Excerpted from a memoir by Richard Guerrieri, age 85, with his daughter Cara Guerrieri
People in town called us the Spaghetti Gang,
Richard Guerrieri in his Crested Butte youth.
an apt name for a bunch of scrawny Crested Butte kids, mostly Italian, who knocked around together in the late 1930s and early ‘40s. We were a busy crew, what with playing marbles, running the streets, and in my case spending a good amount of time trying to avoid whippings, a regular feature of my nine-year-old life due to the fact I often forgot my piano lessons with Mrs. Morgan. But depending on how our day was going, a few of us would make time to grab towels and sneak into the Big Mine bathhouse for a shower. Some kids were regulars in the gang, like Jiggy, Frank, my cousin Gus, and me. Others came and went. If you wanted to join the Spaghetti Gang, all you had to do was hang around with us. There were no initiations and sure as hell no qualifications. We weren’t tough or even tough looking, nothing like gangs 105