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...

The Roller Skating Affair - "YCTTBOOTB"

When my dad told me this story I told him, "I don't believe this story." He said to me, "Would I ever lie to you?" I said, "Yes, earlier today you said you didn't toot in the car - you lied to me because I know you did - I heard it and smelled it." He said, "Well, everything in this book is accurate to the best of my memory...by the way, what did you say..." Cameron James Richard Philip Hand This is a very rough draft - if you notice typo's or grammaro's (don't check the facts) please point them out...The Inwood Roller Hockey Affair The boys were sports fanatics and at this particular time of the year roller hockey was the sport of choice. They played roller hockey whenever they had free time; before school, after school, on weekends, and on holidays. Roller Hockey wasn’t popular with all the kids in the neighborhood mainly because it was an expensive game to play. Unlike basketball which requires one basketball, sneakers, and a court to play on - hockey requires each player to have roller skates, shin guards, hockey gloves, a helmet, a stick, a puck, a net - and two goalies with goalie equipment. Goalie equipment was so expensive that my dad and his friends had to improvise; goalie pads consisted of two thick pieces of foam cut from old mattresses, tied on by belts, for a chest protector a pillow was stuffed under a hockey jersey, there was one hockey glove for one hand, a baseball glove for the other, a goalie stick, and a football helmet with a facemask that a puck couldn’t fit through.Kingsbridge didn’t have a roller hockey rink for the kids to play on; the “rink” they used was the P.S. 7 schoolyard. P.S. 7 is a large schoolyard, without a lot of broken glass or loose gravel; unfortunately the “rink” had several flaws. First of all, there were many cracks in the concrete which caused the kids to trip and fall, secondly, there was a wrought iron fence running along the east side of the “rink” and if a slap shot or pass was off line the puck often slipped through the fence and rolled, and rolled, and rolled down Kingsbridge Avenue, and finally, since the school yard was so big you were constantly chasing the puck across the schoolyard far away from the playing area. My dad told me the worst part about playing in P.S. 7 was the cracks, “It wasn’t unusual to be skating down the rink with your stick in front of you pretending you were Guy LaFleur or Phil Esposito when - BAM!!! All of a sudden your stick got caught in a crack and UUUHHHH!!!! The butt of the stick stuck in your gut or worse – in the family jewels.” P.S. 7 wasn’t the best roller skating rink but it was the only one they had; in fact, it was the only one they knew of - until one day PJ told my dad and his friends about a roller hockey rink in Inwood. The way PJ described the rink it sounded like roller rink heaven. He told them, “It’s an actual roller hockey rink, with real nets, real sideboards, a smooth surface to skate on, and it’s free! It’s located in Inwood, near Dyckman Street along the Hudson River.” It sounded too good to be true but like the Joad family in “The Grapes of Wrath” traveling to California for a better life, the boys decided to pack up their hockey equipment to move to a better roller hockey life located in this far off land called Inwood.The easiest and safest way to get to the rink was by taking the 20 or the 9 Bus from 231st to Dyckman Street, skating west to Inwood Park, and finally, skating north to the rink. Yes, this would have been the easiest way but not the most exciting and so Kenny G came up with a short cut to get there. He said, “Instead of going the “long way” by riding on the city bus, let’s take a “short cut”. We’ll save some money and we’ll have some fun along the way.” The short cut Kenny was referring to took them to the rink via John F. Kennedy High School, past Columbia Rock, past the Spuyten Duyvil train station, across the Spuyten Duyvil Swing Bridge, along the MTA Railroad line for about a mile, until they reached the rink. Isn’t it amazing how the dumbest ideas can sound sensible to 12 year old boys – especially my dad and the boys he grew up with? They all looked at Kenny and said, “Yea sounds great, let’s do it!”They agreed to meet early on Saturday at P.S. 7 because they wanted to get to the rink before other teams took it over. When they met on Saturday at 7:30 a.m. they put on their roller skates, tied their sneakers together, put them over their shoulders, put their hockey gloves on, and picked up their sticks. Since it was late fall it was cold in the morning, they could see their breath when they said, “Hey, what’s up?” to each other when they met. To keep warm they all wore their long-johns, hooded sweatshirts, and their St. John’s Hawks jackets to keep them warm. When they were all together and ready to leave they roller skated south on Kingsbridge Avenue past St. John’s Middle School, made a right on 231st street, past Pat Mitchell’s on the right and the Library on the left, they turned left on Tibbett Avenue, past the Diner on the right, and they skated down the long road leading up to and around John F. Kennedy High School. At the time the JFK Astroturf football and baseball fields hadn’t been built yet and all there was behind the school was a very large empty lot with weeds and therefore they couldn’t skate anymore; however, instead of taking off their roller skates, like smart kids, they walked through the dirt and the mud in their skates until they reached the train tracks.Once they reached the tracks some of the boys walked on the railroad ties and some walked along next to the tracks on the gravel. A short distance from JFK, looking over the Spuyten Duyvil section of the Harlem River, is “Columbia Rock”. Columbia Rock is approximately 100 feet high. It’s called Columbia Rock because the Columbia University Rowing team painted a giant baby blue “C” on the side of the rock facing the river. The rock starts out low on one side and gradually increases in height until its pinnacle, which is only about five feet wide, and then it gradually slopes down on the other side. A thick wire went from one side to the other for people to hold onto when they walked over the rock – my dad isn’t sure why there is a wire going from one side to the other, he said, “Maybe it’s there for the people who paint the “C”. Columbia Rock has been used by the local teenagers in Kingsbridge for cliff diving for years, during the hot summer months. Jumping or, better yet, diving off of the highest points could make you a