The new Scorsese picture, The Irishman, is coming next week.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WHXxVmeGQUc

Real New Yorkers cannot wait for the film to open. It stars Bobby D. and Al Pacino and, helmed by Scorsese, is expected to be a career highlight for the three of them, as well as for Joe Pesci, Bobby Cannavale, and Ray Romano.

On days like today, I feel like Pacino as the aging Don Corleone. It’s autumn, and I imagine sitting in a backyard chair, as he did. Wind-swept leaves cartwheel as he recalls life-episodes long gone.

And I remember one raucous Passover fete at my BIL’s house. Except for him, who hails from Baltimore, we all have family roots in The Bronx. There are many empty bottles of red wine on the table. The talk turns to favorite movies and actors and Pacino’s name came up. I love Pacino, and have since Panic in Needle Park. I remember my AP English teacher at Clinton, Gail Simon, had the Playbill cover from “The Indian Wants the Bronx” — which showed Pacino in the starring role — taped over the blackboard. How proud I felt that “one of ours” made it big.

As we all shouted out our favorite Pacino roles, my wife’s cousin Ellie, who grew up around East 174th Street, near where my granny used to live, off Vyse Avenue, cut everyone off.

“Ya know, I went to school with him,” she said.

Yeah right, was the cleaned-up version of what we pelted her with. Sure, Ellie knew Pacino. Yeah, when pigs fly.

“No really. We went to school together. Herman RIdder Junior High. Only back then, he was Sonny Pacino. He was raised up by his grandparents. He was in school plays and I was in a play with him.”

Sure.

“I’ll prove it,” she said. “I’m gonna mail you something and then you’ll believe me.” Remember that this pre-dates email, jpegs, smart phones, and the Interwebs. We actually used snail mail back then.

Fast forward a week. The mail comes, with one letter from cousin Ellie. My wife opens it. “Commear, right now!” she screams. “You gotta see this!”

In her hands is a black and white photo with scalloped edges, of the type taken back when most folks used those old Kodak box cameras. It’s a picture of a school stage, crowded with kids. There, front and center, is a young Ellie and a brash looking kid in a white tee-shirt with a full head of dark hair. We peer closer.

It’s friggin’ fourteen-year old Sonny Pacino, starring in some school play.

Man, I wish I had that photo now. It didn’t survive our many moves, from Chelsea, to Queens, to Brooklyn, and back to the Bronx. But it survives up here, in my noggin.

November 1, I’ll see him again, in The Irishman.

Friggin Pacino, man! ATTICA!!! ATTICA!!!!!

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