New Policy for "YCTTBOOTB" Blog

I have changed all the names in the excepts from "You Can't Take the Bronx Out of the Boy". Future postings will continue, however, I will leave out the actual names of the people involved. Also, beginning next week an I.D. and password will be required to view the contents of this page. Finally, I have taken off the ability to "google" the contents of this blog. If you need access to this page please contact me @ KHand@ups.com.

The Connecticut Road Trip Affair - "YCTTBOOTB"

This is a continuation of the Connecticut Road Trip Affair...Names have been left out for legal purposes and to protect the innocent:...As he stood on top of the roof, looking over the ledge, he watched his brother pull around the corner onto Kimberly Place; he knew it wouldn’t be long before he found his car parked in front of CM’s building and sure enough - he did. A minute later his brother screeched around the corner, right back to the stoop were he just saw my dad - he jumped out of his van and ran to the stoop to find, catch, and kill my dad but the kids sitting there said, "Kenny just ran down the hill towards 231st street. My dad watched his brother from the safety of the building roof but couldn’t hear what he was saying but based on his gestures and his facial expression it was obvious there was a bounty placed on this head. As my dad watched his brother pull away in his van he knew there was no going home - he had to wait until his brother’s anger subsided which might take one or two…decades. When my Uncle Richie pulled away in his van my dad knew it was safe to come down from the roof to join his friends again. By now, the story of my dad, CP, MK, HT, and DK’s road trip to meet his girlfriend in Connecticut had already spread throughout the neighborhood like wildfire and so no parent was willing to provide sanctuary for my dad. Luckily for the others sanctuary wasn’t necessary; the girl’s parents never found out about the trip to Connecticut and CP and MK, although they received a verbal scolding from their mothers they weren’t punished because “At least [they] didn’t steal a car like that hoodlum Kenny Hand.”On the other hand, my dad - my poor dad - had major problems; he didn’t have clothes to wear, money to eat, a shower, a bathroom, or a place to live and since it was getting late he needed to come up with a place to live - fast! Everyone sitting on the O’Connell’s stoop tried to come up with solutions; His girlfriend said, “What about Charlie Hauben’s house – won’t he let you stay there?” My dad said, “I’m not staying there after the ‘Charlie’s Hole Affair’!” Then HT asked, “Do you have any relatives?” My dad said, “Yes, but how could I going to explain them why I need to stay at their house. Plus, none of them live nearby.” Then it hit my dad and a smirk came on his face, “Hey, what about the O’Connell’s cellar?” Mr. and Mrs. O’Connell were the Supers of the building directly across the street from St. John’s Grammar School – they were both Irish immigrants who still spoke with a noticeable brogue. When my dad and his friends began hanging around Godwin Terrace they selected the “O’Connell’s Stoop” as the preferred hangout; on any given day or night after school you could find anywhere from five to thirty kids hanging out on he stoop, listening to COP’s blaring boom box music. Since the O’Connells were the Supers they had the unenviable job of chasing the kids off the stoop when they received complaints from the tenants. Early on the kids complained about being chased off the stoop and being told to turn off the radio by the O’Connells but once they got to know them the kids began to love and respect them. Mrs. O’Connell was like a second mother to the girls in the neighborhood and to my dad. She called my father “Her adopted son” and so maybe, just maybe, they could find it in their heart to let him live in one of the storage rooms in their apartment building basement?A storage room in the basement was not exactly a room at the Waldorf Astoria; it didn’t have carpeting, air conditioning, or a window; it did have cracked concrete floors and walls, sweating pipes and corroded wires running along the ceiling, cobwebs in every corner, cockroaches the size of small mice, and mice the size of small dogs. But there was one room – one room – which would be perfect to double as my dad’s bachelor pad - it was Amy O’Connell’s room. Amy and some of the other girls occasionally hung out in the room (especially in the winter months) and drank 'kins, smoked cigarettes, and listened to music. Amy and her sister Sandy were the daughters of the Mr. and Mrs. O’Connell. Amy attended school at St. John’s with my dad and they were good friends; Sandy lived most of her life in Ireland with relatives but she came back during her teenage years to live with her parents and Amy. Her room was furnished in the finest 1970’s clubhouse décor; it had a recliner, roll away bed, TV, fan, and a record player. If Mr. and Mrs. O’Connell were kind enough to allow him to stay in the basement maybe they would also let him use their shower in the morning. If they gave him the ok, he would be set; he’d have a shower, bathroom, a place to live and money – wait, where would he get money? You can’t live in a bachelor pad, aka “The Love Shack”, without the green stuff and so my dad came up with a scam to supplement his grocery store clerk income – “The Packaged Meat Scam”.The following “Packaged Meat Scam” never took place but if it did this is how it would have happened…thanks OJ...The “Packaged Meat Scam” took place while my dad worked as a cashier in one of the local grocery stores. In the 1970’s cashiers didn’t use these automated scanners they use now – no, cashiers were skilled individuals who picked up the product, read the price tag, key entered the department code, e.g., deli, meat, dairy, etc, and then entered the price of the item. Speed and accuracy were critical to move people through the long grocery store lines quickly. Accuracy was very important, however, since speed was important and it was a manual process - key entry errors were common. Because of key entry errors the shoppers (usually women) kept an eagle eye on the amount the cashier “rang up” to make sure they were not over charged. When a cashier inadvertently rang up an item for more than its actual price the customer very quickly pointed out the error, “Oh, excuse me young man - you overcharged me for that item. It says $1.09 and you charged me $1.19!” Yes, errors were sometimes made in the customer’s favor (saving them money), however, human nature being what it is; these errors were not pointed out with the same frequency and fervor. Knowing this human frailty, my father came up with a scam which used it to his advantage.How did this scam work (If it did actually happen)? To understand how the scam worked it’s important to understand customers purchased