Published July 9, 2010

Hubbub host Andrew Phelps here. WBUR’s Sonari Glinton covered Thursday’s fire at Deluca’s Market, one of Boston’s oldest grocery stores. It was a four-alarm fire that took five hours to extinguish. The story led Sonari to a yarn from a colleague who worked at Deluca’s more than 40 years ago. Here’s Sonari.

____

After spending hours watching the market smolder, I couldn’t help but wonder about the thousands of stories inside those walls. I posted a few photos of the fire on Facebook, and then one such story came to me.

I got this intriguing e-mail about Deluca’s from my colleague, Art Silverman:

My second home from 1967-71.  Had all the free roast beef I ever needed. Quit meat after that. When punks beat the crap out of me on Beacon Street, Virgil Aiello came to my rescue. Fond memories

Art Silverman (Sonari Glinton/WBUR)

Art works with me on NPR’s All Things Considered (my real job — I’m only moonlighting here in Boston). Art is sort of ATC’s mad radio scientist/genius. If there is something kooky, interesting, weird or funny on our show, there’s a pretty good chance Art played some role in it. This dude has stories, so I had to call him.

Art was a stock boy at Deluca’s from 1967-1971. It was his first full-time job. Here’s Art’s story as he told it to me, with some editing:

I occasionally made deliveries, which is where you really made the cash. The customers they had were some of the wealthiest people on Beacon Hill and Back Bay.

You got to drive a car, and it was all banged up and they didn’t care if you put new dents in it. It was impossible to drive this van without bumping into something.

I remember delivering, among the customers, Ted Kennedy, Al Capp (the cartoonist of Lil’ Abner fame). I remember delivering to Ursula Andress’ sister.

This was 1967. I was on the way back with my long hair, about 8 in the evening. A car pulled up, and I would count six to eight guys got out of a dark Chrysler and just set upon me. Beating the the pulp out of me with their hands, kicking me in the head. I was bleeding, somewhat unrecognizable. I ran to Deluca’s Market and pounded on the door, and Virgil Aiello, one of the owners — he’s an ex-Marine — he said, “What the hell happened?” I told him. He got a meat clever. He went running after them down Beacon Street.

Virgil patched me up with butcher’s aprons and took me to Mass General. I’m forever in their debt. They were just good people.

I knew I didn’t want to be in retail. In 1970, I stopped eating meat. And I still haven’t, I’ve never gone back.

Art said he’d seen the insides of enough chickens and cows for a lifetime. But he was glad to have worked for Deluca’s, taken in some of that Italian-American culture — danger and all.