My last 2 years of high school and a few years beyond as a second job, I worked as a busboy at Giro's Restaurant at the corner of Hanover and Commercial Streets. Weekdays I traveled home from Boston Technical high school in Roxbury by subway to Haymarket station. I usually got home between 3:15 and 3:30. That gave me enough time to have a snack mom always had ready, change cloths, and walk to the restaurant for my 4:30 start time to help prepare for dinner guests. We made sure tablecloths, silverware, plates, glasses and napkins were perfectly positioned; chairs and booths were wiped of all crumbs.
In the kitchen, both busboys made sure bread loaves were ready to be cut and served, chilled pats of butter and their pewter serving bowls were plentiful, and bread baskets lined with clean napkins were piled high. It wasn't long after 5 pm that the mad dinner rush started especially on weekend nights. We were always prepared. I usually worked five nights each week, more if needed as a fill in.
During dinner service we made sure water glasses were full, used plates removed and crumbs were cleaned. When guests left, we would quickly clean tables and prepare them for the next dinner guests, patiently or otherwise waiting. By 9 pm, later on Friday and Saturday, as the restaurant quieted down, we could leave once we prepared tables for the next day's lunch crowd.
Sometimes getting homework completed was a challenge but I managed and still got decent grades. It was all worth it. I was able to help mom and from my first paycheck forward and with tips earned, I was forever independent.
Through late evening hours especially on summer nights with light ocean breezes finding their way through the tight streets of the North End, residents gather on their doorsteps with neighbors. Others could be seen relaxing, leaning on pillows, quietly looking out their windows, enjoying life seemingly without any special aspirations in mind.
Years later I remember leaving another restaurant on Hanover Street with friends. I ran into one of mom's oldest friends. After many pleasantries and precious family updates, she let me in on a very special secret. Every night on my way home to Cleveland Place after work at Giro's, all the way home mom's telephone would ring and one after another, looking out their windows or hanging around their doorsteps, friends would call to let Lucia know her son passed their "spotter station". "Peter Boy just turned onto North Bennet Street". Mom knew I was safe. I would never have known! It makes you wonder about other blessings yet to be realized.