legend in the neighborhood and automatically enter you into the Kingsbridge Derelict Hall of Fame. Stories of Mike W diving off of “Devils Tower” into the river and surviving were passed down from generation to generation but there were also rarely talked about stories about older, unnamed teenagers, who dove off “Death Point” and “Widow Maker” who never came back up for air. There were certain parts of the water, near the rock, which was shallow; if you jumped off the rock in those areas you would certainly break your bones or worse when you entered the water. Also, if you didn’t jump away from the rock far enough you would hit other parts of the rock on the way down. When the boys approached Columbia Rock FJ said, “I’m going to walk over Columbia Rock.” My dad said, “What? Are you crazy? You can’t walk over it – you’re wearing roller skates.” Joey said, “I don’t care I’m going to do it.” My dad said to me, “If FJ said he was going to jump off a roof I wouldn’t have followed him but for some reason this sounded kind of cool and so all of us decided to do it”.The boys proceeded to climb up the eastern side of the rock; the first 30 feet up was simple because the rock is relatively wide at its lower points, but as they climbed higher and higher it became more difficult because it is narrows at its higher points. As they reached the higher levels, 40 feet, 50 feet, 60 feet, 70 feet, 80 feet, 90 feet, and eventually to the top it was nerve racking because when they looked down they saw, on the one side - cold, icy water far below, and on the other side - the cold, metal train tracks far below. 100 feet might not sound very high but if you are climbing over a slippery rock, with sneakers draped over your shoulders, carrying a hockey stick, with roller skates on – it sure does! A slip and fall one way and they could be “Sleeping with the fishes” and a fall the other way and they would be…let's just say - it wouldn't be pretty. Luckily, they made it over the rock without any serious incidents and now they could say they climbed over Columbia Rock with roller skates on – maybe this would qualify them to be added to the folklore of the neighborhood.After they got to the other side of Columbia Rock they walked past the Spuyten Duyvil Train Station where the people waiting for the train looked at this motley crew of a hockey team like they were nuts. Once they past the train station they were on to the next and most dangerous leg of their trip - crossing the Spuyten Duyvil Swing Bridge. The boys had never been to the bridge and so they didn’t know what to expect. The bridge crossed over the Harlem River, near the Hudson River; it looked to be about 200 yards long as it crossed over the rough waters. They had second thoughts about crossing over the bridge because it didn’t have a solid floor; yes it had heavy rails which were connected to wooden crossties but the wooden crossties were approximately one and a half feet apart. The crossties and the boy’s roller skates were the only things between the boys and the frigid waters below. MK said, “We’ve come this far, we can’t turn around now. Come on, let’s go!” The other guys seemed to agree with MK, or maybe they just didn’t want to be the only one to chicken out, and so they continued on their journey.They began walking across the bridge; they walked on the front bumpers of their skates one crosstie at a time. One important detail they didn’t consider was what to do if a train crossed over the bridge when they were on it. There was very little room on the bridge and there obviously wasn’t enough room on the bridge for a train and a hockey team. SR asked, “What are we going to do if a train goes by and we’re on the middle of the bridge?” CP said, “Either run like you’re being chased by the cops or hold on for dear life. If you can’t get off the bridge you better hold on because I bet it’ll shake like the El train station does.” It’s lucky they discussed their options because when the boys were halfway across the bridge – you know what happened.When they were halfway across the bridge they looked behind them and in the distance they saw a train coming toward them. When they saw it - they started running carefully on the bumpers of their skates, watching their steps to make sure they didn’t miss a railroad tie as they were frantically trying to get off the bridge. It was clear after a few steps that they didn’t have enough time to get off the bridge before the train passed them by and so they decided they had to lay down on the crossties and hold on with all their might. The train flew by and shook the bridge so hard it felt like an earth quake – it shook so hard FJ’s sneakers fell off his shoulders into the icy water below – he attempted to save them but as he reached for them he lost his balance and almost fell into the water. As soon as the train was past them the boys stood up and walked off the bridge and they were back on the last leg of their journey. The remainder of the trip was uneventful except for FJ mumbling, “My dad’s going to kill me for losing my sneakers!”
When they got to the rink it was everything they thought it would be; it looked like a professional hockey rink, surrounded on all sides with boards, it had new hockey nets, the concrete was smooth, and there wasn’t anyone skating on it yet. For about 30 minutes the boys had the rink to themselves and they took full advantage it; they skated backward and forward, they shot pucks into the nets, and practiced checking each other into the boards. My dad said, “Look, I can skate backwards without having to worry about tripping on a crack and breaking my back!” JF said, “Look, I can take a slap shot without having to run down 234th Street to chase it down!” A short time after they arrived, a lot of kids showed up and so the boys played several very rough games of hockey against kids from Inwood. These boys were good but they had never played against the types of players on my dad’s team. CP, JF, and SR were the stars of the team, they were fast, strong, and talented (when they were older they all starred on their respective high school hockey teams). FJ was the best goalie in the neighborhood, he had cat-like reflexes, he didn’t allow anyone in his crease, and it was virtually impossible to get a puck past him. The other players on the team weren’t as talented but they were tough, scrappy, and never gave up. Every game my dad’s team played – they won; he said they played for hours and didn’t stop playing until the middle of the afternoon when they could hardly walk because their feet were covered with blisters and blood.