large, expensive cuts of meat from the “Meat Department” – sometimes these cuts of meat cost $20, $30, or $40. When a customer came into my dad’s line with groceries along with one of these expensive cuts of meat - the scam was about to begin. Now remember, people watched the prices they were charged with eagle eyes to make sure they were not overcharged – especially for the expensive cuts of meat! The scam began when my dad rang up the first item (ching, ching, cha-ching), then he pushed the item passed himself into the bagging area, then he grabbed the next item (ching, ching, cha-ching), and again, and again, and again – until he came to the expensive piece of meat. When he grabbed the expensive meat there was no ching, ching, cha-ching; he just pushed it passed himself into the bagging area – apparently forgetting to charge the woman for the expensive piece of meat. Out of the corner of my dad’s eyes he could see the woman look at the piece of meat, then at the cash register, then back at the piece of meat, and then back to the cash register. He could almost hear the woman’s mind, “Did he just forget to charge me for the meat? Am I about to save myself $30? Is he going to realize that he didn’t charge me? Should I tell him?” Without exception the woman NEVER pointed out the “mistake” even though the bill was $30 less than she knew it should be. After my dad rang up “all” the items he turned to the woman and said, “That will be $1.39” or some other amount which was significantly less than it should have been. She pulled out $2.00 and paid; my dad opened up the cash register and gave her $.61 in change. Now, at this point my dad heard her mind screaming, “Yes, I am going to save $30! I know I should say something but it’s not my fault he didn’t charge me for all my groceries! I bet I have been overcharged before and so now we are even! Plus if he realizes his error I can say I didn’t realize it.” Now for the final act of the scam – when my dad turned around to bag the groceries he started putting everything in the bag until he grabbed the expensive piece of meat. When he grabbed it, he held it up, looked at it, put a quizzical look on his face, and said to the woman, “I don’t remember charging you for anything that cost $30.” Invariably she said, “Really? I was wondering why it was so inexpensive.” Then my dad said, “That will be $30.” She handed him the money, he put it in his drawer (without ringing it up), she left without asking for a receipt because she was embarrassed, and my dad put the $30 in his pocket when he counted out his drawer at the end of his shift. As a reminder, this never took place but if it did this is how my dad would have made extra money when he was fifteen, living in a bachelor pad by himself. Now back to the Love Shack…I mean my dad's bachelor pad.He was able to be totally honest with Mrs. O’Connell and he told her the whole story about the trip to Connecticut, the accident, his brother, and the bounty on his head. Mrs. O’Connell immediately said, with her Irish brogue, “Oh, Kenny, Kenny, Kenny, I can’t believe my adopted son would do such a thing but I would do anything for you – of course you can stay with us!” This was the beginning of a strange phase in my father’s life – a fifteen year old boy living on his own. His first night on his own was sweet, it was a long tiring day but he ended it in style. He took his girlfriend to the Greek Diner on Broadway for dinner; they ordered a couple of greasy cheeseburgers, an order of large fries, and two cokes. When their food and drinks came out my dad raised his glass and said, “Here’s to great friends and to Mr. and Mrs. O’Connell.” She raised her glass and tapped my dad’s glass and said, “And here’s to hoping your brother never tracks you down because...he'll kill you!” After dinner he walked her home to DK’s apartment, said goodnight, and walked up the street to his new bachelor pad. On his way to his pad he stopped in the O’Connell’s apartment to thank them again for allowing him to live in their basement and to use their bathroom. Mrs. O’Connell let him in and my dad stayed up for about an hour talking to her about the day’s festivities; he then excused himself and went to his room. When he got to his room he unlocked the padlock, opened the door, walked in, and pulled the string to turn on the light. The only clothes he had to wear were on his back; he sat down on the bed, kicked off his shoes, pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the chair, reached up to turn off the light, and he laid down on the bed looking up at the ceiling. He decided to listen to a record to help him unwind and get to sleep; he leaned over and reached for the record player, turned it on low, and listened to his favorite Styx song as he slowly drifted off to sleep…♪Oh Mama, I’m in fear for my life from the long arm of the lawLaw man has put an end to my running and I’m so far from my home♪♪The jig is up, the news is outThey finally found me♪♪The renegade who had it madeRetrieved for a bounty♪♪Never more to go astrayThis’ll be the end today♪♪Of the wanted man…He woke up the next morning with the record still spinning, scraping back and forth on the center of the album.Two days later...His sister Patricia, who was attending St. John’s day camp, was very upset about her older brother not coming home. Apparently she heard the loud, angry conversations between her parents and her brother Richie about some terrible thing her brother Kenny did and how he wasn’t coming home. So the next day, after day camp ended, she went looking for her brother Kenny; her first stop was the O’Connell’s stoop where several of the girls were hanging out listening to music. When she walked up to them she began crying as she asked, “Have you seen my brother Kenny? If you have please tell him to come home! I miss him and I don’t want anything to happen to him!” The girls got up and one of them sat Patricia on her lap to comfort her. She continued on, “I made him this peanut butter and jelly sandwich for him to eat; I don’t want him to starve to death. Can you tell him, if he comes home, I promise never again to tell anyone about him making muscles as he looks at himself in the mirror! He’s the best brother a girl could ever have!” I’m really not sure if my Aunt Patricia really said ALL these things but I know she wanted my dad to come home.After comforting Aunt Patricia, the girls told her, “Wait here, we’ll be right back.” They walked into my dad’s Love Shack…I mean Bachelor Pad…and told my dad, “You need to come out and talk to your sister! She is outside crying because she is so worried about you! She’s so worried and loves you so much she even brought you a sandwich...she is so cute and we feel so sorry for her.” My dad was hesitant at first because he wasn’t sure what to say to her but he walked out and he saw her sitting on a window sill of a basement level apartment. He