Ten Cent Fantasy

Before people got so serious and started collecting old comics like rare manuscripts, kids just read them for fun. It's hard to describe the feeling of joy after buying a new comic at the candy store and taking it home to read. I have a theory about why all adults love that "new car smell". It's because they remember that "new comic smell" from when they were young!

Comics were displayed on tall racks at the corner candy store. I remember standing there clutching a dime in my hot little hand and trying to decide what I felt like reading that day. The choice was difficult since there were so many favorites vying for my attention. There were a number of comic book categories worth mentioning.

I guess my favorites were the action superheroes like Superman, Batman, The Green Lantern and Plastic Man. (No, Plastic Man was not a guy heavily into credit card use, but had the power to change or stretch himself into any shape that was called for at the moment....kind of like Barack Obama.)

Next on my list were the great cowboy comics: Hopalong Cassidy, Red Ryder, The Lone Ranger, the Durango Kid, and of course, Lash Larue. The latter dressed all in black and carried a whip...he was a favorite among Greenwich Village kids.


I guess in the late fifties the scary comics gained in popularity...stories like Tales from the Crypt, The Vault of Horror and The Grim Reaper were read under the covers with a flashlight so your mother wouldn't find them. These days our "enlightened" parents would probably read them with the kids.

In a class by itself, although it spawned pale imitators, was Mad Magazine. In its early days, Mad featured well-known writers like Ernie Kovacs, Wally Cox, Danny Kaye and the great Bob Eliot and Ray Goulding. Its parody format was so popular in ongoing pieces like Spy vs. Spy and Little Annie Fanny, that it commanded the outrageous price of 25 cents. (Equal to five large soda bottle deposits.)

Finally, there were the funny comics like Sad Sack, Donald Duck, Archie and Veronica, and one of my my wife's favorites, Little Lulu. Lulu had a pal called Tubby who shared her adventures. "Tubby" would never make it as a character today...it might hurt some kid's self-esteem.



Of course every comic had those Charles Atlas ads for bodybuilding, and the opportunity to sell seeds (yes Grasshopper, plant seeds) out of a catalog to earn prizes like a Red Ryder BB carbine. ("You'll shoot your eye out"!)

Many great old comics are still around, sealed in plastic bags in somebody's temperature-controlled storage vault. Somehow I liked it better when we read them just for fun.




CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

1950s: Bits and Pieces

Every once in a while I come across a magical piece of fifties Brooklyn iconography that zooms me back in time. Here are just a few:

When they first put one of these into my little hand, it was like the Gods presenting the gift of fire to prehistoric man. My father used to sharpen my pencils with a pen knife. This miraculous device put a perfect point on my Ticonderoga brand pencil every time. And I liked the smell of the wood shavings too.

In 1952, Sunbeam put out its first electric MixMaster. Who needed it...we had this baby. I would beg my mother to let me hand-whip the cream we put on our Jello, and then lick the beater blades. (This became more dangerous when electric mixers came out).

Today, sneakers have built-in springs, lights, neon laces and cost ridiculous amounts of money. We wore U.S. Keds (in black and white only thank you) that cost about ten bucks. It caused a mild sensation on the block when they came out in red and white.


PEZ was invented by an Austrian in 1927 as mint-flavored candies to help people stop smoking. (Who else would tell you this stuff.) The little candies didn’t become popular until 1952 when they came out in fruit flavors, with “character heads” on the dispensers. The candy looked (and tasted like) little bars of soap, but never mind…a phenomenon was born.

People today collect old lunch boxes like this one. They were around in the fifties, but no kid in my class would be caught dead carrying one. You brought your lunch to school in a brown paper bag. Carrying a Hopalong Cassidy lunch box would guarantee you a serious beating in the schoolyard.

For a boy growing up in the fifties, the dream toy was a set of Lionel Trains. They were made of heavy metal (not plastic) and came with a number of neat accessories like station platforms, buildings, and grass cloth to help produce a realistic layout. They were usually taken down from the attic around Christmas and set up around the tree, with accompanying curses from my father.

