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Ocean’s Heritage, Fall 2018
Rosemary Calabretta is an Oakhurst resident, Museum member, and the author of four books (including Three Brown-Eyed Girls and Vinnie: Bartender to the Mob). A fifth is currently in progress. Here she remembers her colorful, courageous “nonny.”
I Remember . . .
My grandmother, the bootlegger
M
ary Rinaldi was married off at age twelve to a man of twenty-nine. Her first child was born a year later and three more soon followed. In time, she discovered that her husband had brought a woman over from Italy who spoke no English and lived only a few blocks away. Mary was not interested in “sharing.” She took the children and moved from New York to Newark, NJ. Mary was my grandmother. I called her Nonny.
Nonny finds her niche Nonny didn’t make much sewing doll clothes at the factory, but her ‘bathtub gin’ and the wine she made from the grapes she grew were the finest around. Nonny had found her niche. She bought a small house in Belleville. The timing was perfect. Prohibition was in full bloom! Speakeasies popped up. Liquor was needed. Clients lined up, some questionable, but all ready to pay well for her wares.
Case dismissed
Nonny approached the bench. “Judge, I am a good Catholic woman. I need to tell you, I lied. I did push Antonio into the grave.” Holding her head high, she walked away. Nothing could be done. Nonny was back in business!
Richie the Boot One day while on her delivery route (uncharacteristically without her children), she came upon three men, one lying wounded on the ground. The two men standing drew guns as she got out of her car, but they didn’t interfere when she examined the wounded man. “Put him in my car and follow me.” Nonny ordered. She knew they would, for the man had been shot and didn’t dare go to a hospital. The bullet had exited cleanly and she nursed him back to health. Nonny later learned that the man she had saved was the infamous Richie the Boot! Word of her bravery spread. Bootlegger Mary Rinaldi was proclaimed ‘okay’ by the underworld.
I grew up hearing the story of the time NonA different time ny stopped supplying a customer when she learned he was reselling her goods at a prof- Mary Rinaldi with one of four spe- Nonny stored her wine and alcohol on a remote it. He threatened to turn her into the police. cial-needs foster children she raised farm in Waldwick. A man the family called ‘UnShe arranged to meet him in a local cem- after her own children had grown. cle Frank’ had cows and goats on this land. Here Mary picked up the booze to deliver to Newetery—to settle the problem. They argued. ark. In the summer, she took the children in her She calmly pushed him into a nearby open grave and left. old Pontiac “down to the shore” where she distributed to He was livid and took Nonny to court. When the judge speakeasies from Long Branch (where they vacationed with heard the story, he looked down, raised his eyebrows, and relatives) to Atlantic City. smiled at my grandmother, who stood maybe five feet tall. He Today my Nonny would be in jail —bootlegging, child turned to her accuser. endangerment, aiding and abetting a known criminal, and “Do you expect me to believe that this woman was strong whatever pushing someone in a grave would be called! But enough to push you into an open grave?” she was a woman of her time—with courage, determina“Yes sir, Your Honor.” tion, and compassion that continue to inspire today. “Well, I don’t!” He exclaimed, and with a slam of his gavel, he declared, “Case dismissed!”
Rosemary Calabretta
