Turning the Corner on Life

By Arnold Silveri

Turning the Corner on Life is a book covering more than seventy years of my life. Like any other autobiography, its about family, friends, and the personal experiences we shared. It does not include every single thing that ever happened to me in my life. There are, however, numerous nostalgic references to music, movies, radio, television, sports, social /cultural political names, places, and events intermingled within the chronology of my life.

Beginning with the happy carefree days I spent playing ball in the street and going to the movies. The times we went to Coney Island and Ebbets Field. The happy and not-so-happy days I spent as a teenager in junior high and hanging out on the corner.

The love, loyalty, and compassion my wife, Connie, always displayedfrom our first meeting and throughout our marriageduring some tough, depressing times. And last but not least, the happiness we shared in the birth of our children and grandchildren.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469183572

Arnold Silveri

Arnold Silveri attended New Utrecht High School in Brooklyn, New York. He worked as a laborer and Postal clerk. His main occupation, however, was as a computer operator. While stationed in Korea--from July 1956 to October 1957--he served in the 24th Infantry Division He is the author of four books: “Baseball’s Best: From A to Z”; “It Ain’t Shakespeare, But . . .” ; “Turning the Corner On Life” and “Why You Can’t Clone Koufax.” He currently resides in Staten Island, New York with his two wonderful daughters and four grandsons.

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Chapter One

I was born on April 29, 1935, in a house on First Street, in Brooklyn, New York. I was delivered by a midwife, just as my six sisters and three brothers who came before me had been. It was not unusual for Italian, Irish, and other Europeans to produce large families in South Brooklyn. There was a fifteen-year difference between my sister Yolanda, the oldest, and me. There were five sisters and three brothers between Yolanda and me. That averages out to about one birth every seventeen months. Yolanda (Yola) was followed by Gloria (Glory), Sylvia, Margaret, Josephine, Albert, Mario, Raymond (Raymo), Millie, the youngest of the girls, and me.

As the youngest, I was treated special, perhaps a little spoiled because of my early childhood illness. Being a colicky baby was one thing, but having pneumonia, in the mid-1930s, was another. Fearing that I would die in a hospital, my mother kept me home and nursed me back to health herself. When I think of all the hardships she endured and all the sacrifices she made to raise a family of ten children, I can truly say my mother’s name wasn’t just Mary, it was—St. Mary.

Although we may have lived in several different places in Brooklyn, I can only remember the one house in South Brooklyn. It was a six-family apartment house at 315 Third Street. This was a three-story stone building that was attached on both sides. Six brown concrete steps led to a platform atop the stoop (i.e., front porch). Attached to both ends of the platform was a three-foot-high concrete section that angled down, serving as a handrail. Connected on the Fourth Avenue side was a rectangular-shaped garage with a low roof that rose slightly below the second-floor level of our building. On the Fifth Avenue side, a duplicate six-family apartment house was connected.

The small octagon-shaped black-and-white floor tiles were discolored and cracked in several places on each of the three floors. The carpet on the stairs had begun to show wear and tear due to the traffic created mostly by the ten of us. The gray hallway walls were cracked and chipped, exposing the white undercoating of plaster. The first floor had two three-and-a-half-room apartments. The second floor had two four-and-a-half-room apartments. We lived on the third and last floor of the apartment house. Our apartment consisted of six railroad rooms.

Six-room apartments of today may be adequate and provide each family member a private bedroom, but there were no single or double-room occupancies available to us. The six girls, for example, shared two bedrooms; and we four boys slept in another bedroom. My parents had the fourth bedroom. We had a large kitchen, a medium-sized parlor, and a showerless bathroom. We used a potbelly (coal) stove in our kitchen whenever the coal-burning furnace failed to provide enough heat—which was often—to adequately heat our apartment. Besides the milkman, there were two other deliverymen. I’ll always remember one guy who would ring the bell and yell up to the third floor, It’s da iceman. How many blocks a ice ya need taday? Without a refrigerator, the blocks of ice were needed to keep the icebox cold to preserve perishables. The other guy would yell, The Javelle (bleach) man’s here. How many bottles ya want taday?

Looking over our fire escape through our back windows, we could see Downtown Brooklyn and the big clock near the top of the Williamsburg Savings Bank building. On Saturday mornings, we would look out the back windows and count all the taxicabs scurrying in and out of Downtown Brooklyn. While this was going on, my brother Mario would be making sugar sandwiches on sliced (American) bread. By ten in the morning, my three brothers, Albert, Mario, and Raymo, had hitched a ride on the Fifth Avenue trolley that was heading to Downtown Brooklyn. They always managed to make some extra money shining shoes. However, one day, the three of them decided to play hooky from school. Instead of going to school, they went to the Avon Theater on Ninth Street and Fifth Avenue. As they were walking home, they realized it was nearing the time they would normally arrive home from school. So rather than risk being late, they decided they could make it home faster by hitching a ride on the Fifth Avenue trolley. As it turns out (wouldn’t you know it?), they hitched a ride on the same trolley that my mother was riding on! They were stunned!