walked over to her, sat next to her, smiled, and said, “Hi Trish, how you doing?” She said, “Kenny won’t you come home? I miss you and I don’t want anything to happen to you!” My dad said to her, “Take it easy, take it easy. You don’t need to cry, I’m doing fine.” She asked him, “Why won’t you come home?” My dad said, “Well, I did something very bad. I stole Richie’s car and I took it to Connecticut with some friends of mine and to make it worse I tore up the left door of the car. Richie is very, very mad at me and I just want to wait until he’s no longer mad at me before I come home. I’m sure he’ll get over it and I’ll be able to come home soon.” “You can come home now, Richie won’t be mad, I promise!” she said. “Patricia, Patricia, Patricia, do you know how mad Richie gets when someone messes with his cars? You should have seen how mad he was when someone threw snowballs at his van – he was about to fight fifty guys on his own. Also, do you remember what happened to Karen when she keyed his car?” That's right...she's never been heard from since. Aunt Patricia said, “I’ll talk to him to make sure he doesn’t do anything to you – I promise he won’t hurt you!” My dad said, “I know, I know, but I want to give him a little more time before I come home. Don’t worry, I will be home soon and I’ll be fine.”My dad then said, “What do you have in the bag?” She reached for the bag and offered it to my dad and said, “I made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because I know you don’t have any food to eat. Here you can have it - it’s for you.” My dad smiled, reached for the bag, opened it up, pulled out the sandwich, and took two bites and said, “Mmm, Mmm, Mmm, this is the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich I have ever eaten. Did you make it yourself?” She nodded her head “yes”. He continued on, “Can you do two things for me? Since you make the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches – can you keep bringing them to me every day? Also, can you go home and bring me some clean clothes?” She wiped the tears out of her eyes and said, “Yes, sniff, sniff, sure.” He then told her, “You better get home before...”To be continued…

The Raffle Ticket Affair - "YCTTBOOTB"

Names have been left out of this story until waivers are signed...One of the worst things he did while growing up and without a doubt - the worst thing he did while coaching the St. John’s Boys Basketball Team was a money making scam he engaged in using the boys on the team. My dad is not proud of the “Raffle Ticket Affair”, and looking back on it he realizes the words people will use to describe him after reading this, are words like, “lowlife”, “derelict”, “juvenile delinquent”, or “criminal”. He told me, “Cameron, when you see or hear about a friend or family member doing things they shouldn’t - like, drinking, drugs, lying, or stealing – you need to do everything you can to stop them! Don't let them do the things I did!" Ok, now that that’s out of the way and it sounds like my dad regretted what he did...let’s get to the story.So what did my father do and what exactly is the “Raffle Ticket Affair”? Well, to fully understand the “Raffle Ticket Affair” you have to go all the way back to his second grade class at Cypress Road School and the “Fingerling Affair” – that started it all. Next, you have to move forward in time when my dad had a reputation for breaking up with girls right before their birthdays and Christmas - a reputation he didn't like and was not proud of (he thinks it's funny now but he didn't when he was a teenager). Finally, you have to know my dad was unemployed about six weeks before Christmas. [If you don't know about the Fingerling Affair or about him breaking up with his girlfriend before her birthday and Christmas keep reading the blog or buy the book] With these three things in mind – think about how he must have felt while he was dating a sweet little girl, who had already lived through several of his preemptive birthday/Christmas gift giving breakups in the past – could he do this to her again – No, he couldn't, it was unthinkable! He HAD to come up with a way to raise the money necessary to buy her a gift; and with Christmas approaching – he had to come up with it FAST! Why didn’t he “just get a job”? “Get a job”...“Get a job” you say – yea, that’s easy for you to say but it’s not always that easy! Have you ever thought, “Maybe he couldn’t find a job”, or “Maybe, just maybe, his schoolwork came first, before work” (Have I told the High School Drop Out Affair yet? No, ok - good), or “Maybe a job would interfere with his social life”? Hmmm, have you thought about these things? I didn’t think so but my father did and so he opted to raise the money the old fashioned way – he ran a scam. But, keep in mind, the scam wasn’t for him – no sir, it was for a noble purpose – it was so his girlfriend could share in the excitement of Christmas like all the other girlfriends in the neighborhood. You know, Christmas is all about giving – and that’s what my dad wanted to do, he wanted to give her a present; he didn’t want to break up with her again just two or three days before Christmas like he had done so many times in the past. So, in reality, the “Raffle Ticket Affair” wasn’t about lying, cheating, stealing, or scamming people – no - it was about the true meaning of Christmas – GIVING TO YOUR FELLOW MAN (or girlfriend in this case).So how did he raise the money for this noble deed? He utilized the resources and assets at his disposal and at the time him and a friend were coaching the St. John's 7th and 8th grade basketball team and so he had about fifteen resources and assets. On November 15, with the St. John’s Basketball Team two months into the season with loses piling up my dad called his players together for a team meeting and he made three announcements; first, he said we are going to implement a new practice schedule which will make us more competitive, second, he was going to purchase new uniforms, and third, they would have a team party at the end of the year. However, in order to raise the money necessary for the uniforms and the party, he told the players they had to sell fifteen raffles tickets each. He said, “You only have to sell fifteen raffle tickets – this will be easy. All you have to do is knock on a few doors in your apartment building or go down to the local bar and you’ll sell them all in a matter of minutes.” Prior to the meeting my dad met with a local printer, who printed raffle tickets for Kingsbridge Little League, and he ordered fifteen books of raffle tickets with fifteen raffle tickets in each book. The raffle tickets read, “St. John’s Basketball Team Raffle, Fund Raiser for New Team Uniforms, 1st Place – 12 Inch Color TV, 2nd Place – Panasonic Radio, 3rd Place – Spawlding Basketball, $1.00 Each, Raffle Drawing – January 15th.” The raffle tickets normally cost fifteen