It was 3:30 p.m. when the boys started their trek back home. The beginning of the trip was uneventful; they had a great time but they were too tired to talk about it. The only thing on their minds as they approached the Swing Bridge was how much their feet hurt and how cold they were. By the way, the reason it is called the Spuyten Duyvil Swing Bridge is because it swung open when boats entered or exited the Spuyten Duyvil section of the Harlem River and when the boys arrived at the bridge it was open. FJ said, “Oh crap, I’m cold, I’m starving, and my feet are killing me, and we’re going to be sitting here for hours waiting for this bridge to close!” CP said, “No, it’s only going to stay open for a few minutes. You see that boat near Bakers Field? That’s the Circle Line. Once it passes us and goes into the Hudson River the bridge will automatically close and we’ll be able to cross it.”
The Circle Line is a boat which takes hundreds of tourists around the island of Manhattan to see the incredible sights of New York City. The boat takes off from the 34th Street Dock on the Hudson River and goes south past the Statue of Liberty and the World Trade Center, it goes around the tip of Manhattan to the Harlem River, it passes the BMW Bridges (Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Williamsburg), past the United Nations, Yankee Stadium, all the way to the 225th Street Bridge, past Spuyten Duyvil, Columbia Rock, and through the Swing Bridge, and then back down the Hudson River. It was common practice for kids from the Bronx who were diving off of Columbia Rock or just hanging out near the river to give the tourists on the Circle Line additional sites to see when they past them by. Since the boys had nothing else to do while they waited for the bridge to close - JF said, “Hey guys – quick, come here before the boat goes by - I have an idea!” They all gathered around and listened to JF’s idea. It was hilarious and so all the guys said, “That’s great! Let’s do it!” Then they all got into position! The boys ran as quickly as they could (which wasn’t very fast with their blistered feet) to the edge of the river, as the boat past by the boys waived their arms and screamed, “Hey! Hey! Welcome to New York! Welcome to New York!” Near the bridge, the boat moved by slowly which gave the tourists and the captain of the boat a clear view of the boys. When the captain saw the young boys waiving at the boat he pulled on the boat's horn (toot, toot) as if to say, “Hello city people, great to see you!” There were several hundred tourists from all over the world on the two level Circle Line boat viewing the sites of the city, carrying their little cameras, and holding their children, who pulled out their cameras to take pictures of the native New Yorkers waiving to them from the shores of Manhattan. The men, woman, and children on the boat were smiling, waiving, while they were taking pictures of the boys and then JF yelled, “Guys let’s smile for the tourists!” All the boys turned around, bent over, and gave the tourists a view of New York that wasn’t on their agenda. Yes they did take a picture of the boy's smiling cheeks but it wasn’t the pink, rosy cheeks they expected - they saw the Eight Moons over the Bronx. I’d sure like to see the picture albums of some of the people on the boat that day to see if I can pick out my dad.
After the Circle Line passed by and the boys stopped laughing the swing bridge closed and they crossed over it without incident and their trek home continued. When they got to Columbia Rock MK, SR, JF, and OP were too tired to climb over the Rock again and so they walked along the MTA train tracks but FJ, GK, CP, and my dad decided they wanted to climb it again because – “it was there”. FJ was the first one to climb up the rock, then CP, next GK, and my dad was dragging his feet, far behind. When FJ was about a quarter of the way up the rock - his foot slipped, he lost his balance, and he fell off the Rock about twenty-five feet down into the cold, icy Harlem River. On his way down his body grazed a rock which jutted out from the rest of the Rock. When he fell in he didn’t come up from the water right away and so CP, who was right behind him, jumped in the water to help FJ. When FJ grazed the rock on his way into the water he actually hit his head and blood was gushing out. When CP got into the water he tried pulling FJ out but one of his roller skates was caught between some rocks under the water. FJ’s head was partially submerged, he couldn’t breath, and so the boys had to act fast. GK and my dad were the next ones in the water and as soon as they reached FJ and CP they dove under the water and saw FJ’s skate was caught between two rocks. GK worked quickly and within seconds FJ’s foot was out of his skate and he was headed out of the water. They all swam over to the river bank where they climbed out of the water; they all laid down on the ground - wet, cold, and exhausted.
The other boys who walked around the rock missed all the excitement and when they met up with the other boys Ronnie said, “What happened?” My dad said, “FJ fell in and we had to jump in to save him. Hey, we need some dry clothes - let us wear your dry coats.” CP, FJ, GK, and my dad took off their shirts and sweatshirts and they put on the OP, MK, SR, and JF's hooded sweatshirts. They wrapped one of their shirts around FJ’s head to stop the bleeding, JF and SR grabbed FJ and they all started back to the neighborhood. When they got home what would they tell their parents? They couldn’t tell their parents they were climbing over Columbia Rock – they’d be punished for a year. And FJ could never go home like this - his mother would beat him with a wooden spoon and he’d be grounded for a month. They decided to go back to MK’s apartment basement to dry all their clothes in the laundry room. There were already clothes in the two dryers and so they took them out and put in their wet ones. In about thirty minutes their clothes were dry enough to wear but now they had to come up with an explanation of the gash on his head – which wasn’t hard they just said he fell when he was playing hockey...
