In the years that I've been keeping a journal, I have, on occasion, written short autobiographical pieces about my life before prison...
And this is what I am going to do now. Because at this moment I'm thinking of my adolescent years as a result of a letter I just received from a friend who lives on the West Coast. Her name is Lucy. When we were kids, Lucy and I both attended the James M. Kieran Junior High School (JHS #123) in New York City's borough of the Bronx. We attended JHS 123 from grades seven through nine. We were also in many of the same classes together. And we also grew up in the same neighborhood, too. Lucy lived around the corner from me.
I knew her only slightly. Then, upon graduation, Lucy and I, like so many of our fellow students, went our separate ways. In fact, I forgot about her. Later, however, I'd learn from Lucy herself that she got married, moved to California, and raised a handful of children, all of whom are now grown and on their own.
But as things would go, Lucy was saddened to learn of my fate. Back in 1977 the news of my arrest went around the world. So she was aware of what had become of me. Yet in time Lucy became a Christian, and so did I. And when she heard about my salvation experience, Lucy decided to write me.
When I received Lucy's first letter, perhaps some fifteen years ago, it took a while for me to jog my memory and recall who she was. Finally, I did remember. And now we've been exchanging at least several letters per year ever since.
As Christians often do, Lucy and I try to give each other spiritual encouragement through our correspondence. These days she has a handful of grandchildren to help care for, as well as an ailing husband. Lucy has a busy life.
And this brings me to the days of my youth. I grew up in the Soundview section of the Bronx. My street address was 1105 Stratford Avenue, where I lived with my parents on the top floor of a six-story apartment building. Our building was located just off the busy intersection of Watson and Stratford Avenues.
Since my bedroom window faced the street corner, I had an unobstructed view of a big swath of the neighborhood. I could see a large portion of the Bronx for miles in different directions. I loved looking out my window, and I did this a lot. And when I'd stick my head out the window and turned to my right, I could see the Bruckner Expressway, one of the main vehicular arteries that traverses the borough. It was only one block away. Furthermore, I was also able to see beyond the Expressway and view the Long Island Sound. Then, beyond this large body of water, I could see the Queens shoreline in the distance. It was a spectacular view to have from an old roach-ridden tenement building.
But, best of all, far off in the distance, across the Sound, I could see the lights of Shea Stadium whenever the New York Mets had a night game at home. Those brilliant lights would beam upwards to illuminate the dark sky. For me, because I loved baseball, these lights were the beacons of dreams. Like most boys my age, it was a fantasy to one day become a professional baseball player.
In Lucy's latest letter, she wrote about some things concerning our old neighborhood. It caused me to reminisce about this period of my life, which I'm doing now.
I recall Lou's Candy Store (formerly known as Morris' Candy Store) near the end of the 1100 block of Stratford Avenue, just off Westchester Avenue. At Lou's I'd purchase ten cent Marvel action comic books, an array of penny candies, and loads of ten cent candy bars. Lou's was the summertime oasis for all the local kids like me, plus being the hangout for the local Mafia-types. The bookies were always busy using the telephones that were inside the premises. From these phone booths, they'd call in their bets and make their deals. At Lou's, kids and low level criminals mingled together in the comfort of this small establishment, oblivious to each other. It was a safe place with an old-fashioned soda fountain and hand-scooped ice cream cones. For a young boy, a quarter went a long way.
And next to Lou's was a big fruit and vegetable stand, the stopping point for countless housewives in search of a bargain. While those who wanted to walk past the stand had to carefully navigate between the baskets and boxes of fresh produce that would extend almost to the curb. Then, along the main thoroughfare itself, which was Westchester Avenue with its dozens of stores of all kinds and sizes, was Teddy's Toy Store, a Carvel Ice Cream shop, a Jewish delicatessen, a popular Chinese restaurant, Woolworth's, the Y&S Pharmacy, Pyramids (which was a general merchandise store), and a John's Bargain Store, which was a once popular chain store that featured thousands of items for a dollar or less.
Best of all, however, was my favorite lunch spot, Yankees Pizzeria, with its terrific pizza and its soft Italian ices that came in assorted flavors. The ices were scooped into a white paper cup by hand and served fresh. A double scoop of chocolate ices helped to keep me active during the hot summer months, when the blazing Bronx pavement baked the bottoms of my Converse "All Star" sneakers.
Finally, there was the blind man who sold newspapers and magazines from his small wooden shack. The shack was built underneath a long flight of steps that led to the "Number Six" subway train's elevated platform station known as "Soundview." My mother would buy her daily paper here because she felt sorry for him. Obviously, a man with such a handicap had to trust that his customers were honest enough to put the exact amount of coins into the metal pail which he kept directly in front of him at all times. My mom's compassionate heart drove her to bypass two other newsstands that were closer to home. She'd insist on walking an additional city block to make sure it was the blind man who got her money.
