Summer in the City

I grew up in the Bronx, and we had the kind of summers that John Sebastian and The Lovin’ Spoonful sang about – dirty, gritty necks and sidewalks hotter than a match head. More than that, we had block after block of six-storey, brick apartment buildings with tar roofs, and streets that were crowded with those buildings’ residents. No lawns, not many trees, kids hopped up on car fenders when they wanted to sit somewhere. Either that or they squatted on the front steps, “the stoop.” Rest was only temporary until the car owner or the building superintendent chased them off.

Of course, such living had its amenities as well. There was the fire escape when you wanted fresh air. This built-in patio, intended as an emergency exit, served as much more. It often held plants, pets, even bedding, as referenced by Ralph Kramden (Jackie Gleason) in The Honeymooners: “Norton, I’m in the money now. I’m getting a phone with two extensions, one for the bedroom and the other on the fire escape for when I sleep out there in the summer.” There was stickball, played with a broom handle and a “Spaldeen” – a pink rubber ball that bounced really high. Punchball was played with the same ball and a fist which was more convenient, because you didn’t need to find a broom handle. Either one could be played in a concrete schoolyard or, more often in the blacktopped side streets where parked cars served as first and third base and a manhole cover for a sewer was second. Less energetic pursuits for boys included “skully” – a game played with bottle caps – and baseball card flipping where the winner walked off with the other kid’s collection. For girls there was hopscotch and jump ropes. Games like hide and seek were coed.

We had roller skates that clamped on to your street shoes. We skated down hilly streets and stopped ourselves by slamming into storefronts. We built go carts by attaching wooden produce crates to those same roller skates, and steered the contraptions with ropes. We built clubhouses out of scrap wood and linoleum in a vacant lot. We pelted each other with water balloons, and tossed firecrackers and cherry bombs around on the 4th of July. If we started a fire or scrawled obscenities in the street with chalk, some neighbor looking out the window or peering down from a rooftop would yell out our names and threaten to tell our mothers.

Yes, the Bronx of 60 years ago was a different world. It can be romanticized or demonized, but the truth is it was just different, not necessarily better or worse. When I moved to Columbus, Ohio 45 years ago, and started raising a family, summers became bike riding, swimming at the local pool, and trips to the neighborhood ice cream shop. No Graeters or Jennie’s. In those days, it was either the venerable and stately Helen Hutchley’s or the cheesy Eskimo Igloo – a small stand built to resemble an Inuit residence where a kid dispensed soft serve dairy desert in cones and cups. The same kid probably must have hand-printed the signs for the place too, because prices were routinely listed with cent symbol instead of a dollar sign. When our bill totaled $1.50, I was tempted to throw down two pennies and tell them to keep the change.

No more stickball and bottle caps in the street, our kids played soccer in organized leagues. The 4th of July meant firework shows at the local high school, backyard cookouts on patios and decks, and parades with floats. Communities were stronger, and behavior more prescribed. Proms and reunions were everywhere and well-attended. In the Bronx, my prom was cancelled for lack of interest, and the graduating class was about 800 strong. And if there has ever been a reunion of the Evander High School graduating class of 1963, I’ve never been notified.
I make no value judgements. The only lesson I draw from these remembrances is this: if you live long enough, you will come to feel that you have experienced more than one lifetime. You will look back on your childhood and feel that it is simultaneously alien and yet familiar. Better? Worse? I don’t know. But one thing is for sure – it was.