Benny

This photo was supplied by Mike Guarriello on Facebook. I have been looking for a photo of Benny for years! Thanks, Mike! Here's the story.

Ice cream trucks are part of life growing up everywhere; even in Brooklyn. But we didn't have an ice cream truck on Kings Highway; there was too much traffic. But we did have Benny; and his pushcart. 

Usually; in subdivisions such as the one I live in now; there is an ice cream truck that makes the round on weekends, and during the evenings after dinner. You know the type of truck I’m talking about; obnoxious musical chimes heralding the arrival of an old beat up truck which bears absolutely no resemblance to the ice cream trucks of my youth. Those were sturdy, insulated, thick walled vehicles with freezer doors on the sides. And within those doors were delights which I haven’t seen in years.  I'm thinking about the Toasted Almond Crunch bar. And the bench mark of all ice cream trucks was Good Humor. If it wasn't Good Humor, we threw clods of earth at the truck, signaling to the driver that this was marked territory.

That truck was magical to me when I was 3 and 4; but by the time I was 7 years old, I was allowed to walk all the way up to Kings Highway by myself, and that’s when I first met Benny, as well as saw my first ice cream pushcart.  It was hard to get it rolling, but once it was in motion it was equally hard to stop! It wasn't refrigerated like the big trucks. It was cooled with “dry” ice, which was a whole other level of fascination, and mischief, for a 7 year old. But let me tell you a bit about Benny.

Benny was the ice cream man in my neighborhood. His route extended from the corner of Kings Highway and East 14^th Street, to Ocean Avenue and then down to Avenue T, where he rented a small garage in back of a single family home. Actually, he just rented a part of the garage; a small corner large enough to store the magical “dry” ice; and a freezer which was replenished as necessary by a big truck. When I was 8 years old I became Benny’s “helper”.

Benny was Jewish, from the Lower East Side; and as such, he really had a lot in common with my Uncle Irving, who had also been raised there. They were about the same age. But that’s where the similarities ended. While Benny used to “hook” school, Uncle Irving actually finished high school. So, while Benny went on to become the neighborhood “Good Humor Man”, my Uncle Irving went on to a career in the Garment District as a furrier. Both men fascinated me, if only for their different lifestyles. Both were bachelors, but economically they were worlds apart. Benny lived in a rented room somewhere, while Uncle Irving lived in the larger hotels in Manhattan.

But, anyway, the story I am trying to tell is about Benny. It was, after all, his pushcart that I’m writing about, and the closest it ever came to fur was the time I hung some raccoon tales from the handlebars. The tails came from Uncle Irving, who used to keep us well supplied with them each year. Wait; he is part of this story.

Benny had two habits in which he liked to indulge. Both interfered with his selling enough ice cream to afford spending his winters in Miami; which is where he always went for the cold season. He liked to bet at the Off Track Betting parlor on East 16^th Street, just up from Dubrow’s cafeteria. He also liked to have his hair cut once a week. That’s how I got the job.

I had been buying ice cream from Benny for about 2 years when he first asked me to “cover” for him while he went for a haircut. Being left; as an 8 year old boy; with an unlimited supply of ice cream, plus a pocketful of coins and bills was one of the thrills of my summer days. Benny’s haircuts were legendary for the length of time they took. He could be gone for hours; or merely minutes; depending on how the ponies were running, or ruining, his day. He combined the two errands into one, to “save time”, he used to say. That was fine with me. I would hold forth on Kings Highway and East 14^th Street, across the street from Miles Shoes, and only 2 doors down from Byhoff’s Sporting Goods, which also sold records.  They had a speaker outside, so, I even had music while I worked.

The winters in Miami were a source of irritation to my Uncle Irving, who worked ALL year, but could not afford to take the winters off. They were both Jews from the Lower East Side, and my Uncle had gone to the trouble of getting an education and carving out a career for himself, while Benny hung around pool rooms and gambled on horses. The fact that Benny could afford to winter in Miami really rankled him. And that’s why I never told my Uncle the whole story.

You see, while Benny actually did spend his winters in Miami, he was working. Somewhere today, down in Miami, there is someone my age with the same memories as I have of working for the Good Humor Man; because that’s what he did when he went there, he sold ice cream; just like he did during the summer in Brooklyn. I hope, after all these years, that this will make my Uncle feel better about the whole thing.

