Tufky – by Doug Greco

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When I was about 15, my mom and my two brothers moved to the middle of a triplex of row homes on 2^nd Street in Mt. Carmel.  Like many of the row homes built during the years when Mt. Carmel was a coal mining boom-town, each of these three attached homes were 12 ½ feet wide, three stories tall, plus a basement.  The two identical houses to either side were both inhabited by octogenarians.   Maggie, an old Russian woman lived on our left, and swept her front porch and sidewalk every day.   Tufky Andrulewicz, a former pro-football player, lived on our right. 

Tufky’s real name was Theodore Andrulewicz. Tufky was the nickname he must have gotten during his football years, and one story even holds its a shortened version of “tough kid”.  He played professional football with the Newark Tornadoes of the NFL in the 1930’s, and had played half-back at Villanova University before that where he started his senior year and had one receiving touchdown.   So he was a football legend in a legendary football town.  After his playing days, he became the longtime baseball coach at Mt. Carmel High School, my alma-mater.   My mom remembers him as her Drivers’ Ed teacher in High School.

By the time we had moved to 44 West 2^nd Street, he had also gotten the nickname “Pops”, given his age and avuncular personality.  So people my age and my parents age called him “Pops”, people a bit older than that called him “Tufky”, and I only know of one person, a fellow old-timer who walked by our houses a few times a week, who dared call him by his given name.  Never stopping to talk, Pop’s old comrade would simply yell into Pop’s house as he ambled by in a loud voice, “Theodoooore!!!!!”.  

The Pops we knew walked with two canes, wore dark shaded glasses with protective visors on all sides, and throughout all four seasons dressed in dark pants, layers of heavy grey or black flannel shirts, and a cap.  He was always in a friendly, if not mischievous mood.  Pops would pay us a quarter to run to Grayson’s deli to buy a pack of “Elephant Butts” chewing tobacco.  He sat on a chair on the side of his porch with a gold spittoon, which he dumped over the railing into the grass on his right side once he had filled it.   

Though we knew all three of his names, an old-timer like Tufky Andrulewicz is under no obligation to learn the names of teen punks like us.  When he wanted us, he would simply call us “Lightning”, as in “Hey Lighting: Go down to the store and get me some Elephant Butts.”

Pops’ family had written down our number in case of emergencies.  When we answered he would simply address us by the listing on his notepad: “Neighbor? 2533?” referring to the last four digits of our number.  He used it on a few occasions, including the time we heard a loud “Boom” coming from Pop’s house next door.  The walls shook, the phone rang, and my mom picked up: “Neighbor? #2533? Get the hell over here!”.  Me and my younger brother Joey ran next door.  We entered the living room finding Pops sitting on his recliner with singed eyebrows.  He stuck out his thumb and motioned over his head to the kitchen entrance behind him.  We flew back.  The gas stove door was blown open, and a black char covered it and the floor in front, the result of him trying to light it with a match.  Good thing he had our number. 

My brothers and I would always catch football or baseball in the 10 foot wide patch of grass between Pop’s house and the red-brick one story Bell Telephone switching station on the corner.  The strip ran the length of our houses and yard, about 125 feet deep, so there was plenty of room to throw for distance.   The only times Pops got mad was when we hit the side of his house with an errant pass.  After letting some curses fly, Pops would eventually cool off, and offer some sage advice: “If you want to practice football, you have to go down to the old depot, where you can go right, cut left, stop, and go!” He used the same exact words every time.   We didn’t know where the depot was, or if there even still was a depot in town, but his point was made: football was to be played on a field.  Though we kept on catching in the grass strip because our yard was too small. 

Tufky was also capable of great reverence.  On the morning of my grandfather’s funeral, Tufky saw me and my brothers leave our house wearing suits.  He stopped us and asked why we were dressed-up, so we told him where we were going.  My grandfather, though a generation younger than Tufky in his early 60’s, had been a town doctor, patriarch, and respected community leader.  A shocked Tufky responded with all sincerity, in a raspy voice: “Doc Greco’s funeral?  My God!  People are dying that never died before!”.   Me and my brothers still laugh at that story.