The companion item to Lionel trains was a set of the metal (probably poisonous lead) cowboy and Indian figures, along with horses of course, that we arrayed in elaborate little scenes around the trains. Nothing like a bloody ambush before your mother called you into dinner.

Before big appliance developments like the "pop-up toaster", we had these little beauties. You placed sliced bread into the little doors on either side and they were exposed to a heating element that "toasted" the bread. There were two basic settings, untoasted and burned to a crisp.

These are simple images that mean little in and of themselves, but when viewed by a child of fifties Brooklyn, transform the viewer into a dimension-bending time traveller. Thanks to the Internet, they are still with us for all to see.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

What's a Carpet Gun?

In Brooklyn neighborhoods, toys were often improvised, like the skate scooter discussed in the post called "The Key to Happiness". Another home-made toy was the carpet gun, made out of long, flat, narrow pieces of wood, a clothes pin (the kind that opens and closes), and a rubber band. The rubber band was attached at the bottom of the gun, then stretched over the barrel to the far end of the gun where the clothes pin held it in place. You then loaded it by placing a small rectangular piece of linoleum tile under the rubber band, and shot it by opening the clothes pin. Carpet guns were extremely dangerous and wildly inaccurate, but the weapon of choice when we attacked the kids around the corner.

Every guy in his sixties will tell you that he once had a baseball card collection that would be worth a fortune today. Baseball cards were either flipped, with your opponent having to match exactly the number of heads and tails you flipped, or they were tossed from behind a line with the object being to get your card closest to the wall. A “leaner” by your opponent, where the card rested against the wall, was nearly unbeatable unless you could knock it down with your tossed card. Hard to imagine today but we did this for hours on end.

I can't remember the last time I saw a kid play with a yo-yo. These wooden toys on a string were so popular during the fifties that the Duncan Yo-Yo Company would send experts to local neighborhoods to do tricks like walk the dog, around the world, and rock the cradle. I can do these tricks to this day...it's on my resume. Wooden spinning tops that used string for propulsion were another favorite. Just 15 cents to buy, the tops were wound around with string and then thrown. With just the right flick of the wrist, you could make them spin forever. Being ruthless Brooklyn kids,we would try to throw our tops so that the metal point split the other kids’ tops. Nice, huh.

Last, and certainly not least, there was marbles. There were many game variations, but all were played in the street. Marbles had names like cat's eyes, pips, jumbos and clearies. If something in the street blocked your shot, you took a "roundsies" moving your marble in an arc around the obstruction.It wasn’t enough to win the other kid’s marble, we actually placed side bets. (Hey, it was Brooklyn.)

Some of the more entreprising lads would cut holes of graduated sizes into the bottom edge of a shoe box. Then players would try to roll their marbles from about six feet away into one of the holes. If you rolled your marble into the largest hole, you won five marbles, the medium hole earned 10, and the smallest hole was the jackpot....25 marbles. It was our neighborhood equivalent of Caesar's Palace.

Being poor wasn't an excuse to sit around waiting for someone to amuse us. We didn't have much, but we made the most of what we had.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

The Submarine Races

It's hard to believe today's headlines that have General Motors teetering on the brink of bankruptcy. There used to be an old saying: "As goes General Motors, so goes the rest of the country". That was certainly true in the 1950s when GM ruled the automotive world. Not only GM, but Ford and Chrysler too owned the American car market. Rising gasoline prices and the arrogance of Detroit executives put Toyota and Honda on the map to stay.

In Brooklyn, your car was an extension of who you were. Any kid over age 12 could tell you the year, make and model of any car that drove by. Cruising around the neighborhood in your souped up Mercury with the windows down and the radio blasting Bill Haley and the Comets was too cool. Steaming up the car windows at the "submarine races" at Plum Beach was a dream date. Gas was cheap and we didn't really have enough money for anything else. Cross Bay Boulevard near the Big Bow-Wow burger joint was where you went drag racing to prove your car was hotter than anyone else's. This lifestyle was captured perfectly in George Lucas' classic film, "American Graffiti". Anyone who saw it knows that George got it right.

