The George Switzer Finishing School for Wayward Boys

Or how my sons became the well-rounded, excellent men they are today.

There comes a moment in most parents lives when they have to admit that they are very lousy at their job. This is the point when, no matter what you have done, your children insist on going down what I call the “you cannot make this stuff up” path. I have sons so I don’t know what that path is when it comes to girls but for adventuresome boys it involves too many late night rambles and lamebrain activity decisions.

If you are very lucky, as we were, you enroll your sons in the George Switzer Finishing School for Wayward Boys.

George Switzer and his pasta machine.

The George Switzer Finishing School for Wayward Boys is housed in Queen Ann Ravioli, the last handmade ravioli store in Brooklyn. George is the son-in-law of Alphonso Ferreria who opened the store in 1972. Alphonso, by now somewhere north of 90, unlocks the door around 4:30 every morning and starts the espresso machine. George arrives soon after and turns on the ancient pasta machines while monitoring the staff’s arrival times. He’s a retired police officer. For much of his career he patrolled the most troubled housing projects in Brooklyn. He is a kind, genial man until you do something that crosses him. This includes being a few minutes late for your 5 a.m. shift.

My oldest son, Sam, was the first to come under George’s tutelage. He had graduated from college with a degree in psychology and straight into the recession. Unemployed for months, he felt rudderless and the alternative career choices he considered would not have helped him in the long run. A friend told him that her dad was always looking for help. The next day he went over to Queen Ann. George looked Sam over and immediately hired him to deliver frozen ravioli and fresh pasta to stores across the five boroughs and northern New Jersey.

Every morning Sam stumbled out of the house before dawn and caught a bus to a parking lot a few miles away to pick up Queen Ann’s aged van. He then drove over to the store, packed the entire back with the day’s orders and left before 7 a.m. to make his first stop. Every store required him to lug a handcart or two laden with boxes inside the store and unload them in the freezer. George insisted that once he completed this task, he was not to leave until the owner paid the bill. Sam’s over six feet tall and not a pushover but if the owner continued to balk at what he owed, he placed a call to George, handed over the phone and then watch the owner’s face contort in annoyed contrition. Sam then counted the money and headed for the next stop. Sometimes he finished his route by mid-afternoon. On Fridays and holidays it’d be close to 6 p.m. Either way, Sam got up the next day and did his job all over again.

Three years later he enlisted in the Marines. George replaced him with my youngest son, Al. Dyslexia had tanked his efforts at college. He was frustrated, depressed, lost in perilous low self-esteem. Al’s first five years with George were full-time. He went to part-time after he was unexpectedly offered a three days a week job as an office assistant at a communications agency. Six years after that, he was accepted to Fordham University. His schedule for his remaining time with George consisted of working in the mornings at the agency, Queen Ann in the afternoon, and Fordham at night. George began calling Al his driving scholar and took vast delight in challenging his academic teachings.

George shared with the boys his unparalleled ability to tell a story. He grew up in Bensonhurst, a scrappy working class neighborhood similar to the one they grew up in. He told them about his own adventures in navigating school yards and rough corners. They were spellbound by his episodes at trying to keep the peace among gang members. He knew all his customers and had stories about them, too. He’d introduce them to Sam and Al and then they would tell their own stories about George. He loved to talk about different pastas and the sauces that go with them. He gave entire history lessons on the city whenever someone asked for directions. Over their many years together, my sons learned that everything George told them was true.

(George talking to a student about Brooklyn life—it’s not the whole video but you get George’s essence.)

You have to appreciate the power of storytelling to understand the effectiveness of the George Switzer Finishing School for Wayward Boys. His accounts were life lessons. You woke up. You got knocked down. You pulled yourself together. You remembered who you were and where you came from. You stood up for yourself. You tried to be smart enough to learn what you could from everyone and everything you encountered. You respected people. If you were lucky you got to lie down in your bed at night. You lived to tell the tale.

When Sam returned from his tours in the Middle East, he used the GI Bill to earn a Master’s Degree in social work. He has worked with homeless families, troubled teenagers, and, most recently, returning Vets. Al graduated magna cum laude from Fordham in communications and writing. He was just promoted to director of communications at a non-profit that fights censorship.

Every now and then Sam or Al stop in at Queen Ann. They drink a cup of espresso with Alphonso. George comes from the back room and roars a greeting while looking them over to gauge how they’re doing. The old machines chug out the day’s supply of pasta and ravioli and the big pots of different sauces burble along on the stove. George and my sons trade stories while a young man wheels in a handcart and starts organizing boxes of ravioli for the next day’s deliveries.

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Epilogue

George has become a kind of legend in recent years with people stopping in to gush over his “authenticity.” But, as Al will tell you, he remains unfazed and old school. For years he resisted Al’s advice to build a website and accept online orders. Recently, though, he began to vaguely showcase Queen Ann on Instagram and Facebook. It’s possible to order Queen Ann’s ravioli online through the website Mercato: broccoli rabe and roasted garlic; lobster, spinach and artichoke, roasted pepper, and much much more–but you have to live in Brooklyn to receive your delivery.

Before you leave……