These are some of my precious memories of growing up in the Bronx. Yes, I do get homesick, but in a good way. And who could forget such things?
D.B.
I knew her only slightly. Then, upon graduation, Lucy and I, like so many of our fellow students, went our separate ways. In fact, I forgot about her. Later, however, I'd learn from Lucy herself that she got married, moved to California, and raised a handful of children, all of whom are now grown and on their own.
But as things would go, Lucy was saddened to learn of my fate. Back in 1977 the news of my arrest went around the world. So she was aware of what had become of me. Yet in time Lucy became a Christian, and so did I. And when she heard about my salvation experience, Lucy decided to write me.
When I received Lucy's first letter, perhaps some fifteen years ago, it took a while for me to jog my memory and recall who she was. Finally, I did remember. And now we've been exchanging at least several letters per year ever since.
As Christians often do, Lucy and I try to give each other spiritual encouragement through our correspondence. These days she has a handful of grandchildren to help care for, as well as an ailing husband. Lucy has a busy life.
And this brings me to the days of my youth. I grew up in the Soundview section of the Bronx. My street address was 1105 Stratford Avenue, where I lived with my parents on the top floor of a six-story apartment building. Our building was located just off the busy intersection of Watson and Stratford Avenues.
Since my bedroom window faced the street corner, I had an unobstructed view of a big swath of the neighborhood. I could see a large portion of the Bronx for miles in different directions. I loved looking out my window, and I did this a lot. And when I'd stick my head out the window and turned to my right, I could see the Bruckner Expressway, one of the main vehicular arteries that traverses the borough. It was only one block away. Furthermore, I was also able to see beyond the Expressway and view the Long Island Sound. Then, beyond this large body of water, I could see the Queens shoreline in the distance. It was a spectacular view to have from an old roach-ridden tenement building.
But, best of all, far off in the distance, across the Sound, I could see the lights of Shea Stadium whenever the New York Mets had a night game at home. Those brilliant lights would beam upwards to illuminate the dark sky. For me, because I loved baseball, these lights were the beacons of dreams. Like most boys my age, it was a fantasy to one day become a professional baseball player.
In Lucy's latest letter, she wrote about some things concerning our old neighborhood. It caused me to reminisce about this period of my life, which I'm doing now.
I recall Lou's Candy Store (formerly known as Morris' Candy Store) near the end of the 1100 block of Stratford Avenue, just off Westchester Avenue. At Lou's I'd purchase ten cent Marvel action comic books, an array of penny candies, and loads of ten cent candy bars. Lou's was the summertime oasis for all the local kids like me, plus being the hangout for the local Mafia-types. The bookies were always busy using the telephones that were inside the premises. From these phone booths, they'd call in their bets and make their deals. At Lou's, kids and low level criminals mingled together in the comfort of this small establishment, oblivious to each other. It was a safe place with an old-fashioned soda fountain and hand-scooped ice cream cones. For a young boy, a quarter went a long way.
And next to Lou's was a big fruit and vegetable stand, the stopping point for countless housewives in search of a bargain. While those who wanted to walk past the stand had to carefully navigate between the baskets and boxes of fresh produce that would extend almost to the curb. Then, along the main thoroughfare itself, which was Westchester Avenue with its dozens of stores of all kinds and sizes, was Teddy's Toy Store, a Carvel Ice Cream shop, a Jewish delicatessen, a popular Chinese restaurant, Woolworth's, the Y&S Pharmacy, Pyramids (which was a general merchandise store), and a John's Bargain Store, which was a once popular chain store that featured thousands of items for a dollar or less.
Best of all, however, was my favorite lunch spot, Yankees Pizzeria, with its terrific pizza and its soft Italian ices that came in assorted flavors. The ices were scooped into a white paper cup by hand and served fresh. A double scoop of chocolate ices helped to keep me active during the hot summer months, when the blazing Bronx pavement baked the bottoms of my Converse "All Star" sneakers.
Finally, there was the blind man who sold newspapers and magazines from his small wooden shack. The shack was built underneath a long flight of steps that led to the "Number Six" subway train's elevated platform station known as "Soundview." My mother would buy her daily paper here because she felt sorry for him. Obviously, a man with such a handicap had to trust that his customers were honest enough to put the exact amount of coins into the metal pail which he kept directly in front of him at all times. My mom's compassionate heart drove her to bypass two other newsstands that were closer to home. She'd insist on walking an additional city block to make sure it was the blind man who got her money.
These are some of my precious memories of growing up in the Bronx. Yes, I do get homesick, but in a good way. And who could forget such things?
D.B.