Cars gave you the freedom to go to exotic places like drive-in movies. (For you youngsters, this was a huge outdoor theater where you parked your car, hung a speaker on your window, and listened to mediocre movies). Notice I said "listened" because if you were lucky, you never got to actually see the movie...you were too busy "making out". If you went to the drive-in with just the guys, it was common to put two guys in the trunk of the car to cut down on the price of admission. I remember two drive-ins in particular: The Sunrise Drive-In where we almost always went, and the Whitestone Drive-In where we never went because it was in the friggin' Bronx.

My fantasy car growing up was the 1957 Chevy Bel-Air. It was one of the first really sleek looking cars with awesome fins, not the over-the-top Cadillac fins, but ones that fit the car's proportions and design. And the color had to be aqua. From time to time I watch the Barrett-Jackson classic car auctions on cable TV. They sell lovingly restored cars from the glory years. The audience is filled with guys my age who couldn't afford their fantasy cars when they were younger, and line up to pay through the nose for them now. Needless to say, I plan to stay far away from these auctions.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Harold Be Thy Name

There's an old joke about a kid who asks his father why God's name is Harold. "What makes you think God's name is Harold", the father asks. Because when we pray the kid answers, we say: "Our Father, who art in Heaven, Harold be thy name".

In the fifties, kids were taught religion by rote...there weren't a lot of explanations. I attended Our Lady of Lourdes in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn. There were many prayers where I didn't understand the words, but we dutifully recited them. Those were the days when the Mass was said in Latin; the lyrics to those Latin hymns were pounded into our heads by Brother Justinian, the choirmaster, and I remember them to this day.

We were required to attend 9 o'clock Mass every Sunday; if you were absent, a note from your parents explaining why was required. We sat with our classmates, and listened for the cue from the nun's "clicker", telling us when to stand, kneel or sit. The nuns patrolled the church aisles looking for kids who were talking, chewing gum, or being otherwise unholy. They were then required to sit in the pew next to the nun for the remainder of the Mass. Most of them didn't exhale until they got home.

There were many Catholic rituals that had us gather in the church for elaborate celebrations. The girls were enrolled in "sodalities" dedicated to Mary the Blessed Mother, or to a special Saint. They usually dressed in white, and wore something like laurel wreaths in their hair. From the choir loft where the boys choir sang, the procession of girls as they marched into church looked like a hedge moving up the aisle.

We also had to go to "Confession" at least once a month. (For non-Catholics, the sacrament of Confession requires that you enter a small, curtained booth, kneel to speak through a screened door opening, and tell your sins to a priest, who then gives you absolution or forgiveness). Being kids from Brooklyn who always looked for an angle, we usually lined up outside the confessional booth of Father Gonzalez who, it was rumored, could not really understand English. It never dawned on us that God had no such language problems, and despite the linguistic shortcomings of His representative on earth, would know every dirty little sin we committed.

The fifties was also the height of the Cold War, and air raid drills were routine. We were huddled into the closet, and told to put our coats over our heads. (Any scientist knows that a courderoy jacket is a match for A-bomb radiation fallout). My wife tells me that the nuns in her Catholic school were so tough they told the kids that if the Communists ever invaded America, they should swallow their miraculous medals. C'mon commie, you wanna a piece of me.

