There used to ba a restaurant in midtown near Rockefeller Center named Vesuvio's. My stepfather would go there every afternoon at lunch and every evening before going home from work. He's now a recovering alcoholic but in those days he was a regular. He worked for a large insurance brokerage and just liked Vesuvio's because it was close to his work and the bartender poured honest drinks.

He got to know some of the regulars there and it came to him, rather slowly, that this was a wiseguy hangout. My stepfather was a typical 3-piece suit kinda guy, graduated Yale, lived in a gated community, and generally wouldn't have known a wiseguy if he ran into Marlon Brando in costume. My stepfather's an amiable guy, very polite, and generally a happy fun-time drunk so the guys at Vesuvio's came to like him and, more importantly, knew he wasn't a cop because he drank so much. The guys at the bar would always say, "Hal, if you need any favors, just give me a call," but fortunately for my stepfather, he was smart enough to always politely decline. Eventually they filled him-in on the setup. There was a half curtain drawn over the lower half of the front windows so you couldn't see in and the second door had a curtain over it too. Being a shotgun-type building the booths where the wiseguys hung out were all along the back where there were no windows. From that part you could see the whole restaurant safely. What's more interesting is that the music shop across the street. Right in the upper corner of their window was a blue bubblegum machine light. Most of the time it was just there, but... the music shop guy was paid to watch the front of Vesuvio's and if he thought that the restaurant was being watched, he would turn on the light to warn the guys in the restaurant. The blue light was high enough that you could see it over the half curtain in Vesuvio's window. Pretty clever. The light went off a few times while my stepfather was there and when it did, wow! Did the place clean out fast! And always through the back door, never the front.

So fast forward to 1982 and my sixteenth birthday. My stepfather decided to host my birthday dinner at Vesuvio's and then take me and my mother and my girlfriend to a Broadway show. I'd eaten there a few times and food was real home-style southern Italian which I love and didn't have too often as my mother wasn't big on southern Italian food, but since it was my birthday I was indulged. We arrive and walk in and the place is packed but we had a great table near the window all ready for us. My stepfather made his, 'hellos' and waved to some of the people, generally happy we'll be seated on-time so we can make the show. So we sit down and no sooner does the warm garlic bread show-up but the blue light goes off across the street. The bartender made a beeline for the back booths and at once the guys in the back make for the back door. My mother is sweetly clueless, "Oh, they must have an early curtain!"

"Curtains" is right. From the back door and then the front and from the kitchen come pouring all these guys with FBI jackets and rifles to shut down the place. They immediately halted all food and bar service and told everyone to get out except the employees. My mother's jaw was wide open and my girlfriend was freaking out but my stepfather was in a panic. He raced over to one of the FBI guys paniced over something, I couldn't tell what. The FBI guy talks to another one who talks to another one then goes into the kitchen and comes out a minute later with a big box. My stepfather grabbed the box and then motioned us out of the restaurant with everyone else. Turns out the box was my birthday cake and it is, I am sad to say, the last food Vesuvio's ever made. The restaurant was closed and the owner was indicted for something along the lines of knowingly allowing illegal conduct on the premisis. Whatever happened I don't know but Vesuvio's went away and was replaced by another. We went down the street to Frere Jacques, complete with cake in hand, feeling a little dazed from our brush with Riker's Island, but my mom loves French food so she was made happy by a great steamed mussels dish and we did make it to the theater on time.

I still have the candleholders from that cake as a memorial to Vesuvio's and my brush with wiseguy-dom.

God they made great meatballs in marinara....