Later that day, when my mother confronted them with the hooky and hitching incident, they reluctantly confessed. They swore they would never do it again—that is, until the next time! This came to be known as the H and H episode.

Our front windows faced the Third Street Park. The park ran lengthwise from Fourth Avenue to Fifth Avenue. It was bordered by Third and Fourth streets. A softball field beginning on the Fourth Avenue end of the park took up one-third of the park. Living across from the park had its benefits. For one thing, it was easy to get to.

In addition to the monkey bars, swings, seesaws, and sliding ponds, kids could ride a bike or roller-skate and feel relatively safe in the park. In the center or main courtyard of the park, there was a tall flagpole mounted on a two-foot circular concrete pedestal. A long rope was attached to the large flag flying above it. The rope was used for raising or lowering the flag. On summer nights, however, the rope was used to carry kids swinging on it in a wide circular motion around the flagpole. Out of range of the flagpole swingers, there was a stone house. On one of the side walls of the stone house, at street level, there was a sculpted copper engraving mounted on the wall. It depicted the Revolutionary War’s Battle of Brooklyn, where 256 men of the Delaware and Maryland regiments died. Brooklyn Heights, Prospect Park, and Park Slope were also part of the August 1776 Battle of Brooklyn.

Heading toward the Fifth Avenue end of the park, an iron fence surrounded a large rectangular area. This was the place we cooled off from the showers. Those showers came in handy when there were no johnny pumps (hydrants) open for us to cool off during those hot, humid summer days. Don’t forget, we had no air conditioners.

In the winter, of course, the shower area was used as an ice-skating rink. Across the street from the park, on Third Street and Fifth Avenue, a candy store sold Italian ices, ice cream, and soda.

Obviously, in going back more than seventy years, my memory of early childhood is somewhat compromised. Although I do have this blurred recollection of riding on the Fifth Avenue bus during Christmastime on our way to Germaine’s Department Store on Sixteenth Street. We would pass Michael’s Brothers Furniture Store and the Prospect and Avon theaters on Ninth Street. I remember taking the bus heading Downtown to A&S and other stores at Christmastime. The ride took us past Our Lady of Peace, on Carroll Street, the church where I was christened. Not far from Carroll Street, on Garfield Place, stood the Garfield Theater. The Garfield was a run-down old theater where I watched Tim McCoy, one of my early western heroes, on Saturday afternoons. On President Street and Fourth Avenue, there was a city pool, or YMCA, where we occasionally took showers and cooled off.

But not every event had a happy, or harmless, outcome. Unfortunately, there were several events that ended in tragedy. Since I was only about three years old, at the time, I remember very little about the terrible accident involving my cousin Teddy. No one can begin to imagine the grief and pain my aunt Jean and uncle Vincent (Teddy’s parents) experienced when their only son was tragically killed by a car. My cousin Carmela (Chubby) was their only other child at that time. Maryanne and Anita, Chubby’s younger sisters, were born later. The tragedy occurred on Union Street and Fourth Avenue. My mother was Aunt Jean’s older sister. My mother had a lot of aggravation, heartache, and sadness in her life, but none of her ten children would die while she lived.

I recall the second tragedy more clearly. It involved the death of a teenager killed in a gang fight in Prospect Park. The Garfield Street Boys were one of the gangs involved in the fight. This tragedy involved Angelo Scarlotta, then sixteen, and another teenager. Scarlotta was charged with the murder of the rival gang member. Later, as punishment for the crime, Scarlotta was sentenced to twenty-five years in prison. In cases like this, everyone loses. While one lost his freedom, the other lost his life.

I was about six years old, so there was no vagueness about the third tragedy that would befall another resident of Third Street. One summer afternoon, two young boys went down Red Hook to explore an old airplane wreck in the Gowanus Canal. While drifting in the canal, the old wooden pallet (skid) that they were using as a makeshift raft accidentally tipped over. Teddy, the twelve-year-old, tried to save his friend, whose nickname was Boy. We were stunned when we read the Brooklyn Eagle’s bold headline: Boy drowns in Gowanus Canal. The paper went on to say that Teddy, a Boy Scout, tried to save his friend but was unable to. His training as a Boy Scout probably helped him to survive in the thick, oily, sludge-filled water of the canal. Sadly, each of the three tragic events involved young boys living on Third Street.

Despite those tragic events that occurred while we lived on Third Street, there were a number of humorous, harmless things that happened. There was the time when my sister Sylvia found $100 on Second Street and Fourth Avenue. She had just left Mrs. Wagner’s Pie Factory, after buying two pies, when she stumbled upon the bills in the street. She came home, brought the pies upstairs, and then returned to the stoop. Albert, Mario, Raymo, Millie, and I were sitting on the stoop when Sylvia asked, Do youse wanna go ta Coney Island?