1310 Avenue R. - My First Rooftop

I would be remiss if I were to let this month pass without mentioning 1310 Avenue R. in Brooklyn. I lived there from 1961 until 1972 when I left home for the last time. There are so many memories tangled up with that building, and all 70 families that lived there, that I wouldn't even know where to begin.

There were John and Katy Bucholtz, he was an ex-Nazi who served as the superintendent of the building; then across the hall from us were the Gold’s, two elderly German Jews who had escaped Nazi Germany and were the kindest of neighbors. They were friends with John and Katy, all vestiges of the war behind them. There were also the Ross family, who were Orthodox Jews; and the Roth’s, Mr. Roth was a detective Sergeant; and there was also the Cuban family who arrived in the fall of 1962 from Miami, where they had fled to from Castro. The father was a banker, which may have something to do with the family’s success in getting out. They had 2 kids, John and Robert. Later they moved to the 6^th floor. These are just 4 of the 11 families who lived on our floor.

The rest of the building was composed of mainly Jewish families; some large, some small. There was also a single "efficiency" apartment on each floor. Mr. Ginsburg, a curmudgeonly older man, occupied the apartment next door to my family. He was a typewriter repairman with ear problems. He was also a pain in the ass, calling the police with a noise complaint at every possible excuse. I swear he once called the cops because he heard no noise coming from our apartment and thought it was "odd".

The building also boasted 2 apartments on the ground floor which had their own private entrances. These were located at the 2 front corners of the building. I never knew the family who occupied the East 13th Street side, but the East 14th Street "garden apartment"; as they were called; was occupied by a dentist named Marvin Cohen.

The building also had a doorman and a janitor; though the various doormen only lasted for the first 7 years. There was a string of them, my favorite being the last one, Larry. He was about 100 if he was a day, and the residents were always worried about him. He would sit on the lobby sofa and struggle to get up and open the door. Most of the time, the residents would motion through the glass for Larry to sit down, as no one wanted to be responsible for his sudden, though overdue, demise.

Each year around the holidays the lobby would be decorated with a Christmas tree and lights. There was also a Happy Chanukah banner displayed across the wall to wall mirror which faced the doors from the street. The garden area outside was also decorated with colored lights and there were candles in the window of the rock garden inside the lobby. I used to water those plants for 25 cents a day. I also used to round up the newspapers from the garbage room on each floor. You were not supposed to put them down the incinerator chute because they made black smoke and the building’s owner could be fined. The papers I gathered were set aside and sold by the janitor to the "paper pulp" guy and I would get a "share" of the money.

There was an underground parking garage with a "secure" locking system. If you waited long enough each night you could hear the cars screeching up the ramp and out into the street when they were being stolen. Nothing is more attractive to a car thief than a safe well lit environment in which to work. This was especially true on rainy or cold nights.

But, the crowning glory to this building; at least to the 7 year old who lived there; was the roof. From the very first days we lived there i was drawn to it. It began innocently enough, with my taking the stairs to the top. I just wanted to see where they went. Up and up I climbed; my 7 year old legs pumping hard and fast as I rounded the turn between each floor; nearer to the top with each step.

When I got there I was rewarded with the greatest gift of all; a sign which said "Do Not Enter." Now, I don't know who the genius was that came up with the idea of a sign to keep a 7 year old off of the roof, but I wasn't buying it. Not for one moment. There was a whole world to be discovered beyond that door, and no sign was going to keep me out. Besides, I reasoned that if caught up there, I could always say I couldn't read.

At any rate the roof became my secret place to go. I would head up there with my 6 transistor radio, trying to get stations from as far away as possible. It turned out that I had better luck at night downstairs in my bed. During the day the sun's rays heated up the ionosphere and made it harder to pick up those stations. But on a cold clear night I could get Canada, and even West Virginia. I had a whole collection of postcards from those stations acknowledging the letters I used to send to each one, letting them know how far their signal had traveled.

Summertime was a time of daily visits to the "roof". I used to go up there just for the view. You could see Manhattan to the north, including the Twin Towers. To the south and slightly west was Coney Island, including the Parachute Jump. Directly south it was hard to see much because there were so many other buildings in the line of sight. But this became my haven for many years, a place I could go to when I had no place to go.

