Eliza’s arms two days later. She was brought up on murder charges which were dropped. A despondent Eliza once again turned to her true love, Aaron, back in New York at his law practice.

One evening, Aaron showed up at her doorstep with a minister in tow, the same Reverend Bogart who’d married him to his first wife Theodosia fifty years before. He proposed to Eliza on bended knee: “I give you my hand, Madame; my heart has long been yours.”

She finally became Mrs. Burr at age 56. Aaron was a robust and youthful 78.

He began to spend Eliza’s money recklessly, plowing through $13,000 within a few months. The bickering became grounds for divorce when a maid caught him in a compromising position with another woman. Brokenhearted, Eliza hired a lawyer Who handled family matters—including divorces. Who was this lawyer? Alexander Hamilton Jr.

Aaron received the final papers on September 14, 1836, and died later that day.
Eliza returned home to her family and lived another 29 years as Mrs. Burr, the name she’d always longed for.

The Morris-Jumel Mansion still stands in Harlem, New York City and is open to the public.

Visit the Morris-Jumel Mansion

Me on the front steps of the Morris-Jumel Mansion

I'm Guesting on Jen Twinmom's Blog "That's What I'm Talking About"

Visit me on Jen Twinmom's blog "That's What I'm Talking About" featuring my New York Saga, about the McGlory family's triumphs over poverty, Prohibition, and assassination...and an interview with me about life in New Hampshire.
http://bit.ly/2kjlx9L

The Lower East Side Tenement Museum--Once a Tenement Building, Now a Must-Visit

The Lower East Side Tenement Museum at 97 Orchard Street in New York City was once a real tenement. From the time it was built in 1863, 7,000 inhabitants moved in and out of this building. Nearly all were immigrants, poor or working class. Today, each apartment is furnished to represent a different time period. You can step back in time to see how the masses lived, struggling to make ends meet. It's entirely authentic, down to the backyard privies. 

I visited the museum look forward to going back. If you live near or in Manhattan, you can attend the many events they hold there.

I'm on their mailing list, and they just sent me an article about the area's crime in the early 20th century, "Returning to the Scene of the Crime". They mention Luc Sante, who wrote LOW LIFE: LURES AND SNARES OF OLD NEW YORK. I read this for research on my 1894 New York novel FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET which is Book One of my New York Saga.

LOW LIFE is one of the best books I've ever read.

Manhattan's Lower East Side, Early 20th Century

Meet Romance Author Angela Rosati, 87 Years YOUNG and Still Hard at Work

Angela M. Rosati (nee Russo) was born (8/22/29) in Long Island City, NY and grew up in Astoria, NY. That's just across the East River from Manhattan. "I worked in my father’s Italian Dairy business for years. I worked hard and read a lot. I loved going to the Broadway Shows, Metropolitan Opera and the New York City Opera. I purchased my first computer when I was 70 yo, or something like that. I began writing because my family was sick of hearing my historical/hysterical family stories. Later I took an online writing course; I was a 76 yo college girl! I don't want to be rich and famous; I just want to be rich, rich, rich."

Angela and I have been dear friends for over 20 years when we met through CompuServe's Italian Forum. She's the daughter of Italian immigrants and writes delightful, sweet romance novels with her unique touch of wit.

Angela calls on her life experiences for her books, which is why they are so authentic--they read like true memoirs rather than fiction.

She told me one of her many engaging stories the other day, and graciously allowed me to repeat it here.