Yeah, yeah, we all screamed.

Awright, awright, just keep quiet, Sylvia warned.

But how we gonna go, we ain’t got no money? Albert asked.

I got a hundred dolluhs, Sylvia answered in a low voice.

A hundred dolluhs! we repeated loudly.

Quiet, shh, shh, Sylvia said softly, putting her index finger to her lips.

Wher’ja get it? Mario asked, in astonishment.

I found it near Mrs. Wagnuh’s Pies, Sylvia answered.

Ain’cha gonna tell Mama ya found money? we all asked.

Yeah, ‘am gonna tell her aftuh we get back from Coney Island, Sylvia snapped.

We jumped on the train on Ninth Street and Fourth Avenue then changed at Thirty-sixth Street. We took the Sea Beach the rest of the way to Coney Island. Before reaching Coney Island, however, Millie almost vomited as we passed over the terrible-smelling canal known as Perfume Bay. We ate Nathan’s hot dogs, French fries, and chow mein sandwiches. Then we went on all the rides: the cyclone, bobsled, thunderbolt, bumping cars, spooky house, etc. We then played some of the games on the outdoor stands along the way. We couldn’t leave, of course, until we had corn on the cob and that famous Coney Island custard.

By the time we got home, hours later, our mother was already home from work in the dress factory. She was waiting for us outside when we approached the house. She looked nervous and anxious, but also a little angry.

Where were youse all day? she asked, rather annoyed. None of us answered her question, of course.

Upstairs, everybody, let’s go, she ordered. We found out later that our mother had been frantically searching for us. She was asking neighbors if they had seen us on the block. As worried as she was, though, she quickly forgot all about our unauthorized trip to Coney Island and anything else. She was just relieved and happy that nothing had happened to us. Sylvia, of course, gave our mother what was left of the $100 she had found. I don’t know how much of the $100 she spent that day. However, considering the price of food, rides, and the subway fare back then, I would bet she gave my mother between $85 and $90. In any event, as Shakespeare said, All’s well that ends well.

One summer day, my brother Raymo climbed up into the peddler’s seat of a horse and wagon. He told my mother that he accidently released the brake on the wagon, causing the horse to start pulling the wagon up Third Street. Luckily, the peddler was alerted by a man who helped the peddler stop the horse and wagon from heading into the traffic on Fifth Avenue. I was only about six years old at the time; but my brother, Raymo, at ten, was not exactly the age of a licensed driver either!

Of course, like all other kids, without television, we listened to the radio. We’d gather around the big RCA console and listen to all the shows. The console also picked up the shortwave stations. It was strange hearing all those foreign languages over the radio. In listening to those languages, however, I think my brother Albert came up with a character called Skamootz. Albert would gather all of us around the bathroom sink, which had a stripped hot water faucet. He would turn it until it loosened and came off. Next, he would place it in front of his mouth and pretend to be calling someone on a radio. He’d then say (in a deep Bela Lugosi-type voice), Come in, Skamootz, come in, Skamootz. He’d end up saying, Skamootz is coming to get you . . . Skamootz is coming to get you. My sister Millie and I were a little scared, but Mario and Raymo were not.

Due to excessive absenteeism, I don’t remember too much about my early school years. Along with my brothers and sister, Millie, I attended PS 77 on Seventh Street and Sixth Avenue. I do remember having a nice teacher named Mrs. Alfred but can’t remember if she was my kindergarten or the first-grade teacher. During that period of time, due to chronic tonsillitis and a variety of ear, nose, and throat problems, I lost one year of school.

Thus, I would forever be one year behind other boys and girls of my age. To try to avoid my chronic absenteeism, my mother made arrangements to have my tonsils removed. Margaret, Albert, Mario, Raymo, and Millie were also scheduled to have tonsillectomies. All five of them went, but I was unable to go with them. Why? You guessed it—because I had tonsillitis!

Music and movies were always a big part of our household while I was growing up. I heard plenty of music and saw many movies during those formative years. This is not to suggest that I remember, back in 1935 (the year I was born), when they ushered in the greatest array of talent and entertainment we have ever known.

The music and movies provided entertainment on the radio and on the screen from New York to Hollywood. Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw, Glen Miller, Harry James, Duke Ellington, and Count Basie played swing, ballads, blues, and jazz music. Buddy Rich, Gene Krupa, and other great musicians played with many of the above-mentioned big bands. Crime films, westerns, musicals, comedies, war, romance, adventure, and other films also played a role in that blossoming of creativity. There was the spectacular color of two great movies: Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz.

Also, of course, there were the grainy black-and-white—film noir—detective mysteries of the late ’30s and ’40s. When Frank Sinatra made his sensational debut with Tommy Dorsey’s Band at the New York Paramount, my sisters and hundreds of other screaming, swooning young girls made up the bobby soxers.