The Catholic church's Vatican Council II changed a lot of the things about the Mass that I remember from when I was a kid. These changes were supposed to make our religion more "fan friendly". All I know is that in those days, the church was packed to the rafters; not so today. Maybe we need to go in the other direction.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Neighborhood Character: Dr. Iorio

During the late sixties, Doctor shows on television were all the rage. Maybe the most beloved of them all was "Marcus Welby, M.D." If Dr. Welby was a TEN on the Doctor's Rating Scale, then my doctor would have been a ONE. He was the anti-Welby. Dr. Iorio had his office on Eastern Parkway. His waiting room bore little resemblance to today's spiffy suites. Ratty leather chairs, ash trays full of cigarette butts, faded prints on the walls, and to read, old National Geographics and medical journals....that's what I remember. Not that we got to his office all that much; those were the days when doctors actually made house calls.

If his waiting room could be transformed into a human being, it would look like Dr, Iorio. He was a rumpled man, probably in his fifties but looked 20 years older. Sagging jowls, a bushy mustache, and slicked-back, iron-grey hair. He dressed professionally in a three-piece suit that that rarely made the trip to the dry-cleaners. I think what I remember most about him most was that he smoked like a chimney; as he examined you, a cigarette with an ash about an inch long always dangled from his mouth, precariously poised and about one puff away from dropping into your pajama top.
The fifties didn't feature many fancy medicines. Penicillin was still being eyed suspiciously. It seems to me today that no matter what ailed you, from migraines to malaria, Dr. Iorio prescribed Cheracol, a cherry-flavored syrup that could give you a real buzz, or Musterole, an ointment that smelled ungodly, but when rubbed on your chest and covered with a warm flannel cloth probably could cure malaria.

These were the dark days before health care insurance and filling out six forms in triplicate before you got anywhere near the doctor. He didn't send you for five different tests because he was getting a kickback from the labs. There were no knockout female drug company reps to hand out free TVs to doctors for over prescribing their medications. Dr. Iorio charged you what you could afford, which I promise you was not much. I'm sure he treated patients who never paid him at all...maybe bring in a bushel of tomatoes from their yard.

As I reflect, I want to revise Dr. Iorio's rating. Maybe he didn't have a fancy office or miracle drugs, but somehow after one of his visits, you knew you would soon be better. What he brought to the table was a genuine caring attitude for his patients and a brisk, efficient manner that no childhood disease could stand up to.

Take that, Dr. Welby.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Trick or Treat

Halloween had its beginnings in the Pagan and Christian traditions of offering sacrifices on this night to appease the spirits of the dead who rise out of their graves and wander the countryside, trying to return to the homes where they formerly lived. Frightened villagers began the tradition of placing plates of the finest food and bits of treats that the household had to offer on their doorsteps, as gifts, to appease the hunger of the ghostly wanderers. If not placated, villagers feared that the spirits would kill their flocks or destroy their property. The superstitious people protected themselves on such an occasion by blackening the face with soot and masquerading as devils, imps, ogres, and other demonic creatures, hopefully to blend in unnoticed among them. This is the origin of the Halloween traditions of trick or treat and masquerading.

Halloween as a modern-day holiday has become big business. Sales of Halloween decorations for the home now rival Christmas. Elaborate lawn displays, fancy costumes, even a parade in the West Village of New York City filled with outrageously costumed revelers now mark this once minor holiday as a major event. It was not so back in the 1950s. It was a day pretty much for kids. Our costumes were homemade and simple. Dressing up in your parents old clothes with stuffing to fill them out, and decorating your face with burnt cork sufficed for most kids. We certainly couldn't afford the eggs and shaving cream adopted by later generations to wreak havoc, we mostly used socks filled with flour to pound each other, or big sticks of chalk to deface sidewalks and unsuspecting people.

We did go trick or treating, although the pickings were a lot leaner back then. Today, a month before Halloween, the stores stock up with specially sized candy meant for disbursing to kids who ring your bell. We had no such luck. Instead of finding us cute, like the little Princess Leias and Spidermans who come to our doors today, our neighbors considered us pains in the ass. If they answered the door at all, you got whatever was laying around the house....an apple already going brown, a few Graham crackers left over from the Truman Administration, or a prized Hershey Bar, the chocolate turning white with age. I remember once calling on Mrs. Mancini, here only a couple of years from Italy. She seemed puzzled when I explained the idea of trick or treat in my best broken Italian and, feeling bad that she had nothing in the house, untied a handkerchief and gave me four quarters. Clearly my best Halloween score ever!