dollars to print but they were donated by the printer (well sort of) and therefore if all the tickets were sold the proceeds of the fund raiser would have been over $200.There were three differences between this fund raiser and typical fund raisers; first of all, the prizes were not donated by local businesses, secondly, the winning tickets would never be selected, and finally, there was no intention of using the proceeds from the sale of the raffles for uniforms or a team party – they would go to a far more worthy cause – the Ken Hand Christmas Fund. When the other coach of the team heard about my dad’s plan he said, “Let me get this right, you are planning on having these kids sell fake raffle tickets for you and you’re going to keep all the money!" My dad said, "You make it sound so ugly. It's actually for a very good cause - it's so a young girl can enjoy Christmas like all the other girls in the neighborhood!" He said, "You can’t be serious. Kenny, you do what you want - but keep me out of this – I don’t want any part of it.” My dad raised his eyebrows, gave a smirk, and said, “I’ll split the money with you.” The other coach turned and walked away with his arms up in the air and said, “No thanks, keep me out of it.”A week into the “Raffle Ticket Affair” - trouble began. A couple of the players, who knew my dad's reputation for being, how do I say this, less than a perfectly upstanding citizen, began questioning my dad about the raffle. One of them asked, “Kenny, who donated the tv, radio, and basketball for the raffle?” Another boy asked, “Where and when is the party going to be and what are we going to do at the party?” When my dad answered their questions they stared straight into his eyes and didn’t say anything other than, “Hmmm, interesting. So your Uncle, who works at Crazy Eddies, donated the tv and radio. Hmmm, interesting. And you’re saying we are going to have a party at Gaelic Park and there will be food, drinks, and music. Ok. Hmmm. Interesting.” It was clear to my dad that his answers were not fully satisfying their reservations and they were becoming even more skeptical. Later, some of the boys even insinuated, behind my dad’s back, that the raffle tickets were just a money making scam of my father's – CAN YOU BELIEVE THE NERVE OF THESE KIDS – AFTER ALL MY DAD DID FOR THEM! Yea, I know they hadn’t won a game but my dad made it to every practice (well most of them) and he worked hard teaching them (ok, he usually played against them in scrimmages) how to play basketball – what happened to respect? Unfortunately, these inquiring kids weren’t the end of my dad’s troubles.A few days later, before practice, as my dad and the other coach were waiting in the gym for the kids to show up to practice one of the boys from the 230th Street Projects walked in with his mother. When she got close to the coaches my dad noticed her lips were pursed together, her left eyebrow was raised, in other words she had a very annoyed look on her face as she said, “Mr. Hand, I’d like to talk to you about the raffle.” The other coach quietly slipped away because “This [was my dad’s deal, not his…]” The mother continued, “My son indicated that this raffle might not be on the up and up and so before I give you this money I wanted to talk with you face to face to ask you if it’s legit. In case you don’t know, I’m a single mother and where I live I can’t have my son walk door to door selling raffles because it’s too dangerous and I AM NOT going to send him into a bar - and so this money came right out of MY pocket and so this better not be a scam – I will be a very angry woman if it is! So tell me, why are you raising the money?” My father explained to her that he is trying to raise money to buy the kids the newest state of the art uniforms and if there’s money left over there will be a team party. She then continued, “When will the drawing take place, I would like to be there.” My dad said, “Oh, well, I am planning on having the drawing upstairs in the school auditorium.” She continued to dig further and further; my dad responded by laying it on thicker and thicker. She asked, “Where did you get the tv, radio, and basketball to raffle off?” My dad said, “I have a relative who works at Crazy Eddies and he donated the tv and radio, and I was given a basketball for my birthday that I’m donating. BAM! Take that lady!” He didn’t say the last part. She then asked, “When is the drawing?” My dad responded, “It says it right on the raffle tickets, January 15th. Keep bringing it lady – I aint afraid of you!” Again, he didn’t say this last part either. She then gave my dad a skeptical look as if to say, “You know, that I know, that you know, that I know, you are running a scam and if I catch you - you’ll regret it!” He then assured her that this was a legitimate fund raising activity (which it was – well at least the fund raising part) and he told her, “I will call you when we get closer so you can be a part of it. And by the way – you don’t want a piece of this!” Yea, you guessed it…he didn’t say this last part either.Even with all the concerns from the players and parents the money did begin pouring in – my father even found it in his heart to extend the deadline for handing in the raffle money for several kids who were late - without it adversely impacting their playing status…what a compassionate guy. The "Raffle Ticket Affair" raised a total of only $150 for the Ken Hand Christmas Fund not the intended amount because some of the kids refused "to participate in the scam". When January 15th came and went the kids on the team asked, “What happened to the raffle? I thought you were going to select the winning tickets on January 15th.” My dad said, “I’m glad you brought that up, I was actually planning on telling everyone about it after practice is over.” After practice ended, my dad brought the kids together and announced, “The new uniforms were ordered and will be available in time for next year’s season” Yea, I know, you thought the uniforms were for the current season – so did the kids – they were so disappointed. He also told them, “Because all the raffles weren’t sold there isn’t enough money for a team party but I did buy some M&M’s for everyone to share – here catch.” He continued on, “Oh, and the winner of the tv was a lady from Bailey Avenue – she loves it, some old man from 238th won the radio, and an Irish guy from The Liffy won the basketball – you wouldn’t know them…ok, practice is over, see you on Tuesday.”Although the “Raffle Ticket Affair” didn’t raise the intended cash it was enough for a gift for his girlfriend - and some extra spending money for OB's (maybe I should reverse the order because he spent a little more money at OB's than he did on the gift). When his girlfriend opened her gift she loved it so much she was speechless - a beautiful set of rhinestone embroidered oven mitts tends to do that to a woman.