Still and all, my sisters couldn’t devote all their time to seeing Sinatra in person or listening to him on the radio or listening to his records. While Yola and Glory were working full time, Sylvia, Margaret, and Josie were still in school and working part time. Millie was in school but was too young to work. However, in addition to their school homework, my sisters had another kind of homework to do.

During the ’30s and ’40s, some seamstresses regularly took material home to work on. My mother occasionally brought home material (called homework) from the dress factory. My sisters helped sew buttons, beads, sequins, and spangles on the material. The decorated material would later be used to make fancy evening dresses by factory dressmakers. Needless to say, my brothers and I were exempt from this particular kind of homework.

About a year after the tonsillectomy SNAFU (situation normal all fouled up), the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. When President Roosevelt said, We have nothing to fear but fear itself in his famous speech, tens and tens of thousands of men volunteered. Others, of course, would soon be drafted. The sneak attack killed more than 2,500 servicemen and destroyed battleships, cruisers, destroyers, and airplanes. Civilians, who lived in the surrounding area, were also killed in the attack.

The government issued ration books for the duration of the war. The government rationed everything from meat, butter, sugar, milk, coffee, chocolate, cooking oil, and soups, to clothes, shoes, nylons, gasoline, kerosene, oil, rubber, tires, typewriters, leather, etc. Victory Gardens sprang up throughout New York. Air raid wardens patrolled during blackouts. Huge searchlights scanned the night skies, while coastal artillery positions were manned.

Yola and Glory joined the Bandana Brigade, known as Rosie the Riveters, to work in the defense plants. I was thrilled, of course, to take part in the war effort. We collected scrap iron for the scrap iron drives held throughout the nation. One winter afternoon, wearing my knickers and a mackinaw jacket, the big guys let me guard the pile of scrap iron on Third Street. I really felt proud, I must admit, walking back and forth with the toy rifle on my shoulder. It was a wonderful feeling to be young, innocent, and idealistic.

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Albert, Raymo and Mario in rear, Millie and I in front of house on Third Street. (December 1941).

Chapter Two

It had the smell of a real old-fashioned spring day, in May of 1943, as the moving van pulled away from 315 Third Street. We were leaving the old South Brooklyn neighborhood for the last time. I say the last time because my family had moved from South Brooklyn twice, only to move back a short time later.

Finally, after struggling and saving, my mother and father had accumulated enough money for a down payment on a house. My father, George, worked in the Brooklyn Navy Yard, while my mother worked as a seamstress in a dress factory. The semidetached, three-family house had two four-room apartments on the second floor. Yola and Glory, the two eldest in our family, would be living in the apartments upstairs. The first floor had three bedrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, a bathroom, and a spare front room. The house also had an unfinished basement.

The move from Third Street to Seventieth Street was less than a thirty-minute drive. Our new address would be 1256 Seventieth Street in the Bay Ridge section (or was it Dyker Heights?) of Brooklyn. On the one hand, we lived on Seventieth Street, sandwiched between Sixty-ninth Street (called Bay Ridge Avenue) and Seventy-fifth Street (called Bay Ridge Parkway), in Bay Ridge. On the other hand, the Dyker Heights Post Office on Eighty-fourth Street and Thirteenth Avenue delivered our mail. Thus, from a zoning standpoint, one could assume we lived in Dyker Heights, not Bay Ridge. Be that as it may, Bay Ridge was bordered by Borough Park, Dyker Heights, and Bensonhurst. This demonstrates the proximity of the three bordering sections to Bay Ridge.

Bay Ridge and the three sections that bordered it were made up of a variety of skilled, semiskilled, and unskilled blue-collar workers. Longshoremen, truck drivers, cab drivers, construction workers, and other tradesmen were part of the labor force. Many civil service jobs, such as police, fire, sanitation, transit, and postal employees, were held by the Irish. Additionally, during this period, the Irish held the majority of longshoremen jobs on the waterfront. Italians, however, held many jobs in the construction industry. They were employed as bricklayers, masons, laborers, and other trade-related jobs. Even though Italians were in the minority on the waterfront at that time, they would eventually form the bulk of union members of the International Longshoremen’s Association (ILA). The ILA was headed by tough Tony Anastasia. When asked what the letters ILA stood for, members of the union would smile and say I Love Anastasia.

While the Italians owned more restaurants, the Irish owned more bars. The Scandinavians and Germans had the bakeries and delicatessens and hardware stores. Clothing, grocery, gift shops, delicatessens, and other commercial enterprises were owned by the Jewish population. However, there were probably more Jewish doctors, lawyers, college professors, teachers, and accountants than all the other nationalities combined. The Irish held many of the white-collar jobs in banks, in insurance companies, and on Wall Street. The Italians, Scandinavians, and Germans shared in the remainder of the white-collar jobs. The Italians owned many grocery stores, barbershops, restaurants, and virtually all the pastry shops. The Chinese owned restaurants and laundries, while the Greeks owned most of the diners.