"Maybe, this one will cheer you up...and I should include it in one of my books. I was 10 yrs. old and was going to make my First Holy Communion. (how do you like for formality!) The tough head nun told us girls we had to buy our missals, rosaries and VEILS from the church. The veils looked like the netting mothers used to put on the carriages to protect the sleeping babies from flies. I told my mother but she had already bought white satin for my dress (pattern Snow White) and my veil. The veil was the frilliest thing you could imagine. I, stupidly, went to the tough nun and told her my mother's actions. She asked me to describe the veil and I eagerly described it. (Any bride would have been happy to wear it.) When the nun heard, her lips thinned out and she told me to bring my mother in to see her. My mother, less than five feet tall, feared no living or dead human being. She was afraid of mice; that's all. Nancy, (mamma) and I went to see the nun; who asked about the veil. My mother, in church, facing the nun and said in her broken English, "Oh, is veddy plain, notting. I veddy poor. My Comara give to me." At the time, I was shorter than mamma and looking up at her, LYING in CHURCH to the NUN, face to face, her hands moving as Italians do. The nun, no fool and a daughter of Abruzzese knew my mother was lying. I saw smoke coming out of her ears. Her lips completely disappeared. She was beaten. On Communion Day, I was the only girl in a beautiful veil. The nun looked at me and I knew she wanted to not only kill me but my mother, too. Ha, she could have tried but Nancy would have floored her. And all the other girls in their raggy veils were jealous, even the rich ones."

Some of Angela's romances: She has more on Amazon

THE UNMATCHED LOVE MATCH

WANTED: HUSBAND

Visit Angela on Facebook

My Great Grandparents Married 100 Years Ago--My Heroine Vita is Based on Her

My great grandparents, James and Josephine Arnone, were married on December 4, 1915. My New York historical romance, FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET, has been released with The Wild Rose Press, and my heroine Vita is based on her--a woman way ahead of her time. She left grade school to become a successful real estate investor as she married and raised 4 children.

FROM HERE TO FOURTEENTH STREET is Book One of the New York Saga.

It's 1894 on New York's Lower East Side. Irish cop Tom McGlory and Italian immigrant Vita Caputo fall in love despite their different upbringings. Vita goes from sweatshop laborer to respected bank clerk to reformer, helping elect a mayor to beat the Tammany machine. While Tom works undercover to help Ted Roosevelt purge police corruption, Vita's father arranges a marriage between her and a man she despises. When Tom’s cousin is murdered, Vita’s father and brother languish in jail, charged with the crime. Can Vita and Tom’s love survive poverty, hatred, and corruption?
Excerpt:
On her way up the stairs, she glanced down the hall and noticed the closed parlor door. Maybe one of the other boarders was in there with a beau. She smiled in the dark. Let them enjoy themselves. All the girls here had beaux, and they needed privacy without chaperones breathing down their necks during every stage of courting.
As she gathered her soap and towel, Madame Branchard tapped on her door. “You have a gentleman caller, Vita. A policeman.”
“Tom?” His name lingered on her lips as she repeated it. She dropped her things and crossed the room.
“No, hon, not him. Another policeman. Theodore something, I think he said.”
No. There can’t be anything wrong. “Thanks,” she whispered, gently nudging Madame Branchard aside. She descended the steps, gripping the banister to support her wobbly legs. Stay calm! she warned herself. But of course it was no use; staying calm just wasn’t her nature.
“Theodore something” stood before the closed parlor door. He’s a policeman? Curious, she looked him up and down. Tall and hefty, a bold pink shirt peeking out of a buttoned waistcoat and fitted jacket, he looked way out of place against the dainty patterned wallpaper.
He removed his hat. “Miss Caputo.” He strained to keep his voice soft as he held out a piece of paper.
“Yes?” Her voice shook.
“I’m Theodore Roosevelt. I have a summons for you, Miss Caputo.” He held it out to her. But she stood rooted to that spot.
He stepped closer, and she took it from him, unfolding it with icy fingers. Why would she be served with a summons? Was someone arresting her now for something she didn’t do?
A shot of anger tore through her at this system, at everything she wanted to change. It eclipsed her fear, made her blood boil. She flipped it open and saw the word “Summons” in fancy script at the top. Her eyes widened with each sentence as she read. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”

BOOTLEG BROADWAY Contest!

