Lucky number

Friends, employees and fellow gamblers all crowded into a corner of the Turf Club on Tuesday, hoping to catch a few snippets of Carmine Martino’s conversation.

Martino, who has been a daily fixture at the club for the past 10 years, was reflecting on his life — all 100 years of it.

On Monday, the Turf Club, Seventh Street and Packer Avenue, will hold a celebration in honor of Martino’s milestone birthday, although the man himself already is thinking about next year.

"I hope I have another year in front of me. I feel like I can do the same things now that I could do 10 years ago," he says.

Indeed, according to those closest to him, Martino has shown few signs of aging.

"He’s the same exact way he was when we were younger," Charles Martino, 70, says of his father. "Most of the time, I’m the one who needs a break. He wears me out."

While his insistence on daily gambling might occasionally wear out his son, Martino certainly hasn’t worn out his welcome at the Turf Club, where many of the patrons and employees consider the kind-hearted jokester part of their extended family.

"Everyone in here loves him. He’s the first person we look for each day," says office manager Florence Carire. "He’s such a sweet, sweet man."

Martino’s easygoing manner is a sharp contrast to his rough childhood.

Born in Manhattan in 1904, Martino was raised by his grandparents after both of his parents died at early ages — his mother during childbirth and his father just a few years later.

When he was 18 months old, Martino’s family moved from New York to South Philly, settling around Ninth and Annin streets.

He and his siblings, Sam and Mary, each suffered through the influenza epidemic in 1912 that claimed thousands of lives in the city.

None of the kids knew what it was like to grow up with indoor plumbing, heating or air conditioning.

"I used to let my brother warm up the bed before I got in every night," Martino recalls with a smile, "but I still froze every time I went outside to use the bathroom."

After graduating from James E. Wilson High School in 1917, he went through several career changes, including turns as a shoe-shiner, a funeral car driver and a construction worker.

Martino married his wife, Angelina, in 1924, and the couple went on to have two daughters, Antoinette, now 74, and Joan, 72, before Charles was born in 1934.

"I never hit any of my kids when they were growing up. My wife handled that," Martino jokes. "I wouldn’t mind whacking them now, though."

Martino received a surprise about his own childhood during World War II, when an attempt to land a job at the Navy Yard led to the revelation that he had lived with the wrong name for four decades.

"Growing up, my grandparents used to call me Charlie, so I thought that was my name. I got married with that name, and I gave it to my son, too," Martino explains. "But when I went for the Navy Yard job, they asked for my birth certificate. The people in New York told me they had no record of ‘Charlie Martino’ — only Carmine!"

With his identity crisis behind him, Martino eventually moved on to working as a bartender in Center City before embracing retirement at age 65.

Since then, the resident of 22nd and Jackson streets has kept himself — and many others — busy with his daily shenanigans.

"He likes going to Atlantic City a lot, but since the Turf Club opened up, this has been his favorite place," says Charles.

Martino enjoys flirting with the female employees at the club while continuing his never-ending search for a winning horse.

"Carmine picks good horses. He just picks the wrong tracks," quips Francine Phelps, one of Martino’s many female targets. "The guy’s a riot. And yes, he always hits on us."

Martino contends it’s the women who chase him.

"They’re all after me. I’m scheduled for a game of strip poker with one of them on my birthday," he cracks.

Joking aside, Charles credits the folks at the Turf Club for contributing to his father’s longevity.

"They’re all great to him," he says. "There’s a lot of times where he comes here during the day with me, goes home for dinner and then comes back again at night, just to be around them all."

The extended family at the Turf Club also reached out to Martino after Angelina died in 1993 from lung cancer.

"She never smoked or drank a day in her life. It didn’t make any sense," he says with a shrug.

Martino also outlived his brother, sister and many of his family members, a fact that does not escape the 100-year-old.

"A lot has changed, and a lot of people are gone," he says. "The biggest difference to me is that everything is so fast today. Everybody is in a hurry, rushing from here to there, but none of them go anywhere."

Still, he is eagerly anticipating his birthday party Monday, as are many of his Turf Club comrades.

"I’m so excited about it, I’m taking pills just to stay calm right now," Martino laughs.

The celebration will be memorable for everyone else, too, says Billy Inforzato, one of the club patrons Martino affectionately labels "a friend and a loser."

"Carmine’s just amazing," Inforzato says. "He’s got desire and ambition unlike anyone else. And he’s the life of the party."