My Brooklyn (263)

Joe Stanaitis

I was born in Greenpoint Hospital in 1936. My folks lived on Richardson Street. In my Brooklyn, you could skate from Scholes Street to the Penny Bridge in LIC when you were six years old. You weren't afraid to use the public baths on Montrose or Meserole Avenues.

Charlotte Russes and large pretzels cost less than a nickel by the Rainbow Theater on Graham Avenue. It cost about eleven cents to see a double feature and a dozen cartoons. On the hotest summer days, you could take a trolley to Ebbets Field which was a long ride. We swam in the East River just below where Domino sugar and Griffin shoe polish plants were, ducking the various organic and inorganic flotsam and jetsam following the tides. I remember the cops at the precinct house on Driggs Ave. near Metropolitan teaching a bunch of us how to box and taking us on trips to Long Island parks. And so much more. So many memories, the fish fry store on Leonard St., Tafuros pizza on Grand St., the Italian social clubs and Polish and Lithuanian clubs, block parties and wow, the end of WWII with people in the streets going nuts.

My family moved a lot, before and after the family split. The story was, we moved each time the rent came due or the landlord said he was tired of waiting for the rent. I could go on, hope I haven't worn out my welcome.

2 June 2000

Joe Stanaitis continues . . .

Arlene Abrams-Macellaro

My father was Georgie Abrams—middleweight boxer in he 40s and 50s. He spent a lot of time in Brooklyn and had many friends and acquaintances. He has since passed away, as has most of the family. Anyone remember him or stories about his boxing career? (He was inducted into the World Boxing Hall of Fame in 1996.)

4 June 2000

Joe Stanaitis

It's taken me a few hours, but I've read them all. . . . It is amazing, all this legitimate writing talent from one little piece of Gods' own patch of earth in New York. I did breeze through some of them, but I saw in all of them a common thread of affection for a world killed long ago by theþadvancement of technology. And that is what I think we all miss, the people we knew, walked with, brushed by, cursed and fought with. We remember the smell of sweat after the games, the scent of the salt air from the ocean, the creeks . We didn't need no stinken personal ads in the local papers or chat rooms on the net to find some one to love, argue with or mourn. We were surrounded by every race, creed and religion, live and in Technicolor. We had cuisine from the four corners of the world, warm bagels and the Sunday daily noos on Saturday night. We had more movies than New York City, better cheesecake than Lindy's, finer steaks and fresher seafood. The quality of our beaches topped all others . We were our own world. There was no pc. We could call anyone anything we wanted to and in the many one on one fights that followed we learned the true meaning of respect and a kind of we against them brotherhood. Brooklyn against the woild. In the words of Bob Hope, another example of what was special about America. Thanks for the memories.

5 June 2000