As I got older the roof became even more important to me. It was a place to go with friends, outside of the sphere of my parents influence. Hell, they never went up there! And even later, after my Mom had passed away and I was grown, I still went up there. I even grew some pot plants on top of the elevator shaft, one story closer to the sun, and the superintendent’s wife; in all her innocence; watered them for me.

I suppose you are wondering why I am writing about this building, and the roof. Well, I file my daily blogs by year, month and date. So, all this month; every day this month; I have filed my blogs under 13-10-and the day of the month. For example, today will be filed under 13-10-30. And, each day this month I have thought about writing of the roof at 1310 Avenue R. Today, with only one day left to go before it becomes another unrealized thought, I have.

Kings Highway at East 16th Street - Two Views (1929)

This corner may be one of the most photographed in Brooklyn, new York. This picture is of Kings Highway at East 16th Street looking eastward about 1929. The Avalon, a Century owned Movie Theater is visible on the right side of the street.  

Most likely it was taken from the BMT station at Kings Highway which was located right at Dubrow's, the cafeteria, and across the street diagonally  from the bank, which open in 1929 or '30. There was also a tiny little jewelry shop located under the station right where Armando's would someday be. The owner was a crippled veteran from the 2nd World War. At the time of this photo he would have been just a kid.

My mother was born the year that this photo was taken. The Depression didn't really hurt the middle class section of Kings Highway as much as if affected other areas. Mostly the inhabitants were clerical and somewhat educated, unlike the poorer areas which were disproportionately affected by factory layoffs, etc.

My mother's memories of the neighborhood were vivid and I was an avid listener. Kings Highway still has that feel to me; like it is a special place; not subject to the changes of time as much as other areas. of course I'm biased, and I have only been back there once in the past 14 years. It's easy to hold onto a dream.

But, I swear, the feeling I had walking down that stretch of Kings Highway from Ocean Avenue to Coney Island Avenue, was the biggest jolt of energy I have had in years. It was electric in nature and a balm for my soul. These photographs are a way of capturing my Mom's memories; as well as preserving my own.

The one at the top came from Facebook. It's an old postcard. The one below I really do not remember where I got it- but it's a photo of the same area looking East toward the Avalon and then enlarged on the right. Kind of fun to see if you can orient the two. No point to this post, just enjoy the old photos.

Miracle on Kings Highway - Angelo's Story

I first posted this Christmas piece 3 years ago. The events which took place in my life while working at H and A Foods on Kings Highway in Brooklyn all took place at a time in my life when I was very fortunate to be working for 2 people; Harry and Al; who were willing to put people first in their hearts and deeds. While complete opposites on most things, they were in unison when it came to helping people to help themselves. I have never worked for 2 more colorful, and generous, human beings. And there is never a Christmas which passes by that I don’t think about them and tell this story. It speaks to the humanity within us all.

This is a story of the Christmas Spirit. Every word is true – I know - I was there. These events happened 35 years ago this evening (1974) and still warm my soul each time I relive them. It is what Christmas is all about.

The neighborhood of Kings Highway in Brooklyn was a world of its own. We had the same assortment of shops, delicatessens and candy stores as all the other main shopping avenues, only bigger. H and A Foods, as it was known, catered to the upper crust of the neighborhood. We delivered; which none of the big chains did; and that’s where our story begins…

Angelo was the youngest brother of Milton, who, along with his brother Leo worked for Harry and Al. Milton delivered the groceries in a station wagon bought for him by Harry and Al every 2 years. It was in his name and Harry and Al paid all expenses on it. Milton delivered the groceries and as the store grew he brought his 2 brothers over to help. Leo was the floor manager and Angelo was a “stocker”. Of the 3 brothers’ only Angelo still had family behind in Mexico - a wife and 5 children. His dream was to save enough money to bring them here.

Angelo could ape a few words of English and taught me several foul words and phrases in Spanish. He was a hard worker- about 40 years old. He sent his pay home and lived in a furnished room around the corner from the store. He never got to go home and visit his family while saving to bring them here. He was an illegal and this was 1974. They still upheld the immigration laws back then so it was a risky business sneaking in and out.