Other than the United Auto Workers Union and some other trade unions, organized labor unions had not yet gained a foothold in city, state, and federal civil service. There were also many other workers who did not belong to a labor union. From a political standpoint, the state (especially the city) was so overwhelmingly Democratic that a Republican didn’t stand a chance against Roosevelt. My father once told me that even some Republicans might have voted for FDR in his four straight presidential victories.

My new block, which I would live on for the next thirteen years, was made up of two and three-family, semidetached homes. There were, of course, some multiple-dwelling apartment houses on my block; and others scattered throughout the surrounding neighborhoods. My family, of ten, was the largest family on the block. It was followed by the Gerardino family of eight. The Dalitto family of six came in third on the list. The boys outnumbered the girls on the block. Carmela and Antoinette, sisters, and a girl named Joanie lived across the street from me. Genevieve lived a few houses away from me. Anita and Vivian, sisters, lived up the block. Pauline and Angela lived near Thirteenth Avenue. Though Gracie didn’t live on Seventieth Street, she was always on my block.

The moving van had just finished unloading and was leaving. As I stood near the curb watching the truck pull away, I felt a little sad and alienated. I wondered if the kids on the block would be friendly to me or not. My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by someone standing behind me.

Hey, kid, what’s ya name? the boy with the squeaky voice asked.

Arnol’, I answered, in a low voice.

Arnol’! Whatta ya a Jew? he asked, in disbelief.

No, I ain’t a Jew, I answered. It was, of course, a foolish remark, posed as a question. I guess he thought with a name like Arnold, I had to be Jewish. I couldn’t possibly be Italian. Little did Manny know, at that time, that my real name—on my birth certificate—was Arnoldo.

That aside, I quickly made friends with Albee Toscodero, Richie Fuissari, Bobby Tazzani, Rudy Dalitto, Louie (Rich) Richiello, Louis Bergamo, Artie Coppola, and Rocky Della Curto. And also, of course, Manny Carravalle, the kid who thought I was Jewish. At the age of eight, as you might guess, all we thought about was playing ball or playing other games outside. We were not quite that interested in girls—yet. This is not to suggest that we were completely detached from the world and unaware of the war raging throughout most of the world. Even if we had wanted to ignore the daily events of the war, we were constantly reminded of them by the Movietone News whenever we went to the movies. Moreover, to further remind us, there was the unforgettable voice of Westbrook Van Voorhis, the narrator of The March of Time. The war movies, no doubt, were a further reminder of the conflict being waged. While there were no television broadcasts during the war, there were daily accounts of the war in the newspapers and on the radio.

Hollywood undoubtedly knew that we would be spending much of our time in theaters, rooting for our heroes. This is not to imply, however, that there was ever any cynical motive attached to their movie-making decisions. Some critics might have thought Hollywood was making feel-good war movies to fill theaters and fatten its wallet. On the contrary, back then, Hollywood supported the war effort in every possible way. It entertained troops on many war fronts, sold war bonds, held blood drives, and even socialized with soldiers by serving them coffee, donuts, and sandwiches. The actresses also entertained and danced with soldiers in USOs and canteens. Furthermore, as part of the Greatest Generation, many actors enlisted in the service, serving bravely during World War II.

Yet some still accused Hollywood of employing propaganda in some of their war films. However, the movies I saw didn’t just show the enemy being killed by us. Remember Bataan, Wake Island, Guadalcanal Diary, They Were Expendable, Sands of Iwo Jima, and last, but certainly not least, The Fighting Sullivans (also titled The Sullivans). It was the real-life story of the five brothers who enlisted in the navy after Pearl Harbor was attacked. You simply cannot watch this movie without your eyes filling up with tears and experience such overwhelming sadness.

As often as I’ve seen this movie, I still get that same feeling. I have always wondered how that family ever coped and lived with such a devastating, unimaginable loss. If the deaths of those five brave young men doesn’t inspire and influence you to love, honor, and respect America and all those who made the supreme sacrifice for your freedom, then nothing will.

The above-mentioned war movies did not have predictable, happy endings. But even if there was a little propaganda injected into some war movies made by Hollywood, weren’t we allowed to engage in some propaganda too? After all, we were fighting two tough militaristic enemies. Needless to say, any propaganda we might have used was still a far cry from the real masters of propaganda: Goebbels and Tokyo Rose. While it’s true, as a kid, some war movies made me feel sad, angry, and, sometimes, hateful, others made me feel proud, patriotic, and perhaps even idealistic.

