They call me the working man

My Grandpa once faced down the Mafia. It was a long time ago in the 50's a time when America was a different place. Cigarette smoke, Elivs, Rock 'n roll, and so forth. Anyhow as I heard the story he was parked somewhere in Brooklyn. And a Woman on the street and a shawl told him 'They don't like it when you park there.' And shortly afterward a man came out walking towards him. I remember hearing that he left after because he had his kids in the car but the story always held an interest to me. An average citizen with nothing to do with Organized Crime suddenly being thrust into its world.