My 'wiseguy' novel set during Prohibition is out today. I'm giving away print or E books (whichever format you prefer) to the first 3 people who can tell me the 3 people from the Prohibition era (the 1930s) you would most liked to have met. Send your replies to me at diana@dianarubino.com

http://www.amazon.com/Bootleg-Broadway-New-Yo…/…/ref=sr_1_1…

Mockup Cover of my Prohibition Novel, BOOTLEG BROADWAY with The Wild Rose Press

The second book in my New York Saga, BOOTLEG BROADWAY, set during the wild boozy days of Prohibition, will be released soon. The very talented cover artist Diana Carlile sent me a mockup of the cover, below.

In this sequel to FROM HERE TO 14^TH STREET, Vita and Tom McGlory and their three children are struggling to make ends meet.

It's 1932. Prohibition rages, the Depression ravages, and Billy McGlory comes of age whether he wants to or not. Musical and adventurous, Billy dreams of having his own ritzy supper club and big band. On the eve of his marriage to the pregnant Prudence, the shifty "businessman" Rosario Ingovito offers him all that and more. Fame, fortune, his own Broadway musical…it's all his for the taking, despite Pru's opposition to Rosie's ventures.
Meanwhile, Pru's artistic career gains momentum and their child is born. Can anything go wrong for Billy? Only when he gets in way over his head does he stop to wonder how his business partner really makes his millions, but by then it's far too late…

Excerpt:

          Heading south on Madison Avenue, I heard the siren. I glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the unmistakable Greyhound radiator ornament of the Lincoln behind me. Cop car. All the gangsters drove Lincolns, which had a top speed of 80, so the cops had to get Lincolns to keep up with them. I tried to get the hell out of his way—he must've been going to a robbery or a diner or something. I pulled over, and he pulled up next to me. Oh, shit. It was me he was after.

I rolled down the window and asked sweetly, "Yes, sir, what can I do for you, sir?"

"License and registration please."

"Uh—what's wrong, officer? Did I commit a traffic violation?" As the son of the ex-Chief of Police, I should have been real comfortable around cops, but to tell the truth, they scared the hell out of me. The cops my father knew weren't the crooked ones. They were the straightassed ones, just like him, who fought Tammany and made a career out of busting crooks. They didn't have a price, like the rest of them. Hardnosed bastards, some were frustrated politicians and not smart enough to get into law school, so they enforced the laws from behind their badges. Hell, I was all for law and order, but these guys sometimes took it too far. "Your back license plate is missing."

Relief drained me. "Oh, drat. It must've got stolen. You know this city—just crawlin' with thieves."

"License and registration, please," he repeated, in what passed for a more menacing cop voice. Now he assumed his cop stance, pudgy fists on meaty hips, waiting while I dug through the glove compartment, tossing aside all the crumpled up sheet music and junk crammed in there. Oh, that's where my emergency pack of cigarettes was, and that old box of prophylactics! But damned if I couldn't find the registration.

"Uh—I can't find it, but it's my car, honest. I mean, it was a gift to me, but it's been paid for, it's not stolen or anything. I can probably find it in my penthouse. You wanna follow me there? It's only two blocks aw—"

"Step out of the car, please."

Uh-oh. I felt my bowels burning. I had two briefcases bulging with two shitloads of money in the back seat.

He poked his head into the car. "What's in the briefcases?"

"Uh—I dunno. I'm doing an errand for somebody."

"Yeah, I'll bet you dunno. Step aside, please."

"Hey, you got a search warrant?" I demanded.

But demanding a search warrant from a New York City cop was like demanding a shot of Scotch from Satan in the middle of Hell.

I didn't want to look. I turned my head and flattened my palms on the roof of the car, like I was being searched. I heard the clicks as he sprang the latches and his not-so-surprised "mm-hmmm" as he checked out the contents.

"Who you doing this errand for, sonny boy?"

What was with the "sonny boy"? He wasn't much older than me. I knew he just wanted to put me down. Screw that. I've been called a lot worse by much better cops than him. He obviously didn't know who I was. "Uh—I'd better get a lawyer or something."