One must remember that it was Hitler, with his Gestapo and powerful army, who systematically confined, tortured, and exterminated millions in concentration camps, in his inexorable march to conquer Europe, and perhaps, the world. Yet German soldiers were generally portrayed or perceived to be more civil than Japanese soldiers, specifically in movies involving prisoners of war. Perhaps, in this case, perception is reality. After all, it was the Japanese soldiers who committed the most unforgiveable atrocities against American and allied POWs during the Bataan Death March in the Philippines. Furthermore, without provocation, they attacked Pearl Harbor. They were also responsible for the terrible treatment of the Chinese population during the Rape of Nanking. The Japanese also occupied Korea during the Second World War.

In any event, at the age of eight, it was a carefree time. Our lives were filled with fun and games. We could actually go to sleep at night with our doors unlocked. Like kids on other blocks, we played all the usual games popular at that time: Buck-Buck (later called Johnny on the Pony), Tag, Hango Seek (Hide and Go Seek), Fifty More, Ringalevio, Kick the Can, Steal the Eggs, and others. Naturally, when Tyrone Power was dubbed the Geek in the movie Nightmare Alley, a game called the Geek was immediately adopted by kids on the block. One of the most adventurous activities we undertook as kids was roof climbing. Several times, unfortunately, on the complaints of neighbors, the cops searched the alleys, backyards, and the connected garage roofs. Luckily, however, we managed to escape.

During that time period, from ’43 on, we listened to all the radio shows. The programs were generally heard from the midafternoon to early evening hours. Remember the familiar voices of Fred Foy narrating The Lone Ranger and Bud Collier playing Superman. Other shows included Captain Midnight, Dick Tracy, The Shadow, Jack Armstrong, Bulldog Drummond, Gangbusters, and The Green Hornet. During the evening, we listened to The FBI, In Peace and War, with the familiar Lava soap chant L-A-V-A, L-A-V-A . . . , Murder at Midnight, The Mysterious Traveler, Treasury Agent, Ellery Queen, Richard Diamond, and others. But who could ever forget the Inner Sanctum with the sound of the creaking door and the voice that eerily said, Good evening, friends, this is your host, Raymond, speaking, welcome to the Inner Sanctum.

Those were some of the programs we faithfully listened to. We occasionally listened to comedy and quiz shows. Much of the time, though, we were outside playing ball, playing marbles, other games, or twirling a yo-yo. We even educated ourselves by reading some of the great literary works in the classic comic books. If you felt inventive, you built a skate wagon (scooter) out of a board, skates, and a wooden fruit box.

Every block in the neighborhood, or so it seemed, had an empty lot on it. We had one across the street from my house. During the fall, but mostly the winter, we would build a fire—with wood scavenged from refuse—to roast sweet mickeys (sweet potatoes). Kreiger’s Grocery Store, on Thirteenth Avenue, sometimes supplied the potatoes. Despite the burned charcoal skin, the mickeys were absolutely delicious. The white potatoes, however, were a poor substitute. But the toasted marshmallows negated the bland taste of the white potatoes. We occasionally roasted chestnuts in the lot. At some point, in the late ’40s, a builder began surveying the empty lot. He eventually built three-family homes on it. Empty lots, it seemed, were quickly becoming an endangered species.

One of our favorite pastimes, as you might suspect, was going to the movies. We would always say in those days, Hey! ya wanna go ta da show? The show, to us, usually meant the Endicott Theater, located on Thirteenth Avenue, between Seventieth and Seventy-first streets. However, we occasionally went to the Fortway on Sixty-eighth Street and Fort Hamilton Parkway, the Loew’s Alpine on Sixty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue, the RKO Dyker on Eighty-sixth Street and Fifth Avenue and the Loew’s Oriental on Eighty-sixth Street and Eighteenth Avenue. The Harbor, Marboro, Benson, Loew’s Forty-sixth, and Hollywood Theater were infrequently visited.

Nevertheless, the nearby Endicott was unquestionably our favorite. The length of the Endicott was slightly less than a full block. Jack and Rita’s Ladies Shop, on the corner of Seventy-first Street and Thirteenth Avenue, took up the remaining portion of the block. Two narrow walkways separated the main (center) section from the two small side sections. It wasn’t until years later, when we first tried to smoke, that we sat in the small balcony. In any case, the Endicott was right around the corner from my house. For as little as seven cents, we saw two movies, a cartoon, the Movietone News, and the coming attractions.

Additionally, on Saturdays, we saw the suspenseful, cliffhanging serials (called chapters). Some serials began in the ’30s, but more were made in the ’40s. The origin of many serial characters and some plots can be traced back to newspaper comic strips and comic books. Thus, they evolved into radio shows, serials, and movies. Some of the serials were King of the Royal Mounted with Alan (Rocky) Lane. J. Carrol Naish appeared in an early Batman serial, and Kirk Alyn played Superman. Buster Crabbe starred in Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers. Gene Autry, the signing cowboy, starred in the thirteen-chapter serial called Phantom Empire. We also saw The Phantom, The Crimson Ghost, Dick Tracy, and The Green Hornet. Even Bela Lugosi, the actor with the heavy Hungarian accent, who spoke his most famous words, Good evening, I-am-Drac-ula, appeared in several serials. A year after he played Dracula, Lugosi appeared in The Return of Chandu. The Charlie Chan, Sherlock Holmes, and Boston Blackie detective movies were also made during the ’40s.

