Readers Report
"You had to be there," that's what I usually tell people when I attempt to explain what it was like growing up in Brooklyn. No matter what I say or how I say it, my stories have no substance unless you were a Brooklynite growing up in the 40'and 50s . . . and from reviewing the other touching memories listed within "My Brooklyn" many others feel the same way as I do.
Like pollen we've scattered to all corners of the earth but no matter where we landed, we carried a part of Brooklyn in our hearts and minds. We share these nostalgic memories with those we love trying to give them a sense of a community of immigrants who during and after the worlds most horrific, unimaginable slaughter in human history lived together, laughed together, played together, danced and sang together, and loved one another. I wish there were more Brooklynites, possibly the world would be a better place to live in. I wish all my fellow Brooklynites what my mother always said, "May you live as long as you want and never want as long as you live."
2 February 1999
What a treat to discover this site! What is it about Brooklyn? It never leaves you, no matter where you go!
My Brooklyn was East 25th Street between Clarendon Road and Avenue D, from 1954-1972. I lived in a brownstone house surrounded by tall beautiful leafy trees. As do all good Brooklynites, I remember the food: a slice of pizza and a coke for a quarter at Angelo's on Flatbush Avenue (he was a great guy), Blackout cake and old fashioned layer from Ebinger's bakery, ice cream sundaes at Fulton's, and jelly apples, rootbeer in frosted mugs, frozen Milky Ways, and penny candy from the local corner stores. There were games of stoop ball with our "Spaldeens"—a fresh one was always so satisfying. Skating on those annoying metal skates with the skate keys, playing hopscotch with a rock using the pavement squares, and dancing to the Supremes on our transistor radios on hot summer nights. Fireflies. The Blackout. Brighton Beach. Ring a leevio (or Co-Co Colevio). The public library on Nostrand Avenue on a rainy afternoon with my mother, and a delicious strawberry malted afterwards. So many memories—thank you everyone, for providing me with more.
2 February 1999
I am Roger Maris; it is 1961 and I smell the pavement on Clara Street in Boro Park. My Dad is still depressed about the Dodgers leaving; the Yanks are the only team on tv & radio. Somebody's Emerson portable is blasting out Red Barber, Mel Allen & Phil Rizzuto as we play stickball, calling "Time" when a car comes by. Hit the Spaldeen onto the roof? Pay up: 25 cents chips on the ball.
Maris, then Mantle belt one. I, then Mike belt one, too, touch the sewer cover (2nd base) as I go into my home run trot. "Showoff," they shout. No stickball team at Bishop Ford High School, but a neighborhood filled with kids to play with. We learned how to get along; no adults imposing "little league" rules. I hit hundreds of homers each summer, and learned how to talk, negotiate, argue, swear, and be fair to others, avoiding the dreaded penalty of not being chosen in.
How I miss Brooklyn. I see it; I smell it.
3 February 1999
[ Jump to My Brooklyn, page 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368]
Return
to Brooklyn Home Page.