Sam The Clam Man

 

Sam The Clam Man

Sam Vasallo was a colorful guy who owned the place we knew, as Sam’s Clam Shack, although not because it had a sign on the building and not because it was listed in the Fulton Fish Market guide to better dining. Neither of those applied to Sam’s little stake in the world. Oh, no. It was simply a well- known tumble-down shack at the foot of Main St. next to the clammer’s dock where he bought and sold clams and held his card games in the back room. Sam was a ruddy, stereotypical New England fisherman type guy with coarse hands who smelled of fish and money. He kept that big wad in his pocket and when we kids came in to sell him clams, he whipped out more big-billed money than we had ever seen. Surely the clam business couldn’t have been that good.

Now, Chief of Police, Percy Ervin and his crew regularly pulled “surprise” visits to put the “pinch” on old Sam. It was public record. All you had to do was pick up the Northport Journal on any Thursday and you were bound to read about old Sam Vasallo.

The Northport Journal, then an actual town-events newpaper was headquartered in a small frame structure about the size of a single car garage, next door to Chief Percy Ervin’s Calaboose. I imagine that the Editor, Marion Brett just had to wait and look out the window to see who Percy's newest guests were. You might say it was cutting-edge drive through reporting!

Anyway, as a guest, Sam had a policy never to overstay his welcome. I surmise that some of those greenbacks he carried with him in his pocket spoke volumes. Soon enough, Sam was back at the Clam Shack and life returned to normal. It was a cycle that Sam seemed to accept as normal living.

The Softer Side of Sam………….
It must have been the summer of 1956 because I don’t think I had yet entered junior high. On a Saturday afternoon, I took my box of 45 RPM vinyls to my buddy’s house to spin some tunes on his Grundig Majestic which had a fabulous sound. On the way back, I spotted another friend who was down on the waterfront with his boat, so I set the box of records down on top of a garbage can (what was I thinking?) and joined him for a half-hour or so. When I returned, they had been taken and I was mortified! Oh my God, they are gone for good! I’ll never see them again!

My mother took a less emotional approach and suggested we take an ad out in the Northport Journal under “lost & found”. We did and who should call us but Sam The Clam Man. His daughter, Beatrice whom I went to school with had picked them up. Sam did the right thing and made her return them.

Since then, I’ve moved across the continent three times and they have survived the journey very well. Before my mother passed away, she told me that she couldn’t explain it, but that her books were sacred to her. I realized then that my vinyl records, many of which are originals from "Georges Books and Records", Main St., Northport, are sacred to me. They are tangible reminders of a point in time when everybody knew your name (for better or for worse).

For all of Sam's cat and mouse antics with Northport’s finest, I wonder if anyone ever considered his dedication to "the right thing" for his family, his daughter, his community and sense of conscience. Sam put a big footprint on my heart the day he called.