But prior to the normal Saturday afternoon show, the Endicott had a cartoon special (showing a dozen cartoons) that began at noon. However, the added attraction was the ten-man race. Each of the ten participants in the race wore a numbered shirt. Mr. Jinx, the Edicott’s manager, handed out the tickets numbered 1 to 10. The kid holding the winning ticket usually got two candy bars and a cheap game as a prize. It wasn’t so much as what you won, or that you won at all, it was the hilarity of the ten men running in the race. We loved watching the Marx Brothers in A Day at the Races, but we also loved a day at the races in the Endicott on Saturday afternoon.

Like all other theaters, the Endicott had a candy counter in the rear of the theater. No pun intended, but the candy they sold was good and plenty. Naturally, Hershey Bars were a big seller. But so were Milky Ways, Butterfingers, Clark Bars, Mars, Almond Joy, Oh, Henry, and a candy bar called Baby Ruth. It’s been said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder; in this case, we say, flavor is in the taste buds of the taster. Needless to say, while watching all those great movies, we ate a lot of that candy. It was a foregone conclusion, therefore, that we would soon need the services of Dr. Julianno or Dr. Sirianno, two local dentists (ouch!). There’s no denying that we paid for all the candy we ate in more ways than one.

At that time, of course, dentists used silver amalgams to fill cavities. The advancements in dentistry since then have made it possible to preserve and save teeth that would have been extracted during the ’40s. There was, however, one homemade treat that the Endicott didn’t sell: roasted chestnuts. Unlike candy, chestnuts did not cause cavities that would require drilling and filling. Besides, those leftover chestnuts from Thanksgiving Day came in mighty handy while we were watching movies during those long Thanksgiving weekends. Like most theaters, the Endicott’s floor was covered with spilled soda and various kinds of dropped candy. The mixture of soda and candy was literally ingrained into the floor. Moreover, this combination of soda and candy left a sweet, sticky coating on the floor of the Endicott. One can only imagine what crawled around on the seats—and sticky, coated floor—especially during the overnight. For some reason, what was ingrained in the floor of the Endicott is embedded in my mind.

It was in 1945, or thereabouts, when we began going to an occasional night show at the Endicott. Like other theaters, the Endicott always had a specific night set aside for its dish night giveaway. While the dish manufacturer had its product showcased and promoted, the Endicott competed for a larger share of the local audience. For example, all the women entering the Endicott—on the designated night—would receive a free dish. To complete the set of dinnerware, however, the women would have to attend weekly on that specific night. The incentive, no doubt, resulted in more women going to the Endicott.

At some point, during the movie, someone would inadvertently drop a dish. The sound of a shattered dish would be greeted with a big round of applause! Similarly, the dropping of a baby’s (glass) bottle also evoked a big round of applause. (Perhaps some mothers couldn’t get a babysitter and actually took their babies to the movies at night.) I could never understand why a shattered dish or baby’s bottle was worthy of applause. On the other hand, I could certainly understand why an audience would applaud glass breaking during the sad, moving ending of the (real-life) movie: The Fighting Sullivans. For example, when Mrs. Sullivan said, while shattering a champagne bottle, "I christen thee, the USS the Sullivan." The ship, of course, was named in honor of her five sons killed in the Pacific during World War II.

Gerry’s Candy Store, located a short distance from the ordinary-

looking marquee of the Endicott was a nice, convenient spot for nighttime viewers exiting the theater. In addition to purchasing cigarettes, cigars, and other items, people would buy the New York Daily News and the New York Daily Mirror for two cents each. Sometime between nine fifteen and nine thirty (on weeknights), a delivery truck would make a hasty stop. The familiar voice of Izzy Blauser could be heard loudly yelling Yooooo! as several bundles of newspapers (wrapped in metal wire) were thrown off the truck. While New York had newspapers like the New York Times, the New York Journal American, the New York Post, the World Telegram and Sun, and the Herald Tribune, the New York Daily News and the New York Daily Mirror were bigger sellers, at least (at night) in our neighborhood.

The Yankees, Giants, and Dodgers fans eagerly awaited the Daily News and the Daily Mirror. They wanted to read about the games played that day. Remember, there were few, if any, night games played in the early and midforties. Baseball fans, of course, also wanted to read all the sports columns written by Dick Young, Jimmy Powers, and other sportswriters of those two daily newspapers. Readers of the New York Times and the New York Journal American, however, read the columns of Red Smith, Jimmy Cannon, and other prominent sportswriters. The Yiddish Forward and IL Progresso were among several other newspapers in circulation at that time. Last but not least, there was Brooklyn’s own: the Brooklyn Eagle. Bear in mind, however, if you were looking for a civil service job, then you’d buy the Chief (known as the civil service bible).

