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| Vol. 23 No. 37 | Thursday September 12, 2024 |
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This week I celebrated my 83rd birthday, and I’d like to share a story with you, dear readers. It has little to do with air cargo, but I take this exception as a birthday privilege. Sometimes in life, you find that close relationships with which you’ve kept almost constant contact begin to slowly diminish to an occasional card or letter, or worse—evaporate into memory altogether. That happened with my great, good friend, Peter Castellotti, who I sadly just learned died July 30th in Staten Island, New York. Born in 1940, Pete had only just turned 84 four days earlier. He leaves two children, Lisa and Peter Jr. Thinking about “Uncle Pete”, as my kids called him, brings back some great memories. We were close day-to-day friends until life carried us away from each other 20 years ago. We lived for 30 years on Perry Street in Greenwich Village in Manhattan, and back then Pete was a neighborhood guy. He and his wife Madeline were at the helm of John’s Pizzeria during the early 1980s when People Magazine propelled the small family business’s popularity into the stratosphere. John’s Pizzeria was located in Manhattan at 278 Bleecker Street; Madeline’s uncle opened the New York institution in 1929. The pizza parlor was a feat that beat the great depression and made money serving delicious coal-fired pizzas and calzones. Pete later instituted a “No Slices” policy, a marketing move that was unusual at a time when grab-and-go was still popular. Now, gourmet pizzerias across New York sell only whole pies, although real New Yorkers still insist on the convenience of a quick slice. Now in 2024, the original John’s Pizzeria on Bleecker is still owned and operated by family (including Cousin Bobby Vittoria and his wife Carol). John’s Pizzeria still commands an eager audience, as a line queues up outside every day with people waiting patiently to get in the place. Peter and Madeline, who was especially brilliant (Mad sadly passed June 7, 2004), both expanded the John’s Pizzeria footprint from Greenwich Village to a prime location on West 44th Street, just down the block from Sardi’s Restaurant and across the street from the old Mamma Leone’s Restaurant in Manhattan’s theater and tourist district. Owned and operated by the couple’s daughter Lisa Castellotti, John’s at 44th Street boasts multiple coal ovens pumping out pizza on two levels. Once a Gospel Tabernacle Church, John’s of Times Square carries capacity for 400 diners, many of whom insist on seating beneath the circular stained-glass ceiling. Eating there is a genuine New York landmark experience. But for me, the tiny Bleecker Street address is the heart of the brand. It’s the location that we really knew two decades ago; the place where we spent so much time with two people we loved, who are now both gone. After People Magazine featured a picture and story about John’s Pizzeria, a local deejay named Al ‘Jazzbo’ Collins on WNEW 1130 AM big band radio station started proclaiming Pete “The Baron of Bleecker Street.” Everybody, even movie stars would come to John’s for their pizza and be part of the scene. I saw Danny DeVito and his wife Rhea Perlman there one day getting their pizza fix while their limo waited outside. On another day I sat and talked to filmmaker Woody Allen. He was pictured, unsmiling, making his own pizza at John’s and I wondered why . . . I later discovered Woody was eating the pizza and absorbing the Italian culture so it could all end up in his greatest movie, (in my view) Broadway Danny Rose. Peter discovered in that film that he was an actor and a talent. He played (what else) a comic heavy in a romp that also featured several of the greatest Catskill comedians of the last century. I remember the jukebox at John’s 278 Bleecker was very special and featured only big bands and musical artists of the 1930s and 40s. People would sit and sing along, waiting for their pizza. They eventually put in a second oven at that address just after the above photo was taken with Pete and our son Geoffrey II. I took the piece of paper pictured in the photo out of Pete’s hand and used it to inaugurate the second coal oven, lighting it for the first time. That was nearly 42 years ago and the oven and John’s are still going strong. I recall that anything you cooked in the coal oven tasted so much better. “We had seen” the pizza as it was said. We relished cooking steaks and chops in those ovens, procuring the meat from Ottomanelli’s Meat Market directly across on Bleecker Street. We hung out a lot with Uncle Pete during those years. Red Blazer uptown, where small groups and revival 1930s bands played, was a favorite haunt. We went there after closing. All four of our kids worked in one or another of John’s addresses, including Geoffrey II, at 278 Bleecker Street where he still goes today, when in town. Flossie, Ralph, and Emily worked uptown at 44th Street during high school and college. The 44th Street address was a tactical move by Madeline and Peter. It opened after a different John’s located across the street from Lincoln Center (a favorite of everyone at ABC Studios and our kids, when all four attended The LaGuardia High School of Performing Arts) had to close because the landlord sold the property and someone put in a high rise. Thinking about it now, my all-time favorite Pete story occurred after the second John’s location opened on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. We often frequented that place during our down time. Next door to John’s East Side was a small bar and grill that served as a hideout for Pete, George the builder from Staten Island, and me. The small establishment was owned by Charlie, a hard-working Chinese American who had made his fortune in dry cleaning. He had wanted to open a restaurant, but he knew nothing about restaurants. The manager would complain about the lack of business . . . as Pete, George, and I would sit there enjoying a cocktail in the late afternoon. As the months went by, we noticed Charlie added a piano and music, hoping to attract the after-work crowd. That lasted for maybe three months. Finally, one day Charlie approached the three of us wondering if together we might invest or advance some funds so he could plot his next big plan to stay open. Right away, Pete and George offered to help and I did as well—adding a drop in the bucket compared to the others, but wanting to lean into this situation alongside my friends. Then it was back to the usual at Charlie’s. As the months lengthened and business for Charlie’s worsened, the restaurant took a final dive; one day, the manager told us that Charlie had gone back to Taiwan “to get a suitcase” (indication of maybe some money), but in the meantime, we should select anything we wanted in the place as partial payback because it looked like the restaurant was finished. Charlie had bought too many chandeliers—he must have had a dozen in that space, so Pete got some new lighting. George took the ornate imported brass coffee and cappuccino machine. That left me. I said ‘forget about it,’ but Pete insisted: “Look: you got a house full of kids: let them learn how to play piano!” he said. “The next time we get a delivery of coal, the guys with arms as big as your legs can carry the piano home for you,” he laughed. The next day when I walked into John’s, Pete had the piano sitting there, staged to go. The very next week the coal delivery guys delivered it to our home. After that everybody took lessons. I think Emily did the best. Geoffrey II noodled on the piano in character during his high school senior play, The House of Blue Leaves. Pianist Keith Ingham came over one night and played on it for us. Today the piano sits quietly in our family room, across from our comfortable leather chair and astride a big TV screen. It’s covered with family pictures, including the one you are looking at here. Things have become much quieter indeed. The song has ended, but the melody lingers on. Happy landings, Peter. Now out of this tumultuous life, I hope you have found happiness somewhere else. Geoffrey |
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Publisher-Geoffrey Arend • Managing
Editor-Flossie Arend • Editor Emeritus-Richard Malkin |
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