Earlier this week, I received a visit from an old acquaintance, Daniel...
The last time we saw each other was in the early 1970s. He and I are from the Bronx. We first met when we were about sixteen or seventeen years old. Daniel and I were two of scores of teenagers who'd hang in and around a recently opened shopping center on Dreiser Loop in the Co-op City section. Co-op City, which is one of the largest housing developments in New York City, was still under construction back then, with only a few of an assortment of thirty-five high rise buildings having been completed with tenants already living in them. And on most nights, as well as on weekends, dozens of teens, with little to do, would gather at the shopping center to socialize.
Although Daniel and I each moved among different circles of friends, we did cross paths on occasion during our adolescent years. I remember seeing him at a couple of local parties. Daniel also knew one of my best friends, Eddie, whose dad had been a New York City firefighter with Engine Company 48. Eddie's dad was killed in the line of duty, I think it was in the mid 1960s, while going down into a manhole to search for workers who were reported to be trapped. This occurred near the intersection of East Fordham Road and Valentine Avenue in the Bronx. Eddie's father was overcome by gas fumes and died.
And Daniel was much different than me as far as school went. He was scholarly and smart, and he excelled in his studies, while I was hyperactive and bored in the classroom setting. Therefore, I did poorly in school, and at times I'd also cut classes, which didn't help with my final grades. Yet in 1971 I somehow managed to graduate from Christopher Columbus High School with a "C-minus" average. But Daniel was a "wiz kid" who graduated from the elite Bronx High School of Science, where only the intellectually gifted could attend.
Then, when Daniel came to see me, he brought with him an array of photos of Co-op City and the surrounding neighborhood. It was interesting to see thirty years of change and progress. Vacant lots, as I remembered them, have been transformed into sprawling shopping centers with fancy stores and restaurants, and modern multiplex movie theaters. And at one location, where there was once a junkyard, now has a large postal facility in its place. Thus, from what I could see, much of my old neighborhood is now unrecognizable to me.
So vast have been the changes that the photos, although fascinating, were also difficult to look at. I had an emotionally challenging time viewing scenes of streets I once traveled upon as a teenager, and as a young man, when, in 1974, I was discharged from the military after a three-year period of enlistment.
And I also saw several well taken photos of my former apartment building, including the windows of my old apartment. I lived on the 17th floor of a 24-story-high rise at 170 Dreiser Loop. At first, it was just my dad and I living together until he remarried a few years later. My mother, unfortunately, who had been eagerly looking forward to moving to Co-op City, died shortly before we were to leave our roach infested tenement on Stratford Avenue. At the time, my parents and I were living in the increasingly crime-ridden Soundview area of the borough.
Later that night, however, after my visit with Daniel, I shed many tears as I recalled the years of my youth. Back then, I thought I had a good future awaiting me. I never foresaw prison. Never in my wildest dreams did I know the twists and turns that were ahead for me.
Nevertheless, while my life had had its share of problems, thankfully, for Daniel, he's done well for himself. He has a wife and son, and a good career. He's also a bona fide "suburbanite" with a nice house in Westchester County. So while our lives are very different today, we've got our old neighborhood and some people from the past to connect us.
It was good to reminisce. Best of all, I was able to share my faith with Daniel. And he seemed to be interested in what I had to say concerning the Lord.
D.B.
Although Daniel and I each moved among different circles of friends, we did cross paths on occasion during our adolescent years. I remember seeing him at a couple of local parties. Daniel also knew one of my best friends, Eddie, whose dad had been a New York City firefighter with Engine Company 48. Eddie's dad was killed in the line of duty, I think it was in the mid 1960s, while going down into a manhole to search for workers who were reported to be trapped. This occurred near the intersection of East Fordham Road and Valentine Avenue in the Bronx. Eddie's father was overcome by gas fumes and died.
And Daniel was much different than me as far as school went. He was scholarly and smart, and he excelled in his studies, while I was hyperactive and bored in the classroom setting. Therefore, I did poorly in school, and at times I'd also cut classes, which didn't help with my final grades. Yet in 1971 I somehow managed to graduate from Christopher Columbus High School with a "C-minus" average. But Daniel was a "wiz kid" who graduated from the elite Bronx High School of Science, where only the intellectually gifted could attend.
Then, when Daniel came to see me, he brought with him an array of photos of Co-op City and the surrounding neighborhood. It was interesting to see thirty years of change and progress. Vacant lots, as I remembered them, have been transformed into sprawling shopping centers with fancy stores and restaurants, and modern multiplex movie theaters. And at one location, where there was once a junkyard, now has a large postal facility in its place. Thus, from what I could see, much of my old neighborhood is now unrecognizable to me.
So vast have been the changes that the photos, although fascinating, were also difficult to look at. I had an emotionally challenging time viewing scenes of streets I once traveled upon as a teenager, and as a young man, when, in 1974, I was discharged from the military after a three-year period of enlistment.
And I also saw several well taken photos of my former apartment building, including the windows of my old apartment. I lived on the 17th floor of a 24-story-high rise at 170 Dreiser Loop. At first, it was just my dad and I living together until he remarried a few years later. My mother, unfortunately, who had been eagerly looking forward to moving to Co-op City, died shortly before we were to leave our roach infested tenement on Stratford Avenue. At the time, my parents and I were living in the increasingly crime-ridden Soundview area of the borough.
Later that night, however, after my visit with Daniel, I shed many tears as I recalled the years of my youth. Back then, I thought I had a good future awaiting me. I never foresaw prison. Never in my wildest dreams did I know the twists and turns that were ahead for me.
Nevertheless, while my life had had its share of problems, thankfully, for Daniel, he's done well for himself. He has a wife and son, and a good career. He's also a bona fide "suburbanite" with a nice house in Westchester County. So while our lives are very different today, we've got our old neighborhood and some people from the past to connect us.
It was good to reminisce. Best of all, I was able to share my faith with Daniel. And he seemed to be interested in what I had to say concerning the Lord.
D.B.