If you made it through this very long story I know what you're thinking if you're anything like me I can't believe this story is true. I beleive my dad and his friends went to Inwood to play hockey but I can't believe the part about FJ...

Skateboarding in the Bronx - "YCTTBOOTB"

Pat O....kept them both busy was skateboarding. Pat was the first person my father knew who had a skateboard and so my father learned how to ride a skateboard by riding Pat’s. It wasn’t long before my dad began pestering his mom for a skateboard of his own. The pestering turned into nagging, the nagging turned into badgering, and the badgering eventually turned into torture until his mother finally gave in. Once his mom bought him a skateboard the boys spent every second of every waking hour on the skateboard. They began slowly and safely, mostly skateboarding down the IHOP parking lot hill, maneuvering in and out of the parking bumpers on their way down the hill. During the early days of skateboarding they wiped out often and they experienced a lot of bumps, bruises, scrapes, and cuts but like most 11 year old boys they just picked themselves up, brushed off the dirt, wiped the blood on their shirts and did it all over again. As they became more and more comfortable and confident in their skateboarding ability they increased the level of difficulty of the hills and obstacles they maneuvered around. They began skateboarding down the steeper hills in Kingsbridge like Kingsbridge Avenue, 234th Street, 233rd Street – the steeper the hill, the better! The only exception to “the steeper the hill, the better” was skateboarding in Manhattan College. Pat’s dad worked on Saturday’s in the Manhattan College Engineering building on Tibbett Avenue and after working up an appetite they skateboarded down Kingsbridge Avenue to McDonald’s near Off Broadway. After Pat ordered his “plain hamburger” and my dad ordered his Big Mac with everything they skateboarded down the street to see Pat’s dad and to skateboard all around the smooth floors of Manhattan College – it was like skateboard heaven! Early on most of their skateboarding was relatively safe but 11 year old boys get bored easily and so they needed bigger, more challenging, and more DANGEROUS hills to skateboard down.As you know Kingsbridge is essentially a valley between the high, steep hills leading up to Riverdale on the West and the high, steep hills leading up to the Sedgwick Avenue Reservoir on the East. One Saturday afternoon, after riding down virtually every steep hill in the neighborhood - they sat down in McDonald’s trying to decide the next hill to conquer. Think, think, think, think – then it hit them! My dad can’t remember which one of them came up with the idea but since it was a really, really, really stupid idea the chances are it was my dad’s idea. One of these two geniuses came up with the incredibly stupid idea to skateboard down Riverdale Avenue. Now keep in mind Riverdale Avenue is a four lane, long, steep, winding road with many cars driving VERY FAST up and going down the hill at any given time of the day. It was a totally insane suggestion and an even more insane thing to actually do – if I ever did it or even if I thought of it my dad would ground me for a year! Yes, it was stupid, insane, and a dangerous thing to do but this never seemed to stop my dad and Pat from doing anything and so...up the hill they went.When I asked my dad what is was like skateboarding down the hill he told me it depended on where they were on the hill. He said, “At first we started off slowly and so it wasn’t much different from going down Kingsbridge Avenue or any other hill in the neighborhood but then we started picking up more and more speed and at this time it was exciting and exhilarating! It was exhilarating because we were flying down the hill with the wind blowing in our faces and our coats flapping behind us - but just as we were enjoying ourselves - cars started driving past us going 30, 40, and sometimes 50 miles per hour which made it difficult to skateboard down the hill because we couldn’t swerve back and forth (which helped to control our speed). Since we couldn’t swerve back and forth we had to go straight – and by going straight we went faster and faster and faster and by about half way down the hill we reached the point of no return! The point of no return meant we were going too fast to jump off and we couldn’t pull off the road because the cars were driving right past us – within arms distance - and so we had to stay on the skateboards. We were flying down the hill next to each other with cars honking their horns at us and yelling out their car windows, “What are you schmucks doing? Get off the road!” We were going so fast it was hard to hear each other; Pat screamed, “If we try to jump off now we’ll crack our skulls open! I screamed, “I know! Whose stupid idea was this – I think we’re going to die!” At this point we stayed on our skateboards, our eyes were watering, our noses were running, we bent our knees (using them as shock absorbers when we hit the many small rocks, cracks, and small pot holes in the road), and then we looked straight ahead and prayed. Our main prayer was that the light at the bottom of the hill would be green IF, and I do mean IF, we made it to the bottom of the hill. If the light was red that meant the cross traffic would cut us off and it would mean certain disaster and possible death. It was the most exciting thing we ever did but at the same time, the most terrifying because if we hit a big pot hole or hit a big rock we would have literally flew off the skateboard into the air and without a doubt we would have broken our bones or worse depending on what the cars driving next to us did.” My dad is a firm believer in prayer and he said when they approached 231st they needed an answer to their prayers and they needed it quick; as they neared the bottom of the hill, going 35 miles per hour, the light was red, there were several cars stopped in front in front of them, and a city bus was turning left from 231st onto Johnson Avenue. Pat and my dad had to split up; Pat yelled, “I’ll go in between the cars, you go around them near the wall!” When they made it past the stopped cars they narrowly missed the bus but luckily they were now at the bottom of the hill and their skateboards were slowing down. When their skateboards finally came to a stop they hopped off and staggered over to one of the benches at the bottom of Ewen Hill and plopped down. Their hearts were pounding, their knees were shaking, and they were out of breath – they leaned back, looked up in the air, said a prayer of thanks and then my dad turned to Pat and asked, “Do you want to try skateboarding down Snake Hill tomorrow?