"You'd better come with me."

"Look, uh—you wanna just take a few bills outta there and forget it?” I asked, real generously. “I mean, uh—we're all in this mess together, ya know—"

"Bribing an officer of the law is a very serious offense, sonny boy. You'll have to come with me. Park your car there, please."

"Here? But there's a hydrant here. I'll get a ticket."

JFK Assassination Buffs...My New Title is THE END OF CAMELOT

I've been a HUGE JFK assassination buff since that very day. Everyone who was alive on November 22, 1963 knew exactly where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I was in my first grade classroom. The teacher got a call on the classroom phone and told us ‘the president was shot.’ A collective gasp went around the room. I was 6 years old and in first grade. It was ten years before I saw the footage of Ruby shooting Oswald, on an anniversary documentary.
But it was my grandmother who got me interested in the biggest mystery since 'who killed the princes in the Tower?' (I'm a Ricardian; that's for another post).  She got me embroiled right along with her.
She listened to all the radio talk shows (those who lived in the New York area might remember Long John Nebel, on WOR, WNBC, and WMCA, all on AM radio (FM was really 'out there' at that time).
She recorded all the radio talk shows. She bought whatever books came out over the years, along with the Warren Commission Report, which I couldn't lift at the time, it was so heavy. But my interest never waned in the 51 years that followed.
In 2000, I began the third book of my New York Saga, set in 1963. The heroine is Vikki McGlory Ward, daughter of Billy McGlory, hero of the second book, BOOTLEG BROADWAY, set during Prohibition. This was my opportunity to write a novel showcasing all my current theories, and continue the saga. It took a minimum of research, since I remember all the 60's brands, (Bosco, Yum Berry, Mr. Bubble...), the fashions, the songs, and I even included a scene set on that unforgettable night when the Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show, February 9, 1964.
The book's synopsis is below. It will be released on April 10 by The Wild Rose Press.
I'd be very interested to hear from other people who remember November 22, 1963, or who would like to talk about anything related to the JFK assassination or what followed.

November 22, 1963: The assassination of a president devastates America. But a phone call brings even more tragic news to Vikki Ward—her TV reporter husband was found dead in his Dallas hotel room that morning.

Finding his notes, Vikki realizes her husband was embroiled in the plot to kill JFK—but his mission was to prevent it. When the Dallas police rule his death accidental, Vikki vows to find out who was behind the murders of JFK and her husband. With the help of her father and godfather, she sets out to uncover the truth.

Aldobrandi Po , the bodyguard hired to protect Vikki, falls in love with her almost as soon as he sets eyes on her. But he's engaged to be married, and she’s still mourning her husband. Can they ever hope to find happiness in the wake of all this tragedy?
 

Pre-order THE END OF CAMELOT for Kindle

First Lines of Book:

Washington, D.C., September, 1959

Vikki McGlory aimed her Smith & Wesson .38 and fired at the metal target.

“Bull’s eye.” She kissed the gun’s warm barrel. A smudged red lip print bloomed against the steel gray metal. 

My Favorite Passage:

Billy came down the stairs for a nightcap and glanced into the living room. He noticed the glow in the fireplace, Vikki’s eyeglasses and the anisette bottle on the table. The couch faced the other way, but nobody was sitting on it. “Where’d they go?” Then he realized they hadn’t gone anywhere—and they were on the couch, but not sitting. Before he got out of their way, he placed a long-playing record on the phonograph. Jackie Gleason’s “For Lovers Only.”

 

WORLD WAR ONE Started 100 Years Ago Today--Here's a First-Hand Account of Life "Over Here"

I just finished The Harding Affair by James Robenalt, and the book goes into great detail about World War I, just before Harding became president. Wilson was president then, and took his time to decide to declare war on Germany.

Prior to this, I read a book I'd wanted to read for ages: The President's Daughter, about the (alleged) child Harding has with his mistress, Nan Britton. Of course there, no proof. After Harding died, the mistress, Nan Britton, wrote this memoir.