The Car Hood Sleigh Riding Affair - "YCTTBOOTB"

Very rough draft of Car Hood Sleigh Riding - if you notice typo's and grammero's please point them out.Car Hood Sleigh RidingOne of the most popular winter games in Kingsbridge, especially with the teenagers, was “Car Hood Sleigh Riding”. This winter game had everything a teenager could ask for; speed, action, and above all - DANGER. Car Hood Sleigh Riding is similar in many ways to the alpine events found in the Winter Olympics like the Luge, or Two, Three, or Four Men Bobsledding - where teams raced against each other from the starting gate to the finish line. There were differences, mind you – like the equipment, the starting line, the track, the finish line, and everything else in between – alright the only thing that was similar was that it involved snow, a “sled”, and you went incredibly fast.The ingredients for successful Car Hood Sleigh Riding were snow (at least three inches), a car hood (the bigger the better), ten to twenty friends, and Ewen Park Hill. During the late 70’s and early 80’s it was easy to find snow during the winter months, car hoods were easily found in a junk yard across the street from Ewen Park (or connected to the cars parked along the street), and finding ten to twenty friends was easy – all you had to do was scream “Keg Party” in the middle 231st Street and Godwin Terrace and kids came streaming out of alleyways, building hallways, and pizza shops. Once the Car Hood Racing Team was assembled it was off to the track – a left down 231st street (maybe a stop at Sam’s for a slice), past the library, past Jack LaLanne’s, and on up to Ewen Hill…oh but wait…they needed a car hood. Car hoods were found in a junk yard across the street from Ewen Park, most times a car hood could be found lying around the junk yard but occasionally a car had to be slightly disassembled (just slightly mind you) by force to free a hood from the rest of the vehicle. Once one or more hoods were procured (a.k.a. ripped off) the kids were ready for the trek up Ewen Park Hill and – CAR HOOD SLEIGH RIDING!Before we get into Car Hood Sleigh Riding let me give you a quick overview of Ewen Park - it will help Kenny Croke’s insomnia. Ewen Park was named after John Ewen, a brigadier General in New York State’s National Guard during the Civil War. John Ewen passed his land on to his daughter, Eliza M. Ewen, after his death and after she passed away she bequeathed the land to the City of New York. In her “Last Will and Testament” she agreed to give (that’s what bequeathed means – I just wanted to sound smart) the land to the City of New York as long as the city agreed to certain conditions. She wanted the people of the Bronx to benefit from the land and so she required the following in her will; a park had to be designed on the land for use by the teenagers of Kingsbridge and Riverdale, the park could be used by these teenagers to enjoy basketball, baseball, football, Frisbee, picnics, keg parties, sun tanning, drug use, and Car Hood Sleigh Riding. Alright, maybe I added a few requirements but you get my point – she wanted the people of the Bronx to have a park to enjoy. The city agreed to her wishes and in 1935 Ewen Park was built - a truly spectacular park set between the middle class neighborhood of Kingsbridge and the upper class neighborhood of Riverdale.The city did a superb job designing the new park considering the difficulty of building a park on the side of an extremely steep hill. The focal point of the park is the steps which divide the park between the lightly wooded area on the north and the open grassy area on the south. The steps run through the middle of the park and lead from the low lands of Kingsbridge to the higher grounds of Riverdale. Monday through Friday, the steps were used by the people of Riverdale to walk to the city buses or the El train on their way to work while in the evening they used the steps to return to their safe, protected, Riverdale world. During the school year, on warm weekend nights, the steps were used by the local teenagers to hangout and party – during the summer, the steps were used EVERY night for partying. North of the steps the park is covered with trees and grass and is perfect in the summer for people trying to get away from the sizzling New York sun. Beginning at the bottom of the hill is a cobblestone walkway which meanders through the north side of the park under enormous oak trees past “The Rock” on the left, up to the basketball courts on the right, and ultimately to the Johnson Avenue steps. The Johnson Avenue steps were protected by the Johnson Avenue Crew; the meanest, nastiest cast of characters the neighborhood had ever seen. To be a part of their group there were several requirements; first, you needed tattoos all over your body, second, you had to have a pony tail which reached to your waist, also, dealing drugs and heavy drug use was a must, and finally, you had to have murdered at least one person in your lifetime. It was possible to get around the murder requirement as long as you had a couple of assault and battery charges with at least six months of jail time. Other than the tattoos, long hair, drugs, and murder – my dad told me these guys were willing to do anything for a person - especially if you needed someone killed or maimed. “The Rock” was located in the middle of the north section of the park, surrounded by trees and off the beaten path – perfect for large groups of teenagers to hangout, listen to music, and party. On the south side of the park was the most amazing hill you could ever imagine; in the summer it was perfect for sun bathers (babes, babes, and more babes) working on their tan BUT in the winter this beautiful piece of land, when combined with three or four inches of snow, was transformed into the ultimate winter wonderland and the perfect hill for Car Hood Sleigh Riding!Back to Car Hood Sleigh Riding...My dad told me, “Carrying a car hood to the top of Ewen Hill was hard work but it was well worth the effort especially if you liked speed, action, and most importantly danger!” On the first run of the night, my dad and his friends usually started out fairly conservative; they took the car hood only halfway up the hill but by the end of the night the starting gate was the Johnson Avenue sidewalk – the highest point on the hill. My dad said, “Riding down the hill was awesome! We started in the same way a Bobsled team starts