Swimming with Gena & Philip - "YCTTBOOTB"

Don't read if you have a weak stomach...Without a doubt the most embarrassing moment in my dad’s life (and probably anyone else’s) occurred with Aunt Gena and Uncle Philip when they visited my dad when he was older and living in St. Louis. My dad, Aunt Gena, and Uncle Philip were swimming in the Raintree Apartment pool together. It was June and the first time they had been swimming that year. Aunt Gena and Uncle Philip love pools and when they go swimming they don’t just wallow around the pool – they jumped in, swim on top of the water, swim under the water, splash, kick water – in other words they just have a great, active time in the pool. When it’s time to leave they almost have to be dragged out of the pool because they love swimming so much but when they get out they have to sit down on the side of the pool because they are so exhausted from all their activity. In addition to their love of swimming they both have a love for cookies and soda. If, and when, they were left alone for an extended period of time they could easily devour a box of Nilla Waffers and a bottle of Diet Coke or Pepsi in one sitting. This one particular day it was 92 degree and sunny outside – a perfect day for swimming – but there was also a Perfect Storm brewing – several seemingly unrelated events were slowly coming together in a perfect recipe for disaster. The perfect mixture consisted of the following; Uncle Philip had a congested nose, Aunt Gena and Uncle Philip had finished off a bottle of Diet Coke and Coke each, they both swam in the Raintree Apartment pool for a couple of hours, and Aunt Gena has a weak stomach.When my dad, Aunt Gena, and Uncle Philip decided to go swimming that day there was nothing unusual – Grandma Hand helped them get their bathing suits on, Aunt Gena complained, "Come on mom hurry up, I want to go swimming!", and Uncle Philip tapped my dad on his shoulder and shook his hands and said, "Can’t wait!" which meant he couldn’t wait to go swimming. When they all had their bathing suits on they grabbed three towels and hurried down the apartment steps and once they made it down the steps they ran to the pool. There were about thirty people already at the pool; half were in the pool swimming and the other half were sitting or laying on chairs relaxing by the side of the pool. The pool was surrounded by a chain link fence and so my dad lifted up the latch, opened the gate, and they all quickly walked in. When they got inside the fenced in pool they threw their towels on the nearest chairs and jumped in the pool, splashing several of the older woman who were wadding around the pool, who then gave a disapproving look toward Aunt Gena, Uncle Philip, and my dad. They jumped up and down, splashed each other, swam over and under the water for over an hour, and they were having a great time together - until it happened. My Uncle Philip recently got over a cold and he was still a little bit congested. As everyone knows when you go under the water the pressure can cause your body to clear some bodily orifices and so it was with Uncle Philip. He was showing my dad how he could go under water and hold his breath for about 10 seconds and then pop up from under the water. He popped up and down, up and down, up and down, until the last time he popped up something popped out of his nose –it was the biggest, greenest, wettest snot you ever saw in your life but it was different – it was strong like a piece of rubber and it seemed to have a life of its own. It was like it was peaking out of Uncle Philips nose – it wanted to look out but it didn’t want to leave the nose – because when Uncle Philip turned his head the portion that was laying below his nose, over his lips would release and swing from it’s current position over to the other side of his face – all the while clinging on for dear life to the inside of his nose. Uncle Philip didn’t realize this was happening and so when my dad said something to Phil he looked to his left and right and behind him – and with every turn of his head this monstrosity of a snot swung from one side of his face to the other – leaving remnants all over his face. It was at the same time one of the funniest things my dad had seen but also one of the most disgusting. When my Aunt Gena came up from her swimming activities she said, "What Kenny, what – what are you saying to Philip." My dad, making the biggest mistakes of his life said, "Look at Philips face." Aunt Gena looked at his face, saw the snot from the black lagoon on his face – and immediately a bellow (which sounded like the noise a Killer Whale makes during mating season) came out of the deepest bowels of Aunt Gena’s being and right behind the bellow was about 2 liters of Diet Coke and a box of Nilla Waffers – BBBBBBAAAAARRRRRRRFFFFFFFFF!Now, in my dad’s family throwing up is not a quiet event – you can hear anyone of them throwing up from miles away – and so when this happened everyone in the pool, outside the pool, and in all the Rain Tree Apartments – looked to see what that noise was – AND SEE THEY DID! They had the rare opportunity to see, the biggest snot of their life on the side of my Uncle’s face, they saw, a Diet Coke oil slick (with little chucks of Nilla Wafers) floating on top of the water…getting bigger by the second, they saw old ladies, old men, young boys, young girls racing out of the pool (it was like a scene from Jaws) and they saw my father beat red not knowing what to do while being engulfed in the floating barf. To make matters worse my Uncle Philip also has a weak stomach and so when he saw Aunt Gena tossing her cookies (and soda) he decided the cookies and soda in his stomach would follow the lead of his sister - BBBBBBAAAAARRRRRRRFFFFFFFFF! My dad doesn’t know how he survived this day but he did.You might think that this very traumatic experience might have hampered Uncle Philip and Aunt Gena’s love for swimming – but no. Of course, the Hand Family could never show their face again at the Raintree apartment’s pool (and my dad had to leave and return to and from work in the dark of night) but there were many other pools in the