Mr. Gerardino, the owner of Gerry’s Candy Store, was the father of eight, six daughters and two sons. The Gerardinos lived two doors away from us. They were a very nice, friendly family. Like other candy stores, Gerry sold the usual candy, ice cream, and soda. Hootens, Mary Janes, Tootsie Rolls, and a variety of penny candies were part of Gerry’s inventory.

Also, of course, those sweet, little colored candies that looked like ladybugs. They were stuck to a two-inchwide piece of paper that resembled the paper used in adding machines. Gerry’s Charlotte Russe and jelly apples were usually kept outside the store, in a glass-enclosed stand. Like other candy stores, ice cream parlors, and luncheonettes, Gerry sold ice cream sodas, frappes, sundaes, and banana splits. Those cylindrical-shaped ice cream bars called Mel-o-rols were a change from the usual ice cream pops, sandwiches, and Dixie cups.

The soda fountain flavors consisted of orange, lemon and lime, cherry, Coke, vanilla, and chocolate syrup. These flavored syrups were mixed with seltzer to form the drink. There were, of course, combinations like cherry Cokes and vanilla Cokes. The crème de la crème, as you might suspect, was the egg cream. The chocolate syrup, seltzer, and milk combined to form the tasty drink with the creamy head. As good as a chocolate egg cream was—and still is—some people preferred to drink a vanilla egg cream. Gerry’s, like every other candy store, ice cream parlor, and luncheonette, used a Hamilton Beach malted mixing machine to make a tasty malted.

But I knew of no other candy store than Gerry’s that made—and sold—his own lemon ice. While Gerry was making his lemon ice, in a small store next to the Endicott Florist on Seventieth Street, his children helped to run the candy store. After making a batch of lemon ice, Gerry would carry it around the corner to his candy store on Thirteenth Avenue. The lemon ice was packed in these rectangular-shaped metal boxes or cases. Carrying one in each hand, walking very fast, it was as though he was a soldier hurriedly carrying ammunition to his waiting fellow soldiers. All three flavors—lemon, chocolate, and pistachio—were delicious, but my favorite was chocolate. Lemon, however, seemed to quench my thirst better than the other flavors.

I remember helping Gerry’s daughter, Josie, assemble the New York Sunday News. There were four separate stacks of the newspaper sitting on the counter. The first stack was the magazine (colored) section. The second stack was the funnies (comic) section. The third stack was the classified section. The last of the four stacks was the main section of the paper. By inserting each section into another section and combining all four sections into one, you’d end up with the complete New York Sunday News.

During the spring and summer, we played stickball, punchball, stoopball, boxball, triangle and square (i.e., slapball). In the fall and winter, we played football and hockey.

During the interim, however, a new game was introduced to the usual list of games. Anthony (Butchy) Carravalle, in fact, credited me with inventing the new game called corkball. Just like baseball, the game utilized a bat and ball (of sorts). We would go down to Bay Eighth Street by the water, climb over the iron railing, and search the rocks for cork that floated in from the ocean. We would try to cut the cork into the shape of a circle. Next, we would cover the cork with tightly wound rubber bands. The last step in making the corkball (or artificial baseball) was to tape over the rubber bands tightly with white (Johnson & Johnson) adhesive tape.

Obviously, to hit the corkball, we needed a bat. We’d find a flat, two-inch-wide piece of wood about the length of an average baseball bat. After shaving the handle, we would sandpaper it to a smooth finish. The brick wall—which actually was the front wall of the Endicott Theater on Seventieth Street—extended from right field to centerfield. The wall ended above the side window of Eddie’s Grocery Store on Seventieth Street and Thirteenth Avenue. Left field and centerfield were actually on Thirteenth Avenue. The high wall from right field to centerfield reminded me of the wall in Ebbets Field. Like stickball—corkball had one advantage over baseball—it could be played in the street on our block.

When I stepped outside my house early in the day in May of 1945, it was the first time I had been outside in more than two months. The streets were crowded with people, cars, and even some open-back trucks were filled with joyous people. Everybody who lived on the block was outside, celebrating the end of our long, four-year struggle against Germany. It was May 8, 1945, VE Day. The war in Europe was finally over. Despite experiencing some lightheadedness due to my recent bout of pneumonia, I felt ecstatic and, obviously, very proud of our servicemen and country.

A few months later, Japan surrendered. World War II was officially over. The long-awaited day for all our servicemen, their families, and all Americans had finally come.

Unfortunately, President Roosevelt, who had overseen the war, did not live to see and enjoy the ultimate victory. Japan made a choice to start the war on December 7, 1941. We had no choice but to end it. President Harry Truman obviously meant it when he said, The buck stops here.

It was in February of ’45, about three months prior to VE Day, when I contracted pneumonia. I had been stricken with pneumonia once before in early childhood.