in the Olympics. Some people were responsible for “steering” while the others were responsible for “pushing” to get the Sleigh Riding Team started. We usually started with about five guys sitting on the hood and five guys standing behind them ready to push to get them started. When the bell rang, the “pushers” ran and pushed and pushed and pushed on the “steerer’s” shoulders until they reached a high speed and then they hopped on the back of the hood - and held on for dear life! Unlike Bobsled racing where the spectators watched the event – in Car Hood Sleigh Riding the spectators actually jumped on the hood as it barreled down the hill. The ten racers who began in a neat, organized formation at the top of the hill invariably had two, three, four, or more “Car Hood Sleigh Rider Wannabees” jump on halfway down the hill making it a chaotic mess. The most dangerous position to be in was in the middle of the hood underneath the “Wannabees” who jumped on - because it made it difficult to jump off the hood – and jumping off the hood was critical if you cared about your life! You had to jump off before you reached the drop off point at the bottom of the hill; if you didn’t jump off before the drop off point you were sure to smash into one of the city benches or parked cars at ramming speed! I’m not saying that you couldn’t survive a collision with a concrete bench or a parked car but it wouldn’t be easy and it was more likely you would walk or crawl away with a few broken bones.” I almost forgot – you’re probably wondering why the end of the run was so dangerous. If you’ve never seen Ewen Hill you probably won’t understand but for those of you who have participated in Car Hood Sleigh Riding or sleigh riding in general you know the landing area at the bottom on the hill was only about fifteen feet long – too short for a heavy car hood traveling upwards of 50 miles per hour to come to a complete stop. To put it in perspective - trying to stop a car hood on such a small landing area is the equivalent of trying to land a Boeing 747 on your driveway. In other words, my dad and his friends used the benches and the cars to stop their sled which was fine but if they were on it when it hit the bench or car it would have been a disaster. There were some bumps, bruises, and bloody noses that resulted from Car Hood Sleigh Riding but the greatest pain was felt by the unfortunate owners of the cars that happened to have parked their cars at the bottom on the hill – my dad often wonders what these people must have thought when they walked to their cars the next morning which looked like they had gone through Demolition Derby during the night before…Car Hood Sleigh Riding lasted anywhere from two hours to all night long depending on several variables, including but not limited to the following:· Broken bones and bloody noses.· Frost bite on the feet of the competitors wearing their Chuck Taylor High Tops.· Cops putting an end to the sleigh riding because of all the damaged cars at the bottom of the hill.· It was time for OB.

The Skitching Affair - "YCTTBOOTB"

Skitching was a game my dad and his friends played immediately after a heavy snow. In fact, it could only be played when the streets were covered with snow. skitching was judged based on speed, distance, and style; to win you had to go fast, far, and you had to skitch with flair. The “starting gate” for skitching was a street corner, either at a stop light or stop sign. The equipment necessary were sturdy shoes, thick gloves, a car with a protruding bumper, and an unsuspecting driver. The way the game was played was like this; when a car pulled up to a stop light or stop sign, the competitor stealthily walked behind the car, crouched down in a squat position, grabbed the bumper firmly, leaned back slightly, and then held on for dear life. As you can tell, skitching is very similar to water skiing with a few exceptions. It was similar because in both cases you are being pulled by a powerful machine, in both cases the faster and farther you go the more fun you have; on the other hand, they're different because if you lose your grip while water skiing you don’t get run over by the boat behind you. This is exactly what happened one day when my dad and a few of his friends were spending their afternoon engaged in a competitive game of skitching.This one particular snowy afternoon when school let out early my dad and his friends were hanging out on the corner of 232nd Street and Kingsbridge Avenue. One of their classmates, a boy named Wesley Otero, was hanging out with my dad and his friends that day; Weslie wasn’t one of their close friends, just someone who occasionally hung around with them when he had nothing else to do. He had never skitched before but he was interested in doing anything new and exciting. My dad explained the game to him and before he knew it Wesley was at the starting gate about to take off behind a 1974 black Nova but unfortunately for Wesley he was wearing a dark blue Parka coat which blended in with the car, in other words, you couldn’t see him very clearly behind the Nova – especially with the heavy snow comining down. Wesley started down Kingsbridge Avenue with good form; his feet were shoulder width apart, his knees were bent at a 45 degree angle, he leaned back, both arms fully extended, and most importantly he had a firm grip. The car began to drive down the hill but then another vehicle, a Sanitation Truck with a snow plow which was shoveling snow and spreading salt, pulled directly behind the Nova – apparently he didn't see Wesley. When the Nova past 233rd Street – disaster struck – the car drove over a sewer cover which was not covered with snow and Wesley’s feet came out from under him. With his feet coming to an abrupt halt and his hands still gripping the bumper he was drug behind the car for a few feet and when he let go he began tumbling down the street. The Sanitation Truck driver must have finally noticed him and he slammed on the breaks but he couldn’t stop before the snow plow ran into Wesley but luckily instead of running him over him or chopping him in half - it actually scooped him up like a clump of snow. He came away from this whole skitching experience with a few bumps, bruises, and some cuts – and his life. Wesley was never seen skitching ever again; as a matter of fact this was the last time anyone in the neighborhood participated in skitching...at least for that winter.