St. Louis area they had to christen. When they visited my dad in St. Louis they stayed at The Mary K Motel, a quaint little motel located near I-270 and Lindberg Boulevard. The next day it was again above 90 degrees and so Grandma Hand knew they couldn’t swim at my dad’s place but they could swim at the motel’s pool. This sounded safe enough and so my father agreed. He drove over to the motel from his house and he brought one of his new beach towels. When he arrived at The Mary K Motel, Grandpa Hand, Uncle Philip, and Aunt Gena were already in the pool swimming around like lunatics and my dad laid his towel down and prepared to hop in the pool – and then it happened - AGAIN! Uncle Philip dunked his head under the water and when he popped up – there it was again – as green, and as slimy as ever; my dad screamed, "Oh no, not again! Gena, turn your head - don’t look!" There was Uncle Philip, with a green snot wrapped around his head two times, he stood in the 3 foot section of the pool and raised his right arm, pointed his finger in the air as if to say, "Don’t worry – I’ve got the situation under control." With the confidence of a Marine marching into battle – Uncle Philip marched out of the pool, walked around the side of the pool next to my dad where his towel was laying. He reached across my father’s body and the snot dangled above my dad’s head like the Sword of Domiciles; Uncle Philip grabbed my dad’s new towel and proceeded to wipe the green, slimy monster from his face – WITH MY DAD’S BRAND NEW TOWEL!

The Chrissy Pissy Affair - "YCTTBOOTB"

My father’s nemesis growing up was his sister Christine; she is one year older than my father and they fought like cats and dogs over almost everything you could imagine. They fought over who got to read the cereal box in the morning (what exactly is Riboflavin anyway), they fought over who got the prize out of the cereal, they fought over who changed the channel on the TV, they fought over which radio station they listened to, they fought over whether to make a snow fort or a snowman, they fought over everything that is important in the life of a kid. During the 1960’s and 70’s the cold war between capitalist and communist countries were in full swing – meanwhile, in the Hand House their was a hot war going on and every day there were some of the fiercest battles the world has ever experienced – none more vicious than “The Battle of Kentucky Fried Chicken”.As I said, when my dad and his sister Christine were growing up they fought like cats and dogs; it didn’t matter where or when – they were always yelling, screaming, pinching, scratching, punching, or wrestling with each other. There was one night after a long day of swimming at Camp Venture that their fighting and arguing went way too far. The pantry and refrigerator were both empty because Grandma had a busy week working at Camp Venture and she didn’t have a chance to go shopping at the A&P; because of this, she decided to buy Kentucky Fried Chicken for dinner – everyone in the family loved KFC and so this was a BIG treat (back in those days there wasn’t a fast food restaurant on every street corner and so anytime they ate KFC, Burger Chef, or McDonalds it was a day of celebration. Grandma Hand bought the family pack which included chicken for eight, which came in a flimsy little red and white box with a picture of the Colonel on the side, a large container of mashed potatoes, a container of coleslaw, and eight butter milk biscuits – Mmmm Mmmm good! The food was placed in a “to go” large white bag with a big picture of the Colonel on the side, the girl behind the counter handed it to grandma, and they loaded into the car and drove home. On the way home my dad carried the bag of food on his lap and it smelled SOOO good he could hardly wait to sink his teeth into a big juicy piece of chicken. When his mother pulled the Volkswagen into the driveway Aunt Christine and my dad began to argue over who would carry the bag of food into the house; Aunt Christine said, “You got to hold it in the car, it’s my turn to carry it”, my dad said, “I only got to hold it for a little while, I should still be able to carry it in.” Grandma said, “You can both carry it in” and so my dad held one side of the bag and Aunt Christine held the other side of the bag and they walked up the gravel driveway to the front yard, which was 100% dirt because Grandpa Hand just dug up the front yard to plant new grass seed. As they both walked side by side to the front yard they began to argue again but this time they both pulled their side of the bag away from the other and in, what appeared to be slow motion the bag tore apart, the box of chicken flew in the air, the container of mashed potatoes, coleslaw, and biscuits were sent flying and at precisely the same time they all fell to the ground. The box of chicken dropped to the ground and burst open leaving all the chicken lying in the freshly turned up top soil, the container of mashed potatoes was fine for a second until my dad stepped on it and squeezed the potatoes out, it seemed like the coleslaw would be safe until my dad slipped on the mashed potatoes and his bottom landed on the container of coleslaw forcing it out - all over the dirt. The biscuits were the sole survivors of the disaster. When the episode was over (it only lasted about 3 seconds) my dad was lying in the dirt with mashed potatoes on his shoes, coleslaw on his backside and up his back and chicken was strewn across the front yard, and his sister Chris stood there with a small piece of the large white paper bag still in her left hand. Her jaw dropped down to her chest, her eyes popping out of her sockets, because she knew what was going to happen next. Grandma was a little bit upset with her two beautiful little angels – actually she was a little more than a little upset – she wanted to strangle them. She even let out a mommy curse, "What the blazes...!" She didn’t seem to be concerned about the physical well being of my dad – in fact she seemed determined to inflict further bodily harm to his and my Aunt Christine’s bottom. She had a few choice words for the two of them as she dragged