If some neighborhood crab didn't come across, we'd pull a lame-o trick just to punish the cheapskate. It was like the loan sharks in the neighborhood who had to "kneecap" someone once in a while just to keep the deadbeats in line. We'd jam a stick in their doorbell, chalk-up their sidewalks, or overturn their garbage pails and then run like hell. (The really great tricks like leaving a flaming bag full of doggie-do on the front step and ringing the doorbell had yet to be invented.) You had to be careful not to get caught since these were the days when adults felt free to plant a kick in your rear if you misbehaved. You dared not tell your parents because that only meant another beating.

We had Halloween parties too. We'd play games like Pin the Tail on the Donkey, Simon Says and Musical Chairs. When we got older and the hormones starting bubbling over, a clandestine game of Spin the Bottle could always be found in a dark corner. Probably the greatest Halloween game we played was ducking for apples. The hostess would fill a big metal tub with water (probably used for bathing at other times, ugh). Then apples, into which coins of varying denominations would be inserted, were floated in the tub. Kids would take turns trying to bob for the apples using only their teeth, a very wet and messy business. If you were lucky you might get an apple containing as much as fifty cents. I love the quote from author Dorothy Parker when she first heard the term: Ducking for apples. She said: "There, but for a typographical error, is the story of my life."

Kids show up today for trick or treating in store-bought costumes escorted by a posse of parents, accept only sealed candy which their parents have inspected by the FDA before the kid gets to eat a piece, and wouldn't have a clue if, when they said "Trick or Treat" you said "trick". The idea of ducking for apples in that germ-filled petri dish would horrify modern mothers who walk around with a bottle of hand sanitizer in case little Madison should touch anything. There is also the issue of creeps doing things like putting razor blades in candy or luring kids into their homes. Very scary...I guess that accounts for the parent posses.

I liked Halloween as a kid...it was our simple holiday and we had our fun. Adults have managed to screw it up.

Originally posted 10/7/08.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS. ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG: BRAINDROPS

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

Downtown Brooklyn

In the fifties, we didn't get to Manhattan as much as we did to "Downtown Brooklyn". The downtown section of Brooklyn for us was a major "date" destination. Filled with movie theaters, restaurants and shopping, it was the place to go. It's so hard to pick just a few images that represent this unique area. The ones I've chosen are some of my personal favorites such as the iconic Williamsburgh Savings Bank, at One Hanson Place, near Atlantic and Flatbush Avenues. It is the tallest building in Brooklyn and its distinctive clock tower could be seen from miles around.

Of all the great movie theaters downtown, maybe the Paramount was best known. A local DJ, Alan Freed, staged rock and roll shows there, and kids lined up for hours to get tickets. Other great theaters in the area were the Fox and Albee, not like the cheesy multiplex venues of today, but extravagant structures with Gothic architecture and opulent, gilded interiors. After the show you could get a bite to eat, and depending on how much you were willing to spend, there were many places from which to choose.

If you thought this date might let you get to second base, you went to a classy place like Junior's. Rightly famous for its cheese cake, Junior's also had good food in pleasant surroundings. It still stands today at Flatbush Avenue and Fulton Street, happily clogging the arteries of new cheesecake aficionados.

If your date fought you off like a tiger in the balcony of the Paramount, then you needed to cut your losses. Maybe doughnuts and coffee at Bickford's Cafeteria on Fulton Street and Fourth Avenue was the place for you. Open 24 hours a day, Bickford's was a popular chain with 48 restaurants, up until the sixties when it slipped into oblivion with the rest of downtown Brooklyn.