First a few words are in order concerning Harry and Al. They were partners; 2 Jews perfectly mismatched. While Harry was short, Al was tall. Harry was an optimist, Al was a pessimist. Harry was a doer, Al was a dreamer. You get the point. Anyway, they operated on a system of checks and balances, not unlike our government. They had been in business for 20 years as partners after having failed on their own. It was only after they got together that they achieved any success.

There had been a slight recession in 1973 going into 1974. The Vietnam War had just wound down and Watergate was about to give us our first unelected President in Jerry Ford. There had been talk of some cutback in hours or possibly some layoffs in the store during the fall months leading up to the holidays. Harry had been in and out at all odd hours compared with his usual schedule, which was etched in stone like the Tablets on Sinai. We assumed he had been meeting with bankers to negotiate some financing.

The holidays approached and with them all the excitement that is generated by the prospect of the “Christmas Bonus.” This boiled down to two very basic questions- how much and when? The tradition at Harry and Al’s had always been a week’s gross pay in cash on Christmas Eve just before closing. We were all paid on the basis of 15 hours per week on the books at minimum wage ($2.50 an hour) and then the balance of our pay was in cash at a higher rate. This ensured that we made enough cash to live on and also that our Social Security Accounts would not be bare. It also helped when the Labor Dept. Inspector dropped in to make sure we were all on the books.

Christmas Eve finally arrived and we rushed through all the last minute tasks before closing early for the holiday. Harry and Al were still busy counting the days receipts as the rest of us pretended to work, waiting for the “moment”.

Al and Harry stood behind the counter and we were all gathered on the customer side exchanging best wishes etc as Harry handed out the envelopes with our bonus. There was one for Milton, Izzie, Leo, Steve, Bob, Paul and myself. Angelo’s name was not called.

Meekly coming forward with hand outstretched Angelo spoke; “Me, dinero?” he implored, eyes showing the shame of asking. He was here illegally and there was no guarantee of a bonus for anyone, let alone this poor fellow. He continued, “Me mucho trabajo- no dinero?” Al held his hand up, arm outstretched, palm facing Angelo and said, “You no work bueno- you no dinero.” And then he turned away. The silence, as they say, was deafening. Angelo turned and ran to the basement to be alone with his disappointment and probably anger.

Suddenly from the basement we heard the sounds of laughter and tears. Seeing Harry and Al as they exchanged satisfied glances we knew things were not as they appeared to be. Milton and Leo seemed unusually calm as the rest of us herded toward the basement steps to investigate the cacophony of sounds.

There was Angelo, surrounded by his wife and five children, tears streaming down their faces as they embraced the greatest Christmas gift imaginable- one another.

And then we realized, Harry hadn’t been going to the bankers as we all thought. He had been going to Immigration arranging the visas and job commitment necessary to re-unite Angelo with his family.

There was not a dry eye as we left the store that night. We filed out under the caring gaze of 2 of the wisest men I have ever known - and I believe we had seen the true Spirit of Christmas.  

"The Color of War" by James Campbell (2012)

By May of 1944 the war in the Pacific had gone from the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor; in December of 1941; to a chain of island invasions, which forced the Japanese to adopt a defensive posture in the face of an ever tightening noose as our Navy and Marines advanced towards Japan itself. But, between that time, and our later victory, 2 events would occur; one, involving African-American sailors would be held up as an immediate example of the freedom lacking here at home, even as we fought for it overseas; while the other event, the explosion of several fully laden LST’s in the West Loch of Pearl Harbor, would be hushed up for 16 years.

On May 21^st, 1944 an explosion occurred aboard LST-353, igniting all of its cargo of ammunition, bombs and fuel. The burning shrapnel landed on other fully loaded LST’s causing them to explode as well. Hundreds of lives were lost, along with thousands of tons of supplies bound for Saipan. The continued spread of the disaster actually caused our Navy to sink some of the other vessels before those, too, caught fire.  The battle for Saipan, which would occur on July 18^th, was the last major stepping stone in our conquest of the Pacific. In fact, that battle was so decisive a victory for the United States that Tojo; and his entire cabinet; resigned the following day.
 