them into the house and up the stairs into their rooms. There were a couple of firm swats on their bottoms and – they were told, “There WILL NOT be any dinner for the both of you tonight!” My dad thought to himself, “What? Did she say what I think she said? No dinner? This can’t be! She wouldn’t! She couldn’t! This would be child abuse and my mother would never do this to me (Christine maybe, but not her favorite son). How could my mother even think of doing this to me? I haven’t eaten since 2:00 p.m., I will starve to death!” He then cried, “Mom, I’m starving! Mom, I’m going to starve to death!” This mantra went on for about an hour – in stereo – because at this point my dad and Aunt Chris put aside their past differences and teamed up to appeal to grandma Hand’s compassionate side.Finally, after about an hour, their mom gave in and allowed them to come downstairs to the kitchen table to eat cereal for dinner – they were so thankful for their mother being so kind and generous, “Thank you mom! We will make sure this never happens again! We’ll be good, we promise! We love you!” About ten minutes later, in the kitchen you heard, “You always get the box in font of you when we eat cereal – it’s my turn! No, it’s my turn…!”

The Fingerling Affair - "YCTTBOOTB"

THE FINGERLING AFFAIRIt all began in November when my second grade teacher, Mrs. Ross, told us we were having a "Kris Kringle" exchange. I had never heard of this before but she explained to the class what it was. She said “Each student will put their name in a hat and later they will pull a name out of the same hat - as long as it’s not their own. When you pull a name out”, she continued, “You will keep the person’s name a secret, you’ll buy a gift for that person, and then you’ll bring it in for that person on Kris Kringle day. Then on Kris Kringle day, each person will be allowed to open the present with his or her name on it - and at that time you’ll find out who your Kris Kringle is.” This, of course, sounded like a lot of fun and so each of the students wrote their names on a piece of paper and placed it in a hat which the teacher passed around the class. When it came around to me, I put my hand in and I pulled out Anthony Mastacholli's name. This was perfect! Anthony was my best friend in the second grade. Everyday, after lunch Anthony and I always hung out together; when I broke my collarbone he was the one who brought my homework to my home. He was also the one who told everyone that when I broke my collarbone I “…was bleeding a lot"…as proof of all the bleeding he pointed to my shoes which had red paint on them (but that's a whole other story). The bottom line is that I was very happy to have pulled my best friend's name out of the hat for Kris Kringle!When I got home that day I rushed to my mother and told her about Kris Kringle (I thought Kris Kringle was a new thing) and having picked Anthony's name. I told her, "I want to go to Woolworth's to buy Anthony his present - and Mom, Anthony is my best friend and I want it to be the best present he’s ever received”.Several days later my mother took me, my brother and sisters to the store to buy Anthony’s present. I spent a lot of time trying to pick out the perfect present. I looked at balls, bats, books but I couldn’t find the perfect present. Then I saw it - the perfect present! It was an Action Figure similar to a GI Joe, which was extremely popular in 1971. It was a rough and tough Action Figure that every boy wanted and would be proud to have - but it was even better! It was better because you could put your fingers (the pointer and the middle finger) in the back of the Action Figures legs and walk him around by moving your two fingers - because of this feature it was call a Fingerling. Most boys would kill for a present like this and so I bought it for my best friend.I can still remember the excitement I felt when I walked into class the day of the Kris Kringle exchange. I couldn’t wait for Anthony to open the present I bought for him. I carefully placed his present next to the other student’s presents on the table next to the teacher's desk. Ms. Ross said, “We’ll exchange the gifts after lunch time”, which was almost unbearable for all of the children. That day was the longest day of my school career; it seemed to drag on - even lunch seemed to take longer than usual - but then it came. It was time for the Kris Kringle exchange!Ms. Ross asked all of the students to sit on the floor around her and she said, “I’ll hand out the presents and we’ll open them one at a time.” I sat on the floor towards the back of the crowd of kids. I couldn’t wait to see the expression on Anthony's face when he opened the coolest present in the world. Ms. Ross handed presents to several other students first. They opened the presents, acted excited, and then the person who bought the present raised his/her hand and said (something like), "That was from me". Finally, Ms. Ross called Anthony's name - my heart was pounding with excitement. She handed him the present - I couldn’t wait – I knew he would love his present! He ripped open the wrapping paper - he turned the box over – I was about to burst wide open with excitement - he looked at the present - and he screamed -in the loudest voice I have ever heard, “SOMEBODY BOUGHT ME A DOLL!” I thought to myself, in a nervous dread I can never verbally express, “Did he just say what I thought he said?” My heart dropped to my stomach…”Does he think this great Action Figure I bought for him is a doll? How could he not love this ACTION FIGURE?” Anthony turned around and asked each and every one of his classmates, "Did you buy me this doll? Hey, did you buy me this doll?" When he walked over to me and asked, “Did you buy me this doll?” I replied, “Are you kidding? Do you think I’m the type of guy who would buy a guy a doll?”To this day Anthony doesn't know it was me who bought him the cool Action Figure, Action Figure, Action Figure - yes I did say Action Figure because it WAS! This episode left such a deep scar in my sole I never participated in Kris Kringle ever again and as you’ll see it impacted other aspects of my life as well!