He owned a well-kept, bright red car that looked like the Batmobile, replete with fins and a dashboard push-start button.   Pops never drove his car.  It existed solely to be moved to the next street on street sweeper day and back again the next, mostly by me and my brothers which we were glad to do.  No one was permitted to park in the spot directly in front of his house:  the meter had been pulled out and the curb painted red.  Though given the roughness of the job it was unclear if this was done by the authorities or Pops himself.  Either way, no one contested that this was his, and only his spot. 

Pops was sharp and had a sense of humor up as long as we knew him.   Other than needing canes, the only thing that failed him was his eyesight.  One time Pops saw a car pulling into his empty parking spot and started yelling and banging his cane against the wrought iron railing of his porch: “Get the Hell out of my spot!”  It was actually me pulling his car back into his spot the morning after street sweeper day.   After I told him it was his car, he started laughing with his trademark “Hehehe!”.  He almost never stayed angry.  

Another instance where Pop’s eyesight failed him was when I was sitting on the porch and a 60 year old man walked up, said “Hey Dougie”, and then rushed over to Pops’ porch and said “Hey Tufky!”, extending his hand.   Pops took a beat, looked him in the eye, and said, irreverently, “Who the hell are you?”  It could only have been Pops, a football legend, who could say this to another living legend, Joe “Jazz” Diminick, our high school football coach.  In his mid-60’s himself, Jazz was the winningest coach in the history of Pennsylvania high school football and the 4^th winningest in the nation.   “Tufky, it’s me Jazz Diminick!”  Pops, realizing who he was talking with, gave Jazz a hearty handshake and a hearty laugh, “Hehehe!”   

The legend of Tufkey Andrulewicz’s “coming of age” involves a standoff at Philadelphia’s Franklin Field, most likely around 1927.  Franklin Field, which is today the nation’s oldest active football stadium and home of the University of Pennsylvania Quakers, had been built in 1895 and used for by an array of college and professional teams over the years.  In 1927 Tufky would have been playing Varsity football at Villanova where he started as a running back in his senior year.

Tufky and his entourage were attending a football game at Franklin Field.  Also attending a game that day, and seated about 25 or so rows in front of Tufky’s crew was heavyweight boxing champion Gene Tunney.  Tunney, who held the belt from 1926-1928, would have been the champ at the time of the encounter.  Tufky was an up-and-comer from the Coal Region wanting to make a name for himself.  Tunney was undisputedly the greatest fighter in the world, having twice successfully defended his crown against the great Jack Dempsey, including the famous “Long Count Fight”. 

At a break in the game, most likely at the end of a quarter or halftime, Tufky sensed his moment.  He stepped atop the wooden-benched bleachers, cupped his hands around his mouth, and bellowed for the side of the grandstand to hear:

“HEY TUNNEY!!!!”

The Champ, no doubt dressed in a tailored suit covering his chiseled frame, turned around slowly to see if this holler came from a fan or foe.  Tunney’s own entourage turned around as well.   The Coal Region star and Villanova football standout now had at least 1000 pairs of eyes peeled on him.  He stood toe-to-toe with the champ by barking only one more word:   

“TUFKY!!!!” he yelled, pointing to his chest with both thumbs.   As he did the crowd erupted in cheers and laughter.  Tunney realized he had met his match, smiled and waved to the younger Tufky.  The small town boy had made it to bigtime. 

That’s how a lot of stories from Mt. Carmel go.  Someone from the area, sizzling with energy, dreams, and an outsized personality, sees an opportunity to grab for something big in the world and jumps on it.  These stories get sharpened over the years, and eventually symbolize the spirit of the region.  But the person never loses sight of where they came from, just like Pops never did, telling stories on his porch on 2^nd street.