Against this backdrop, author James Campbell has juxtaposed the disaster which occurred at Port Chicago, located just 25 miles from San Francisco, as an example of how we were fighting not only Germany and Japan in this war; we were also fighting ourselves here at home. That disaster; on the same day as the Marines were taking Saipan; was the direct result of an Armed Forces which was still racially segregated even as we fought for freedom abroad. And, since the crews loading the ammunition ships were all African-American, someone was going to pay for the accident, even as the events in Hawaii just 8 weeks earlier were being hushed up.

The result of the Port Chicago disaster was the largest mutiny trial in the history of the Armed Forces, as the African-American sailors refused; rightfully so; to resume their work. As would be shown at their trial, these men had been working without any of the specified safety measures outlined in any of the manuals concerning the loading of explosives. Inert explosives are dangerous enough to handle; as are fuses; which are never to be stored in the same space as the explosives. That is, unless you were working at Port Chicago, where the rules simply didn’t apply.

The author follows the lives of several of the men charged with Mutiny; a crime punishable by death; from the days prior to their enlistments, and on through the events at Port Chicago. His coverage of the Court Martial; at which future Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall would act as their Chief Counsel, having been supplied by the NAACP’s Legal Defense Fund; is one of the most fascinating portions of the book. Charged with Mutiny and facing the Death Penalty, these 50 men, along with their Defense Team, would break new ground in the courtroom, and that victory would ultimately be a part of a greater one, when President Truman finally desegregated the military in 1947. That decision caused a rift in the Democratic Party which would never heal, and those repercussions still affect us today. The story of the Court of Inquiry is equally as fascinating, as its conclusions should have exonerated the men altogether.

All of this is played out against the Battle of Saipan, being fought by primarily white troops, who were winning the war by using the very supplies which were shipped to them via the men loading them at Port Chicago. The vast difference in their experiences, while ostensibly fighting for the same cause, makes for a remarkable contrast.

Backed up by 100 pages of notes arranged chapter by chapter; along with an extensive 20 page bibliography; the author has blown life into every page of this book. It will stand as a true and accurate account of not only the Port Chicago Incident, but also as a reminder of a time when fighting for freedom didn’t always guarantee freedom here at home. And, if the only thing new is the history you don’t know, then this book may also stand as a warning about repeating some of the mistakes of our past.


This Just In - Kings Highway and Hurricane Sandy

This is my old neighborhood in Brooklyn , New York yesterday, before the full force of Hurricane Sandy arrived. Through the magic of you tube I am able to go back and walk the streets, getting a bit of a feel for what is going on there. I'm hoping power stays on for everyone, but pulling especially hard for zip code 11229 where this video was shot. Located less than 1 mile from Sheepshead Bay and Brighton Beach, the area was on the lip of the mandatory evacuation zones. I hope everyone there is safe, dry and warm.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad

Today is the 62^nd Wedding Anniversary of my parents, Ruth and Bill Williams. The ceremony took place somewhere else, but the reception was held in Apartment 3-C of 3619 Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn, a red brick building on the northeast corner at Kings Highway. This was my Grandmother Marcus’ apartment. She and my Great-Grandfather, along with my Mother and my Uncle Walter had lived there since about 1932, shortly after her divorce from my Grandfather.

You could say that my Mom’s home was already a multi-cultural experience; and now my Irish Catholic Father was going to be added to this mix. But first, there was the Honeymoon, which was supposed to be in Pennsylvania in a rural setting with a cabin in the woods. They took a bus to get there, as neither one drove at the time, and even if they did, they had no car to drive.

When they arrived at their destination; I think it was New Hope; they were told that they had no reservations and there was no record of a deposit in their names. After an argument with the management; which almost got physical; they were “asked”, by the local constabulary, to get back on the next bus and go home. And that is how they came to spend their honeymoon at the St. Moritz Hotel in Manhattan; overlooking Central Park. This is something I’m sure they could not afford at the time. Coupled with the loss of their deposit in Pennsylvania, they were off to an inauspicious start financially.

Married for 34 years, until my mother’s untimely, but long expected, death from illness in 1984, they were a typical couple for their time. He worked, she didn’t. He drove, she tried. He was strong, but she was the real strength behind the throne. They played card games with their friends and had sleepovers at one another’s houses; kids included. You can say what you like about that lifestyle, but they were together until they were parted by her passing.