The Charlie's Hole Affair - "YCTTBOOTB"

The Charlie's HoleEveryone remembers Charlie Hauben…most people probably remember him as Charlie Meathead. Pat Leo gave Charlie the nickname Meathead, not because he had short hair - like most people think, but instead he was given the nickname Meathead because of the character on "All in the Family". Remember how Archie Bunker used to call his son-in-law Meathead…it was an insult. Anyone that knows Charlie knows that this name drove Charlie crazy! And if he ever heard someone call him Meathead hE wOULD gET P.O.’d! A lot of people thought Charlie was a little different…and he was…but he always treated me, PJ, and Pat well…but there was one incident…Like I said Charlie was different but he treated us well. He let PJ and me lift weights at his apartment and watch TV at his apartment…we even had keys to his apartment and so we could go up there anytime we wanted. Since he was a Fireman he would work 3 and 4 day shifts and so there were many times when it was like PJ, Pat and I had our own apartment. Charlie was also a neat freak! If you looked in his closet you would see that ALL of his hangers were EXACTLY 1.5 inches apart. He only wore white socks and he would write "L1" and "R1", "L2" and "R2", etc., on his socks so that he could make sure that he was wearing the true matching socks (keep in mind they were all the same color socks). When he left his apartment, he would always make sure the dining room chairs were facing the correct way. In his refrigerator, he had specific places for the milk (and only the milk) and for the juice (and only the juice). He carried a money clip (before money clips were cool) and he would have all the money facing the same way (which really isn't that unusual). If you remember Felix Unger on the "Odd Couple" this will give you a perfect picture of Charlie. NOW…if any of these things I listed were ever out of place…IT WOULD DRIVE HIM CRAZY!Now - Charlie also liked guns. He enjoyed going to firing ranges and shooting several rounds of ammo. PJ, Pat, and I occasionally would go to the gun range with Charlie and he spent some time teaching us how to shoot a gun. He would usually carry his gun with him wherever he went and when he came home, he would place the gun (neatly) on his dining room table. I can remember one afternoon PJ was playing with one of Charlie's guns and he was trying to pull the trigger but he could not. He thought the gun was empty but it actually had one bullet loaded, ready to be fired. PJ put the gun to his head (he was only joking) and he tried pulling the trigger again - but he still couldn't pull the trigger because the safety lock was on…luckily he didn't know how to take the safety lock off or PJ would not still be here with us. Well, PJ and I liked to play practical jokes on Charlie because we thought it was funny getting him mad (I guess). Whenever we visited Charlie's house we would move his hangers so that they weren't 1.5 inches apart. We would mix up his socks so that "L1" would be with "L2". We would move his drinks around in his refrigerator. We would also eat his food and drink his ice tea, juice, etc. Charlie actually placed a lock on his refrigerator to keep us out but PJ was always good at being able to unscrew the lock so that we could get into his refrigerator. I'm getting to the point of this story…just hold on. Like I said, we would play these practical jokes on Charlie…he would get mad…we would apologize…and then we would do it again…and life was wonderful. Now to the serious part of the story…are you still awake? There was one day when the practical jokes went a little too far…for Charlie. PJ and I were working out one day and Charlie came home from a 3 day shift. He placed his gun and his money clip on the table and he started making his dinner. PJ and I thought it would be funny to hide his money clip underneath his lamp…so we did…and then we went home for dinner. After dinner we had forgotten all about hiding Charlie's money. That night Charlie came driving up the block and asked PJ and me to come with him to go somewhere (I can't remember where) and so we did. PJ got into his El Camino first and then I got in. So PJ was sitting next to Charlie and I was next to the door. Charlie drove us on the Henry Hudson Parkway, going toward Yonkers, and he pulled off the road where it was totally pitch black…we had driven by this part of the parkway in the past. Charlie referred to this area as "Charlie's Hole"…he took out his gun and pointed it at our heads and said, "where's my money?"…I immediately soiled my pants (not literally) and I'm thinking to myself…"this guy really is nuts…we're about to die…our names are going to be in the Riverdale Press…two boys found shot in head!" PJ on the other hand is laughing and I'm thinking to myself…"PJ, this guy really is nuts…we're about to die…stop laughing!" I started pleading with Charlie…"don't shoot…the money is under the lamp…please…!" My pleading lasted for about one minute (it felt a lot longer) but then Charlie looked at us and put the gun away. He then said that he was just trying to teach us a lesson…to this day I wonder if he really was just trying to teach us a lesson or if he had other thoughts - when he first pulled off the road.