Summer in East New York, for starters was very hot. If you spent a few weeks in the mountains, like we often did, when you get back to ENY it had a strange dirty, kind of fogged over look. Quite often we just sat around outside the building on the bench. Someone would have a portable radio. We'd be listening to oldies from Newark, NJ. "The Relic Rack" was a favorite. Other shows were Jocko on your Radio, or Alan Fredericks Kit Kat Club. Earlier years had Alan Freed. I remember listening to these old songs and with a switchblade, I'd be carving my initials deep in the wooden bench slat. Day after day I would keep carving in the same place, making my initials deeper and deeper in the bench.
The mosquitoes were huge. They weren't friendly bugs, they were like B-52 bombers , diving into your neck or arm and sucking your blood out like the vampires that they are. I kinda like smashing them, while they sucked and the blood would splatter all over. When we'd go upstairs we'd fight over who got the big fan. I remember the good fan had colored buttons and the green button was high speed. We had no air conditioning. Nowadays , I can't survive without A/C. The cars used to have "fly" windows, which were little windows you could turn to direct the wind at yourself to cool off.
Summer nights always had the sounds of sirens in the background. They were more melodic than the annoying sirens on police and fire engines today. We would go up to the rooftop on our 6 story building on Stanley Ave. and watch the fires burning the tenements on Blake Ave. Speaking of Blake Ave,, it was where my mother liked to shop. They had pushcarts, and each one sold a different product. Everything from fresh fish, to vegetables, to meats to pots and pans. Eventually, Fortunoff graduated from pushcarts to stores. Each store would specialize . One would have clothing, another was a pharmacy, another dishes and cookware and another was bedding.Eventually, There was a suspicious fire and the stores all burnt down. This was on Livonia Ave, in Brownsville. My mom loved the fire sale and bought all this "china". She was so proud of her purchases. I think she got an amazing deal. Then a few months later , Maxie Fortunoff opened a huge department store in Westbury. Amaingly, this guy Murray, a New Lots Boy and my friend Fuzzy's boss at the pharmacy store, was given a job as VP of this huge department store. It just seemed weird that a hoodlum, could have such a high powered job. At least it seemed that way back then. Curly's pool room was on the same block as Fortunoff. When we were 15 we would go there to play pool. You had to be 16, but we had phony proof of age. Curly's catered to mostly Hispanic folks. There was a boxing ring in the back. They had pocket billiards, billiards and snooker tables. Only men were allowed into pool rooms back then. It was a few years later when Playboy Billiards started letting women in. Curly's was filthy and your hands would be black after shooting pool there. The price was 70 cents an hour for the table. Most often we would play for "time" or for a couple of bucks. Murray's pool room, was our other spot. it was 80 cents an hour. It was right over the Biltmore theatre. Everyone there knew each other. So it was always easy to get a game with someone. The best players in Murrays, were Giff, Shotsy, Davey,Manny and big Mel . There was a guy named Crazy Laser who spent 20 years in Danamura prison, and a whole bunch of lunatics up there. If you got to Murray's early you could carry up the block of ice that he used to keep the sodas cold, and get a half hour free time. The tables were "old time' with beads on a wire to keep score. The sound of the beads were something that stays in your head. The same with pool balls smacking against each other. A guy named izzy Knish would sing Moon over Miami outside and people would throw him quarters. Izzy had some issues but everyone treated him OK. Saying "sing another one Izzy". Oh yeah, Gary Crutch was a real good pool player too. Hate to leave an important fact like that out , haha.
I don't know where this story is going, but when we'd drive home from clubs on Long Island, we would know we were home when we smelled sewage from the swamps off the Belt Parkway near Pennsylvania Ave. The water way we called shits creek, would give us the smell , that woke us up and told us to exit the Parkway. Imagine, the familiar stink of sewage, told us we were home. It's a beautiful thing. Hot town summer in the city, singing, listening to the transistor radios. Fishing for stripers off the bridge. Doing crazy stuff. Ahhh the memories.
