Ronnie Dell’Aquila

I grew up in Dyker Heights, Benson Heights, whatever you want to call it on 13th Avenue? I came from an Italian family where nobody had tattoos and tattoos were never mentioned, period. Anytime I ever saw one, it caught my interest more than anything else. Anytime I see anybody that had any bluish thing on their arm, 6, 7 years old, I was like what is that?

Back in ’59 when the news flashed the thing on about Coney Island and hepatitis and whatnot, I was over at my grandmother’s house, and my uncle was there. New York was talking about a ban on tattoo shops. All of a sudden, my uncle went, I don’t want to watch this shit. Ever since that happened it clicked with me, and I wanted to know what this was about even more.

As I grew a little older, every time I saw somebody in the neighborhood with a tattoo, like guys that came out of the service, or neighborhood tough guys, who had a tattoo - I’d ask “Who did you get that from?” At the tender age of 9 years old, I tattooed myself with a pin and needle on my leg. I heard from older guys like how to wrap the thread around the needle and how to pluck it in your skin. So I put it on my leg, I figured, I don’t want nobody to see it.

Then not too much after that, I found out that Coney Island Freddy did tattoos, and I was only like probably like 13 and a half maybe 14. I got his number from somebody that came by the ice cream parlor, where we all hung around and I got his number. I had a phoney ID... At that time, everybody had a phoney IDs. I got in the car and I was with another guy. It was a Sunday sometime in October. It was raining, damp. I went there and he said, 18? I went, “Yeah”. I showed him a birth certificate or some crap that I made or something. He went “Alright.”

He had a big room and house in Seagate. He lived there with his wife and his mother in law, and he had a son, Freddy Jr. That was his first shop. He had a real thing going. Back then, a name was $5 and to get what they call sparrows today, which we called blue birds back then, was $10. I had $10 on me because I worked a job after school in a restaurant, so I said to the guy that was with me, you want to get a name? We’ll get a name each. He went, “Oh, I could never go home with a tattoo.” The guy was two years older than me and he’s shitting himself. So I said, “Give me the blue bird.” He was not a very sociable type of person back then, let’s just say. He had a way about him, where you didn’t get to ask questions, it was just like “Sit down and get tattooed and get the fuck out” more or less. I thought ok, I can respect that. I started getting woozy. I put my head down, and then I came up and we wound up finishing the tattoo. That was first one I got. Nobody knew I had it and then when I was 14, I wound up getting one from a tattooer Billy Nyffler in the neighborhood—a panther.

Then like my interest grew, and friends started getting them, and then I’d go over there if I wasn't doing nothing, just watch him tattoo. Asking like “Why are you doing this? ” and just hanging. Just to be amongst that. Then for me, it was mostly girls, cars, and tattoos. It was like at 14, 15, that’s all I cared about. School, I went to a point, but it never fucking interested me so I knew it wasn't long before I wasn't going to be in school, which it wasn't. I’d go in one door and I’d run out the other door.

I didn’t do anything with tattooing until like ’68, I did a half a tattoo on a friend of mine. It was a little Jonesy flower, and I just thought of doing a couple of lines. Then around 70-71, I was a little older. I was already married. I was married at 17. I went to the draft with a wife and a baby in my arms during the Vietnam War. Not that I didn’t want to go, but that was my situation. I was marked 3A so they didn’t take me. From that, I had an old lady that stood behind me until this day, we’ll be married 44 years in November. At the time, to get a supplier’s address, you had a better chance of meeting the pope. It wasn't going to happen. You needed an introduction or somebody to say whatever for you. But Zeiss was alive at that time out in Rockford, Illinois. And I got his number through Billy, got the catalogue, and then in ’72, I wrote him a letter trying to get used equipment because I didn’t have that much money. I was out of work at that time. My wife wrote him the thing. He sold me some new shit and that’s how I got started not knowing what I was doing at all.

In ’73, after tattooing for a year, the first guy that I ever put a tattoo on, I saw had this really crisp, clean, boxer boy with Clouds with Brooklyn written underneath it. I said, “Where did you get that?” He said this guy Tony Polito on Leppards Avenue. There wasn't even a phone number. Everybody back then was doing some really scarred stuff. It wasn't velvety or silky shit. Tony the Pirate out in Jersey in Union Beach, he was doing sweet work. He came from the old school of Crazy Eddie and Chance and all of those guys, but he always did a nice, neat, clean tattoo, but there wasn’t that many out there.

We wound up going down to Tony’s, and the first night and I wound up getting two tattoos. When I went there, I brought a stencil for one of them that says “Emily and Ronnie” in it. He says “Why do you got a stencil?” I went, “I tattoo,” and he said, “Oh, yeah, who are you?” I said I’m Ronnie and this is Billy. The place is full with people, and he goes “You’re the guy that’s carving up all of these guys. You’re not working on wood.” He embarrassed the shit out of us. He made me feel this big. That was part of my introduction to what it was or what it ain’t. But also in the same respect, he took a liking to the both of us and he got us on the right path, telling us what machine he’s using. That’s junk, this and that. He introduced us and gave us Spaulding’s number, then I made a trip and got machines.

Then he helped me with colors, and he made me needles at times. I used to work a regular job during the day, and I used to go there at night and stayed there until 2’o clock in the morning, and then get up and go to work delivering furniture. I would just to try and soak up as much as I could, and then at one point, someone came in and wanted something and I would assist him from time to time, but this time he says “Tattoo them.” I go, “Yeah, but I’m not as...” He goes “Do you want to be a tattooer or what?

From that point on, I just stayed motivated, and I kept visiting him. I’d sit in a chair and keep my mouth shut. He’d be tattooing. His work was nice and clean and sweet, it looked like magic marker. Then at night after we’re done, we’d go to the diner. We eat and we talk and this and that. He was a bachelor at that time. Almost before I left Brooklyn, I started getting where my tattoos were pretty similar to his. A customer would come in and he’d say “When did I put that bird on your chest?” The guy went, “You didn’t. Ronnie did.”

Then he’d say “Oh sure, I gave him green ink, and I gave him needles.” I didn’t give a shit. To this day, I don’t care. But you know, he was still helping me. He’d say, “see that guy, he’s a hard on.” He knew who’s serious and who wasn't. Then on Sunday’s he’d come by the house and bring pastries sometimes. We’d have coffee and bullshit about whatever.