Italian American Stories – Joining the Teamsters

Around this time in 1971 I was looking for work and I got a call one Friday evening from my cousin Frank Nicoletti ( fifty years ago… yikes ). Frank was one of the manager’s at the Pepsi plant on Avenue D in Brooklyn NY and told me that there was an opening.

“That’s great!” I said, “what do I need to do?”

Frank said, “go to the union hall on 14th St., and ask for ( the name escapes me )”

So the next morning I make the trip into NYC by car. As it’s a Saturday there’s no traffic and parking wasn’t an issue. I walk up a flight of stairs and find myself in a wood paneled room with benches lining the walls. No one in sight. Then I see that there is a sort of window, inset with a speakeasy type of door and a buzzer next to it. I push the buzzer, and after a minute or so the speakeasy door opens.

“Who are you?”

“Bob Sorrentino, my cousin Frank said to come here for the job at Pepsi.”

“I saw Frank yesterday, he didn’t say nothing about you. You have his number?”

“I don’t.”

“Never mind, I have it. You wait here.”

After a few minutes I see the real door, that was kind of hidden in the paneling open.

“Come on in Bob, Frank says you’re a good kid.”

I’m ushered into this huge office with a bar and he tells me…

“It’s good to have a nice Italian boy show up, we like that. You know you have to take a physical, but that won’t be a problem, for you. Can you goto Long Island City on Monday? You want to start the following Monday? You won’t be no trouble.”

“Er yeah sure.” 

“Good, good, you tell Frank I said hello.”

I think I filled out a paper and he gave me a card, and I’m a Teamster.

Starting at Pepsi was quite interesting. You started by building up cases of soda on pallets as the loaders dropped them off. Hard work. Most of the white guys would drop half a pallet and move on, but the black guys would stop and help, and move and stack the pallets for you. There was Black Bob ( I was white Bob ) Picott, Sylvester and another guy who’s name I don’t remember. He was impeccably dressed all of the time, would change into his uniform, and then redress on the way out. Quiet but very nice. 

Some of the white guys were ok especially Frank Nardo, he was older and being Italian he took me under his wing in a sense. Another guy was older too and real smart ass and no help at all, I think he was the person that started the rumor that I was a spy for Frank. “Whitey” was a heroin addict, and would nod out driving the fork lift, for some reason he had the brand new fork lift. One other guy that stood out was a big Polish guy. I don’t remember his real name, but everyone called him “Money”. I’ll tell that story in another post. We also, had a shop steward that was like the invisible man, I think he was fired for stealing, which was crazy, as we could by a case for like $2.00

While I did not work there that long, the salary was great especially in the summer when there was a ton of overtime. I also learned a lot about people which came in handy once I became a manager many years later.