My Brooklyn

Sheldon (Shike) Steinman

How many eggs in an egg cream?
Bits and pieces about my life in Brownsville

How many eggs in an egg cream? Can you believe it? This is a question my sons asked me. Then it dawned on me; these kids aren't New Yorkers. They are a different breed, a new generation, weaned on television, VCRs, video games and computers. What do they know about punch ball, pottsie, or Johnny on the pony. Do they know what an aggie is? Did they ever play knock rummy or casino? Did they ever eat at the automat? No! What a shame! The generation born into this video-computerized world does not know what they have missed by being born three decades later.

Let us roll the clock back past the yuppies, punks, yippies and hippies, to a time and place that was Brownsville, Brooklyn. I am referring to the years from 1947 through 1957. Those were my golden years. To the young people of today, my stories may seem like ancient history, but to some of us it was the good old days fondly remembered.

Do you remember when "the war" ended or when Roosevelt died? Remember Bobby Thompson's home run or the Rosenberg trial? I sure remember. I also remember candy stores, kosher delicatessens and free Tuesday night dishes at the Ambassador Theater.

Much of this nostalgic information forthcoming on these pages have been derived from personal experience and is a result of my early years living in Brownsville. It is an attempt to share a sampling of my memories of long ago. Those years that I have mentioned was a time of optimism. It was also a time of conformity and Cold War paranoia. Compared to today, it was a time of much sexual repression.

As the decades have past, some of the faces and places have become vague, but I still possess enough data to take a stroll down memory lane. Throughout the years much has been written about the 50s. The cars with their huge fins, adorned with chrome, and the early sci-fi movies and TV shows, Today, many items from that era have become collectibles. They are referred to as items of recent antiquity.

Take a journey with me and let us return to a time when Roy Campanella caught a baseball in Ebbets Field and kids played ringolivio in the streets of Brownsville.

What did we do for fun during those years? TV was in its infancy. Ninety percent of all TV airtime was occupied with test patterns. There still were a few programs of note. Some that I recall were The Texaco Star Theater, starring Milton Berle, The Show of Shows with Sid Caesar. Can you remember Howdy Doody, Kukla, Fran and Ollie, Lucky Pup, Captain Video and Sky King?

Enough TV talk. How about radio! Radio where we listened Allan Freed play all those early rock and roll songs. Those songs of the 50s still is still my music. This was radio before the controversial talk shows. The spectrum of radio entertainment in those days covered the entire gamut from comedy, drama, to sports and it was all live. Radio, what a medium! You actually had to use your mind to imagine the scenes and characters of a comedy or drama. The stage was set in your mind. As a kid I can remember lying in bed and listening to some of my favorite shows, such as, Henry Aldridge, Jack Benny and Eddie Cantor.

As I think back, I remember many names and places from the old neighborhood. Growing up there was great. We were all poor but didn't know it. What I remember most of all were my friends. We had a club and we called ourselves the Saxons. There in the cellars and basements of Brownsville a unique phenomenon was born, the "social athletic club." Social? It sure was. Atheletic? About the only athletic activity that occurred within this subculture was a poker or crap game. The Saxons and similar clubs were prevalent throughout Brooklyn and were the forerunners of todayés gangs. Our "gang" began with five original members, myself being one of them. We all had nick names. I was known as Shike. (It was a slang version of my Hebrew name, which is Shiah.) The other four were Matty (Matthew Stein), Big Jay (Gerald Meyers), Lefty AKA The Wrench (Jerry Nudelman) and Scotty (Arthur Cochin). When we expanded our membership, Fat Jack (Jack Fulfrost) and Stosh (Stanley Norinsky, later changing his name to Nevins), joined our elite little group. Thus the Saxons were born.

Before the club room era we hung out in the streets. One particular location was on a large wooden milk box in front of a grocery store on the corner of Lott Ave. and Strauss St. There we all planned our strategy on how to score with girls, for that was the Saxon's prime objective. Other locations where we hung out were Arky's luncheonette, across from the Beth El Hospital, Big Jay's father's luncheonette, across the street from my house on East 98 St., and on Hopkinson Ave., where Fat Jack and my cousin Sandra lived.

"How many eggs in an egg cream?" continues . . .

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