Downtown was also a big shopping destination with department stores like Abraham & Strauss, Martin's and Mays. The latter was a lower-end store, but A&S and Martin's were quality establishments. Sales help dressed beautifully, and (just imagine) were required to know the merchandise and actually provide customer service.

Today downtown Brooklyn is thriving. Big-name stores, new, expensive housing, and the soon-to-be-built Atlantic Yards project, new home of the New York Nets basketball team . I'm glad its back.



CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

School Days - Part 1

I attended Our Lady of Lourdes School in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn. No pre-K, no Kindergarten, just bam, first grade, cold turkey. Our teacher was Miss Langin, an elderly woman who looked like she stepped out of a Tennessee Williams play. Poor Miss Langin, she died shortly after we finished first grade. All the kids were required to attend her funeral which was held at the funeral home directly across from the school. This was probably the first funeral any of us had attended. As we lined up to view the body, we tried to cover up our nervousness by joking around, as scared boys will do. She looked so peaceful, and unless my memory fails (stop snickering) she wore a lovely pale-blue dress. I left my first encounter with death feeling OK; Miss Langin looked better than she ever did in life.

Parochial school was a no-nonsense affair. If you misbehaved, it was dealt with swiftly by the lay teachers who taught us through grade 4, and the Franciscan Brothers who taught grades 5-8. I once had a Brother hang me from my belt in the "cloak room" (that's a coat room to those of you under 60) until he felt I had learned my lesson. Today, if you ask a kid to write: "I will not chew gum in class" 100 times, it's considered "corporal punishment". Geez, what wussies.

The worst beating I ever got was in 8th grade. Another boy and I were carrying a ceramic-like statue of the Blessed Mother balanced on a small table into the 8th grade girls' room (they were separated from the boys in those days). As we shuffled slowly into the room trying to keep the statue from falling, I craned my neck to get a look at a particular girl when I tripped over the bench seat of a desk that had been left folded down. The statue hung in mid-air for a split second before shattering into a thousand pieces. Sister Bonaventura (nuns taught the girls) had a look of horror on her face and was momentarily frozen like the rest of us. She recovered quickly though and proceeded too beat the hell out of me, all five feet of her. Having this happen in front of a class full of giggling girls was unbearable to a 13-year old. I can probably trace my one-time desire to enter the Franciscan Brotherhood to that humiliating moment. Luckily for the Franciscans, my "vocation" quickly evaporated.

There is lots more to tell about what school was like in those days, and so I hope you'll read the next post, "Part 2" of School Days. Pinky swear?

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

School Days, Part 2

Grammar school in 1947 was nothing like today. We wore uniforms, sat in rows of desks with folding bench seats, and inkwells, that's right, inkwells. In first grade we wrote with pens that had a nib point and you had to dip them in ink to write. Then, along about third grade came fountain pens that had a rubber bladder that you filled with ink and you were good for a couple of days. The down side of fountain pens was that they leaked, and every boy's uniform shirt pocket had the blue splotch to prove it. Finally, in the 7th or 8th grade came (wonder of wonders) the ball point pen by Papermate. No ink, just click and write. We actually changed the refills when the pen ran dry. Nothing was thrown away.
Around third grade we made our First Communion. Boys wore stylish outfits like the one pictured, while girls wore white dresses with veils. Today First Communion parties are elaborate affairs costing more than my wedding. For my First Communion, I cleared around ten bucks and felt like Donald Trump. For Confirmation a few years later, boys dressed more conservatively in dark blue suits. My mother dragged me to Klein's Department Store in Union Square to buy a suit. She made sure it was a big enough fit to last me a few years. (Mom, you'll be happy to know that the suit fits me to this day!)

While attending Our Lady of Lourdes, I met my two best friends in the world, Rich Bilello and Phil Simeone. We remain good friends to this day and recently reunited in Phoenix for the wedding of Phil's lovely daughter Claire to Marc. (From left, me, Phil and Rich).