Along the way they fought, and there were even some times when she packed her bag and went downstairs to the lobby, waiting for him to come and beg her to come home. He always did, and so did she.

My relationship with my parents was always a complicated affair, but they showed me the value of true love. Be flexible, and love never dies. Happy Anniversary to you both, Mom and Dad.

Dubrow's - A Brooklyn Legend

This colorful and bustling portrait of Kings Highway was taken around 1974. It completely captures the hustle of living in Brooklyn at the time. I can almost hear the traffic and the noise of the trains pulling into, or leaving, the elevated train platform visible just above, and to the left of, the Dubrow’s Cafeteria sign.

The double parked van gives evidence to the activity which defined Kings Highway, and still does so today. I was starting to write something about Dubrow’s when I remembered the story of the holdup that took place there is the 1950’s. So, I just decided to re-post the original article below. The first photo, below, of Dubrow’s in the rain, was taken by Michael Held, I think. Of course it may have been taken by John DiStefano; I will have to ask him.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Dubrow's - A Brooklyn Legend

Dubrow's was a cafeteria on Kings Highway and East 16th Street in Brooklyn, New York. It sat on the corner by the BMT elevated Subway line - an interesting combination in itself, an elevated subway. But that's Brooklyn for you. Along the BMT line were several stops going from Coney Island to Manhattan. And about every third Avenue was an express stop on the elevated portion of the subway. Kings Highway was one of those avenues and had lots of stores, just as the other express stops did. But it had one thing more. It had Dubrow's Cafeteria.

Dubrow's was a family owned chain of cafeterias, which were once in style all across America. You walked in, and got a ticket which got punched by a guy behind the counter when you got served. This was actually your check and you presented it to the cashier on the way out and paid for what you had eaten.

But really, Dubrow's was a place where people met and talked over coffee and pie in the late evenings, eggs and coffee in the wee hours returning from a concert, or occasionally, dinner. Their halibut was delicious, as was the creamed spinach.

Decorated in Art Deco style from the 1930's, it was the perfect place to hang out and kill time on a rainy night. As the establishment got older the patrons were treated to various activities that precluded food. Roach races were one of these pastimes. This consisted of sitting at your table, preferably next to a wall, and watching two roaches headed to the top of the wall. The stakes were small, usually coffee and pastry. Many a night I lost to Mike Held, who seemed to have a knack for picking the fastest roaches. I never figured out his secret...

It could also be the scene of danger and intrigue. Drugs could be purchased on the opposite corner from some shady and wasted fellows. I was warned very early in the 1960's to avoid "hanging out" on this corner. At that time it was a gathering spot for heroin dealing. This was about 1961. By the time the '60's had ended it was a place to meet your friends before heading to Manhattan for a concert, or just to hang out around the corner near Rainbow Shops and smoke one.

It also served as a place where politicians met the public. Being by a major train stop was great for meeting a lot of voters at about 5 and 6 PM when they came off the train in droves! JFK spoke around the corner on East 16th Street in 1960, opposite the bakery that sat next door to the Waldbaum’s Supermarket. You can see the Bakery sign in the photograph. I also saw RFK there in 1964 when he ran for Senator; Hubert H. Humphrey in 1968 when he ran for President; and John Lindsay both times he ran for Mayor.(He got booed one time for his handling of the transit strike.) There was so much to Dubrow's that it is almost impossible to write it all down.

There was a famous holdup of the Cafeteria on January 7th, 1952.  I wasn't there, but here is the text of the newspaper article from the New York Times describing it;

$14,000 Taken In Hold-up    (New York Times, January 7, 1952)

An apparently intoxicated man staggered up to the manager of crowded Dubrow's Cafeteria, 1521 King's Highway. Brooklyn at 12:45 o'clock this morning, took between $14,000 and $15,000, reeled out, and disappeared.

The victim was Max Tobin, 48 years old, manager and part owner of the restaurant, which is at East Sixteenth Street in the Sheepshead Bay section. He said 450 customers and 50 employees were unaware of the holdup in a balcony office.

