Acre Under a Green Sky

Chuck Luka showed up for the funeral in the fresh suit we had found in his closet and in a wheelchair. The entire service took place at the grave sites at Meadowlands Cemetery. Everyone was there, and they all greeted Luka warmly. My father said he had no idea Luka had so many friends. He said it a lot. He said how he went up to the District Attorney, Matthew Bradley, and said, "I had no idea Chuck Luka had so many friends." And how Mr. Bradley just scowled at him.

My father always referred to the DA as, " . . . Mr. Matthew Bradley, or whatever his real name is!" because Mr. Bradley's real name was "Neibauer". He changed it.

Reporters and photographers from all over were there asking questions and taking pictures. This was a big deal. Luka cried the whole time with his right hand over his eyes like a visor. I saw his picture on the front page of the Daily News. It made me glad I wasn't there to see it. There was another picture of him half standing out of the chair pointing with his whole arm at Chief Mosko and some other policemen. The look on Luka's face was terrible like a newborn baby wailing. The paper said he was screaming, "Why don't you find the man who did this!" My father was standing right behind him with his hands on Luka's shoulders, and you could see a bit of my mother off to the side. That was a terrible picture. I had never seen such unbridled pain and outrage. It showed up again in the Sunday Pittsburgh Press.

No one noticed at the time, but there was someone else in that picture. Standing alone on an incline behind the policemen and away from the others, you could just make out Joe Scarceletti, the owner of the Royal Grill. No one would ever have noticed if he hadn't been cropped out of the Pittsburgh Press picture. He was noticed by default.

Luka had been brought to the funeral from the hospital and was expected to return immediately after; but Matt Bradley decided that if Luka was well enough to attend the funeral he was well enough to go to jail and he ordered Chief Mosko to take him into custody right there on the cemetery lawn. My father made a big scene for the press about the State's total lack of compassion not just for the husband and father of the victims but for the entire community. Privately, he called it a public relations disaster for the DA. All in all, my father had a very good day.

My mother did not have a good day. When she got home, she withdrew into her room and stayed there until the next morning. My father fetched us from the Sisters McConnell, and told us to leave my mother alone. She was grieving, he said. Once, during the evening, she called out my father's name so shrilly we all jumped in fright. He attended to her like a nervous midwife scampering to her room with hot towels and whispers. It was the beginning of whispers in the house.

Later, I heard from Garry that my mother had fallen down at the cemetery; that my father had to help her to the car. But he said a lot of people were "real broke up; crying and all". I asked him if my mother was crying. He said, "No".