Then I got intrigued with Harding, his presidency the times, so I read The Harding Affair. It discusses his affair with Carrie Phillips, who may have been a German spy during WWI (she was sympathetic to the Germans) but when reading last night, I read about the attack on Black Tom Island in Jersey City, across from Liberty Island, by the Germans in retaliation for the blockades, and to destroy munitions stored there, in 1916. I never heard of this. It caused a huge explosion, people were thrown from their beds, I looked it up online & saw pictures of it--it did look like a war zone after the attack. Google Black Tom Island explosion and see the photos.

I learned a lot about WWI in this book, which I've never studied in depth. The Germans decided any boats that entered the waters around Britain would be sunk, even ocean liners, and this went on for a while before they finally backed down and promised not to sink any civilian boats, but it happened a few more times.

So this book isn't just about Harding and his girlfriend. Very readable book, it's educational AND entertaining.

On July 29, Harding's love letters were released by the Lib. of Congress. They were sealed for 50 years.

This is from my dear friend Angela Rosati, who will be 85 years young (and she IS young) soon. Angela is a beautiful lady inside and out. She's also a romance author. Angela writes delightful, adorable historical romances set in 'the good old days' of the 40s, 50s and 60s in and around Queens, NY, where she grew up.

See DID I KILL MR. RIGHT? here on Amazon
See WANTED:HUSBAND here on Amazon

 Several of Angela's relatives served in WWI and she gave this fascinating account:

"I know very little about Harding. All that good stuff was edited from our school books and if they'd left it in, we would have been smarter students! I never heard of the Black Tom Is. bombing. According to what we were taught, no country every came close to bombing any part of the American territory. Now the truth comes out!! We weren't taught that Woodrow Wilson, who is now called a progressive, was anything but a patriotic American. Talk about suppressing news!

WW1...my mother's oldest brother, Vincenzo, never returned. I put that in my book. Her second oldest brother, Mario, was called. My grandmother went with him, begging them to spare her son, telling them about her oldest son. They took Mario, who went to the Austrian Campaign, very tough fighting there. I remember seeing the scars of at least 2 bullet wounds in his upper arms.

My father, who was a vet of the Italo-Turkish War, 1912, was called. That's when he met his first whores. He came to America, worked for the rich Rushmores, in their upstate home, Goshen, NY. He was called in 1914. Mr. Rushmore told my father not to return to Italy, but my father said if he didn't return his family would be in trouble. So, he went back and was sent to the Austrian Campaign. He never met Uncle Mario. My father was lucky, he rec'd a bullet wound that just grazed him above his upper lip; a little blood. His friend, from Bari, said, "Russ, I'm afraid to die." Instantly, he received a bullet to the head. Papa said, blood, bone and brains all over. My father didn't talk too much about the war and neither did Uncle Mario. 

 

One Christmas, my grandchildren gave me a book on the Italian Campaign in WW!. It was brutal because the Italians, at that time, spoke dialect. They barely understood each other, let alone their officers.  They were ill equipped, had little training, and The Austrians were the first to use hand grenades. The poor illiterate, ignorant Italians didn't know what was what. Too many were killed or wounded. The stuffed shirt officers just kept sending the poor bastards up the same hill. 

My father spent 2 1/2 years there. I have his papers. He received a medal with a document signed by Benito Mussolini, in 1926! Uncle Mario received medals also.

I have a pocket book, price 60 cents, THE UNITED STATES IN WORLD WAR 1, 142 pp. I will start to read it! 

My father had a latticini (dairy) store in Astoria , 1937, which he kept open until late at night, which was the custom. Once another Italian immigrant, had a sort of push cart, left it in the street and entered our store. He recognized my father from the war! He said my father shared his bread with him. That was my father; a tough red head, but a softy!

In those days, the returning soldiers were close mouthed, suffered inside. But they went to work!"