Rich and I tracked down and recently had lunch with one of our Lourdes teachers, Brother Jude, along with our wives Joann and Jasmine. He was an exceptional teacher and person who had an immeasurable impact on both our lives. He also coached all the sports teams, so we saw a good deal of him, both during and after school. He looks great, and we had a wonderful time. (But look out if he takes off his watch...it means he's coming down the aisle for you).

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

The Lords of Flatbush

When “Rebel Without a Cause” came out in 1955, every kid on my block wanted to be James Dean. I hounded my mother unmercifully to let me wear a black leather jacket and “engineer” boots, and miraculously, she relented. In those days, kids who dressed like that were called juvenile delinquents or “JDs”. There’s a little gem of a movie from the mid-seventies called “The Lords of Flatbush”, starring a very young Sylvester Stallone and the "pre-Fonzie" Henry Winkler, that kind of sums up the JDs’ world.

Anyhow, one night when, as usual we had no money and nothing to do, we “JDs” rode around in my friend Joe Alba’s father's 1940s vintage black sedan…not exactly a babe magnet. On Atlantic Avenue near the White Castle restaurant, a police car pulled us over and took us to the Liberty Avenue station house for questioning. It seems that a bunch of guys dressed like us and riding in a similar car had taken a shot at someone that night. They grilled us separately in a back room just like in an old James Cagney movie.I guess the cops finally figured out that we didn’t do it (the sobbing probably helped) and let us go.

That incident helped put an end to my JD career. I also soon learned that high school girls preferred their guys to look more preppy than punky. ). Overnight I went from being Arthur Fonzarelli to Richie Cunningham. I exchanged my black leather Village People getup for button-down shirts and Chino pants with the little belt on the back that served no purpose at all. (Don’t deny it, you wore them too).

I could never go for the shoes that called "white bucks" though. There were still plenty of JDs left on my block, and they would do to me what Sitting Bull did to Custer if I ever showed my face wearing them.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association

The Key to Happiness

If you recognize this, it's a good bet that you're collecting Social Security. For those who may never have seen one, it's a skate key used to adjust the street roller skates we used as kids to zip around the neighborhood. There were two main brands, Union Hardware, and the ones I had, Chicago Rollers They adjusteded to fit the length of your foot, and also the width which is where the skate key came in. It was used to open or tighten the two clamps that gripped the outsides of your shoes.

Street roller skating was big in the fifties, even bigger than roller blading is now. When our parents were around, we skated on the sidewalks. It was OK, but the rough surfaces and cracks literally made your teeth vibrate. When our parents weren't around we took to the streets....smooth sailing on those seamless asphalt surfaces. Jump the curb, whip around the green Chevy, and skate hell bent for Louie's candy store, where Louie's wife Esther had a fit if you came into the store on skates. While one of us argued with her, the rest of us were cleaning out the chocolate-covered jelly rolls and the Halavah Bars on the counter.
There were also indoor skating rinks like the Eastern Parkway Arena that had wooden floors, snack bars, and organ music so you and your date could skate-dance around the floor. They had a live organist (well, barely alive...she was in her eighties) who played all the familiar skater's waltzes for us young hoods in our pegged pants and D.A. haircuts. There was even a popular TV show called Roller Derby where teams of toothless guys and gals skated around an oval trying to get their skaters into the lead to win the race. They were very physical matches and often looked like a hockey game had broken out!
When your skates got worn out, they would begin their new life as your scooter wheels. The skate was taken apart so that front and rear wheels were now separate. These were attached to a two-by-four board front and back, and a wooden fruit crate nailed to the front of the two-by-four. Two sticks were fastened to the top of the crate to facilitate steering. This ingenious contraption is pictured at left. Can you even imagine a kid today doing this? It's what poor kids did to make the absolute most out of what they had. I honestly believe that we were all the better for it.

CLICK ON DATES AT TOP RIGHT TO SEE OTHER “SPALDEEN DREAMS” POSTS.

LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association