Monday, July 21, 2014

Eyes Wide Shut: the Old Normal : Growing Up in 1930's New York




'My father was never a kid. He was born 33 years old.' … Joe Feshbach

The term 'street smarts' was invented because the streets were our play grounds. If you could survive in the rough and tumble world of the street with the always overhanging threat of getting your fucking brains beat out, you became street smart.

The alternative was that you were considered a dumb schmuck. Going both ways came natural to me with my often empty head.

In the thirties the N.Y. Daily News and The Mirror cost 2¢ each. The New York Times, which cost a nickel, was considered the paper of the intellectuals. Shit, it didn't even have funnies. The nickel cost made it special.

The Wall Street Journal? Never heard of it. We'd hear guys on the radios, spewing numbers. We didn't know what the hell they were talking about and we didn’t fucking care.

In New York City there were evening newspapers coming out your ass, 4 of them: The Sun, World Telegram, N.Y. Post and the Journal. We often bought the Post which was often trying to seduce readers with coupons. Enough coupons and you could get First Edition books and enormous fucking dictionaries. The Jewish immigrants, like my folks, believed that education was everything and the Post in those days with its book offerings was a vehicle.

The movies cost 10¢, except on Saturdays and Sundays when you got a double feature for 15¢. (I was at the movies December 7, 1941).

An allowance? How ridiculous. You got nickels, dimes and the occasional two bits by asking, sometimes pleading. But God help any loose change lying around. It disappeared.

My Mom, who would know that I was the thief, said nothing. My Pop's business went through bankruptcy but we barely knew it. My parents were fabulous and almost always succumbed to my entreaties: a dime for the movies and a nickel for candy.

For big occasions, the family would go downtown together from our home in the Bronx to downtown at the Yiddish Theatre.

The right field bleachers, great seats, at Yankee Stadium cost 55¢ including double headers. I saw Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Tony Lazzari, and Frankie Crosetti. Baseball was a "way out" of hard times for everyone except blacks and the occasional Jew (Hank Greenberg a Jewish baseball idol, married a Jewish Gimbel).

NY YANKEES

Jews who married Shiksas were often ostracized by the Jews as were the Shiksas, by the non-Jews. The Army was another place for unemployed guys. Not a good place for Jews or blacks.

Boxing was for blacks and Jews. Tennis, skiing and golf were for the wealthy. We thought that there was something "wrong" with tennis players or else why were they dressed in all white. The six day bike race at the Garden was a big thrill. Going to the Garden for the rodeo was a real highlight.

The Garden was the Capital of The Sports Universe. Basketball, prize fights and hockey. The horse and dog shows at the Garden had zero appeal for us street kids. No one I knew owned a dog or rode a horse much less owned a fucking horse. We wondered how the Garden could have the fights on Friday night, college basketball on Saturday and hockey on Sunday.

We played stick ball, stoop ball, king of the hill, roller skate hockey and kick the can in the street. Pitching pennies against the stoop was "big time". Clear ‘emmies’, aka marbles, were premium. Today you seldom see groups of kids playing in their neighborhoods or even in the school yards after school. We would rush home, drop off our books and head for the streets to meet our friends and play the sport of the season.

I got my first bike when I was 12 (1935). It was a used bike, and I was so excited. Later on an Uncle bought me a new one for my Bar Mitzvah. We were sure that he was rich beyond belief. It was a Roll Fast with balloon white wall tires. My friends were really envious and when I let them take a ride on it I was fucking King Kong.

The Irish dominated the Police Department. My best friend was Jimmy McNiece whose old man was a patrolman. The Italians controlled the Department of Sanitation and the Jews drove the cabs and opined incessantly.

They, and I, could talk about anything for 30 minutes even if we didn't know a fucking thing about it. And enjoy it.

Horse and wagons would come down the streets loaded with fruits and vegetables that were being hawked by the guy 'driving' the wagon. Once in a while the horse would refuse to move as he unloaded in the street. Horses smell by nature and if you throw in manure, the result ain't too swift.

A big pizza cost 50¢ and a Pepsi to go with it was either a nickel or a dime. Ice cream cones were a nickel with a double scoop a dime. A banana split with everything but the kitchen sink and free sex cost 25¢ (huge "treat").

You bought kosher pickles by reaching into the pickle barrel and pulling the pickles out. Bakeries really made bread (rye, corn, white and pumpernickel) and bagels were truly very Jewish water bagels not fucking baked bread with a hole in it.

My mother could buy chickens with or without the feathers. Plucking a chicken made a hell of mess. Some stores carried live chickens and you would choose one and they were killed while you watched. It was almost as bad as sitting in the front row and watching a circumcision.

Puke inducing. I avoid circumcisions, ceremonies and funerals. I don't need any help in feeling like shit...

The Great Depression? For me it was a great growing up time. Who knew? Not me.

3 comments:

Cindy said...

What great stories!

John Myers said...

I grew up in Queens a few years behind Bernardonso these stories really bring back memories. Your athletic ability was measured by how many " sewers" you could reach in punch ball. Ring a leavio was a great game in the City streets. I remember walking to my local bank, Richmond Hill Savings, every week to get my bank book for my savings account stamped with the pennies of interest I had earned. Johnnie Gotti threw the best 4 th of July parties ever for the neighborhood. It was normal to have a fireman or policeman live on one side of you and one of " the boys" live on the other. There was a code of honor that no one brought their business home and believe me no one from outside the neighborhood dared to mess around on our " turf". Don Pepe's on Lefferts Blvd was the local hangout for the Gotti boys and if anyone is near Kennedy Airport they should stop in for the best, most garlicky Italian food you will ever taste. Ask for Johnnie the owner and tell them I sent you!!
Great memories Bernie, thanks for stirring the pot

KK

Jan McGill said...

These are great, Bernie. I read them smiling ear to ear.

It's so easy to picture every moment.

Thanks again for the great time :)

Jan