The George Hegman Affair - "YCTTBOOTB"

The George Hegman AffairOther than the normal sibling fights between brothers and sisters my father’s earliest recollections of brawling was between him and George Hegman. My dad is sure George is a very respectable person at this time in his life; however, when George was a young man my father says next to the word white tr$%h in the dictionary was a picture of George Hegman and his family. The Hegman’s immediate family, figuratively speaking, lived on the other side of the railroad tracks, while his extended family literally lived on the other side of the railroad tracks. George was the type of boy mothers told their kids to, “Stay away from him, he’s bad news.” Most people in his family were addicted to drinking, drugs, and smoking – about the only thing they weren't addicted to was work.To give me a better idea of the type of family the Hegmans were my father told me what they did to his pumpkin one year just a few days before Halloween. My father and his family went out to the store and purchased a pumpkin and when they got home my father, his brother Richie, and his sister Chris drew a picture of a face on the pumpkin. Since it was late they decided to cut out the eyes, nose, and mouth of the pumpkin the next day and make it an official Jack-O-Lantern. Even though the pumpkin wasn't ready for display yet they decided to leave it on the front porch that night.When my father woke up the next morning he got ready for school and when he walked out on the front porch he found out the pumpkin was gone. He ran in the house screaming, “The pumpkin is gone! The pumpkin is gone! Richie did you take it? Chris, Mom, Day, did you take it?” No one in the family took the pumpkin – the last time it was seen was when they left if on the porch the night before. It was the great, unsolved mystery until that night when the sun went down and the street lights came on – low and behold – what did they see in one of the Hegman’s upstairs windows. You guessed it – the Hegmans had a new Jack-O-Lantern which looked exactly like the face my dad's family drew on their pumpkin the night before. When my dad went to their front door to confront them, the oldest Hegman brother answered the door with his mother within listening distance; my dad asked him if the pumpkin in the window came from my dad's porch. He received a typical wt response – “No, are you accusing me of stealing your pumpkin? If you are, I’ll punch you in your mouth?” Then the door was slammed in his face. This was the type of family they were – they could steal, cheat, and lie and not feel the least bit of remorse. They liked to bully people and they stuck together like glue. George Hegman, who was the same age as my father, used to tell people if they didn’t do what he wanted them to do he would punch them in the face and this is exactly what he told my dad one day – a move George would later regret.It happened at Cypress Road School after gym when my father was waiting in line to get a drink of water. George always cut in line in front of the other kids but this day he chose to cut in front of my dad. One of the things my father does not like are bullies and so when George cut in front of him he said, “You can’t cut on me – get in the back of the line.” My dad's second grade teacher, Mrs. Ross, heard my dad tell him this she said, “George, get to the back of the line there is no cutting in line – you must wait your turn.” George turned to my father, gave him a dirty look and said, “Meet me after school - I'm going to beat you up!” He also told every other kid in school that day, “I’m going to fight Kenny Hand today after school so you better be there if you want to see me beat him up!” My dad had never had a fight outside his house before, yea he fought with his sister Chris every day, but he never fought anyone else. Everyone in school was afraid of George, and although my dad was confident he could defend himself he was still very nervous. He was nervous the whole afternoon at school and felt like he was going to throw up but he didn’t let anyone know he was nervous. It seemed like every minute one of the kids in his class came up to him and asked him, “I heard George is going to beat you up after school - are you afraid?”On the bus ride home George kept looking and pointing at my father saying, “I’m going to beat you up!” When the bus stopped at my father’s stop most of the kids got off at the bus stop ready to see the fight. When my dad got off the bus he started walking home - but that day he was walking by himself – it’s funny how even in school fights the good people don’t stick together. George ran up to my father and said, “Where do you want to get beat up?” Rocco Laverccio said, “Why don’t you fight next to the Van Tassel’s house?” The yard next to the Van Tassel house was filled with pine trees which were in a circular formation which could serve as a perfect boxing ring and it would conceal the fight from the parents in the neighborhood. The walk down Riverside Drive to the Van Tassel house felt like the Long Green Mile to my dad because he started believing he was going to be beat up. He could barely hear the kids screaming, “There’s going to be a fight, there’s going to be a fight”, because he was focused on what was about to happen to him.As soon as my dad, George, and the other kids walked into the Van Tassel’s yard the fight was ready to begin. The kids wrapped around the fighters so that no one could run away and George said, “Get ready you sissy” but little did George know that this was one of the things that got my father mad! All of a sudden my father forgot all about his nervousness and his anger took over his emotions and he yelled to George, “Let’s do this now!” My dad landed a left upper cut to George’s stomach, next came a right cross to George’s face, and then another left upper cut to his stomach. George stepped back, put his hands together in a “timeout” formation, and with a green face he said, “Timeout, timeout!” and he turned and ran outside the circle of pine trees. A few of the other kids ran behind George to find out what he was doing and they came back and said his mouth is bleeding, he is throwing up, and he doesn’t want to fight you anymore. George never bothered my father or any of the other kids in the neighborhood again…

