Several decades ago I was in Little Italy in New York City, on Mulberry St., during the San Genaro  Festival, on a beautiful September day.  As I strolled along capturing the vibrant, fragrant street scenes, I happened upon this gentleman who was prepping some onions for the sausage and onions grill.  Immediately after I snapped the photo I stepped back and felt that I had bumped into someone.  As I turned to apologize for my clumsiness, I looked straight into eyes of a distinguished, silver-haired Italian gentlemen.  He was perfectly coiffed and wearing about a million dollar suit and was accompanied by two huge,  scary-looking guys who looked like they wanted to tear my arms off and  throw them on the grill.  I apologized for accidently bumping into him and he graciously said "no problem, I hope you are getting some good pictures."  He and his bodyguards then continued walking down the street.  As I watched them walk, and my joy of still having my arms attached to me flooded my pounding heart, I noticed that people on the stoops would rise and bow slightly as the elegant gentleman and his associates passed them.  I should add that my grandfather was a barber in Little Italy in the early 1900's.  Had things gone awry, I don't think that would have saved me.