The City Ski Jumping Affair - "YCTTBOOTB"

Rated SA for stupid actionsCity Step Ski Jumping ...After the near death experience of the Inwood Roller Hockey Affair the boys moved onto a slightly less dangerous winter sport - City Step Ski Jumping. This was a sport my dad, CP, and Pat O’Meara invented one day after walking home from Charlie Hauben’s house. To understand City Step Ski Jumping you need to remember Kingsbridge is built on several hills and is surrounded on the East and West by towering hills leading up to Riverdale on the one side and Sedgwick Avenue on the other. Because of these hills, the city planners built “city steps” to make it easier to walk from the lower points to the higher points in the neighborhood. Some of the best known “City steps” were the ones which connected 231st street to Naples Terrace, there were steps which led from Broadway to Naples Terrace, another one joined Bailey Avenue to Fort Independence, and there was one which connected Kingsbridge Terrace to Sedgwick Avenue leading up to Our Lady of Angels (OLA). All the steps were designed the same way; they all had 10 steps then a landing (a flat area to allow the old ladies to catch their breath), then another 10 steps and a landing, another 10 steps and a landing – you get my point. On both sides of the steps were railings to hold onto and just past the railings were decorative bricks (usually covered with graffiti) which followed the same contour as the steps but instead of rough, choppy steps the bricks were laid out in a smooth, connected way – perfect for City Step Ski Jumping.
CP, Pat, and my dad invented the sport one afternoon after working out at Charlie’s apartment. As they trudged up the steep hills to Sedgwick Avenue it was cold and there were a few flurries coming down but no accumulation, however, over the next three hours, while the boys were pumping iron, the city was blanketed with snow. When they left the apartment at 3:00 p.m. wearing their Chuck Conner high tops there was about four or five inches of snow on the ground and so they did what boys do in the snow - they threw snowballs at stop signs, at street lights, and at cars driving by. When they walked down the street, which led to the city steps, it was beautiful – the white snow covered the poop, there wasn’t any yellow snow yet, and when you looked up - the snow flakes glistened in the city lights. The city steps were covered with untouched, virgin snow and as the boys stood there at the top of the steps looking down - an idea popped up in my dad’s mind. He said, “Let’s slide down the side of the steps. Look at it – it’s perfect!” Pat said, “Yea, that would be cool. Let’s do it, but not from the top. We need to find out how fast we’ll go.” This sounded reasonable and so they walked down a few flights of steps and started about a third of the way up the steps. All three of the boys slid down, and they went fast but not too fast – pretty good but not good enough. Pat said, “Let’s try it from one more flight up.” CP stood there for a moment without saying a word, my dad could see he was calculating something in his head. Then CP said, “Based on friction, aerodynamics, wind velocity, and the law of thermodynamics my calculations indicate we will slide fast but it will be safe if we start from the top of the steps." SIX FLIGHTS UP!Going down from the top sounded a little crazy to my dad and Pat but they said, “Yea, that would be great.” Because they didn’t want to sound like wimps but they had their doubts. My dad said, “I don’t want to walk all the way back up the steps and I need to get home for something to eat – let’s come back and do it tomorrow!” CP said, “If you don’t want to do it that’s fine but I’m going to do it. It will only take a minute, just wait.” So Pat and my dad waited for him. CP walked up the steps and when he got to the top he hopped over the railing, laid down on his bottom, he pushed himself over the first hump, and starting sliding. Immediately it was apparent CP’s calculation was off – he didn’t take into consideration the exponential increase in his velocity as he went from one slope to the next. By the time he slid down the third slope he was flying – both literally and figuratively. He was going so fast his body went airborne off every slope – each slope was like a ski jump but unfortunately he didn’t have any protective gear on. My dad told me, “When I watched him sliding down the hill, flying in the air, I thought for sure he was going to crack his head open, die, or both.” CP tried to slow down but he couldn’t – he turned over to try and grab onto something – anything - but there was nothing to hold onto – all his turning over did was to cause his face to smash against the snow covered bricks as he slid and flew down the hill. He flew off the last flight and was stopped abruptly by the railing at the bottom of the hill - he should have had broken bones, blood gushing all over the place but instead all he had were a lot of bumps, bruises, some scrapes, and maybe a few little squirts of urine in his tighty whity's. When he got up he was dazed and in pain but he was able to walk home. My dad told me, “CP was the only person I know who could walk away from something like that. He was the toughest guy I grew up with. He was a unique guy; he seemed to be invincible in everything he did – it was like he had a Guardian Angel looking over him.” In future City Step Ski Jumping events the boys kept it to two, three, or four slopes – never the six slopes CP skied down that day...