Mr. Tobin said he noticed a man reeling along behind him as he went to a balcony but thought he was going to a washroom. However, Mr. Tobin said, as he unlocked the door to the office, the man bumped into him, knocked him inside, then produced a small black pistol and told the manager to sit down.

After taking the money from the safe the robber bound and gagged Mr. Tobin, said "So long" and left.

Dubrow’s was a regular Magical Mystery Tour for watching people. All kinds came and went at all hours. I know - I was there at all hours along with some of my friends. I think we used to go and watch the people who were often there to watch us!

There were several Dubrow's; all owned by the same family. There were two in Brooklyn, one in Manhattan, and even another in Miami Beach for all those retirees who got homesick. Even today, long after the Kings Highway Dubrow's has disappeared (it was initially replaced by a Gap, but I'm not sure what's there now) people remember it with a fondness. Just Google Dubrow's and open your senses to a time and place we will never see again. (They even have a blogspot) I'm glad to have been a part of the tapestry that it was. Memories were made there.

The Kingsway Theater - A Love Story (1947)

In early 1947 my father was working as an usher at the Century Kingsway Theater on Kings Highway and Coney Island Avenue. He was just past 16 years old, and I’m not sure what they were paying him, but he was about to come into something more valuable than financial reward. When he went to work that night in early 1947, he had no way of knowing that his life was about to change forever. This was the night he met my Mom; but for whom I would not be telling this story.

My Mom had gone to the movies with her friend Judy; remember, I’m pulling this up from the deep recesses of my mind, so it may have been Doris instead. This was their usual routine on a Saturday night in the late 1940’s, when women wore headscarves and gloves; well, at least my Mom did. Also, she was Jewish, and just shy of her 18^th birthday. She was studying voice and auditioning for parts in the chorus of various  Broadway Shows.

My Dad, on the other hand,  was only 16 and a half, Irish Catholic, and apparently; according to my Mom; a bit lacking in the social graces. He was just ready to graduate from Maritime High School  aboard the SS Brown in Manhattan, and then ship out as a Merchant Marine Seaman; something I would later do myself.  Instead of asking her out on a proper date though,  he told her he’d be working the next weekend if she wanted to see him again! My Mom, of course, went home, and in the only diary entry she ever showed me wrote that “if he thinks I’m going back and pay to see him again, he’s got another think coming!” Strong words, but the next week she was back to see him; albeit still with her friend; and this time my Dad did ask her out for a date. They went to Prospect Park and fed the squirrels. These photos are from their 3rd date, as noted.

My friend John posted the picture of the Kingsway Theater on Facebook the other day, bringing back many memories; all good; of the good old days. And looking back, I don’t think that there was ever a time that I saw a movie at the Kingsway without recalling the story of how my parents met, and I came to be. Thanks, John.

Movie Minefield - Modern Cinema

Going to the movies, or even watching one at home, can be fraught with anxiety, as well as legal liabilities. It is, at the very least, intimidating. From the moment you slip that DVD into your player, you are in jeopardy. The combined forces of the FBI and Interpol are tracking every movement of that disc. Sometimes I find myself wondering if the FBI and Interpol should put this much effort into thwarting terrorism; instead of tracking movies.

I mean, here I am in my own home, watching a movie which I have either bought, borrowed, or rented, and the first thing I see on the screen is a warning from both of these agencies. They can fine you, imprison you, and even bankrupt you for misuse of a movie. And to cap it off, you can’t fast forward these warnings to the next scene. You are a prisoner in your own home, even before you have committed the crime.

You know, they hung Hussein, and I have always harbored a suspicion that he was guilty of stockpiling huge amounts of pirated DVD’s in each of his many palaces. And what about Bin Laden? Don’t you find it a little bit suspicious that he was killed while sitting in front of his TV? You have to wonder…

Theaters nowadays are not much fun either. It begins with the purchase of your ticket, when you are threatened with being evicted from the premises; without a refund; for violating the “Code of Conduct”, which is not on the ticket, or even posted anywhere I’ve ever seen. So, now I am sitting anxiously in my seat, wondering if I am doing anything wrong.

Then comes the film itself; with its ubiquitous warnings about copying the film. Yeah, I’m all set up in the third row with a video recorder, waiting to make my fortune. I guess it’s time to think back to the days of my youth, and contrast the 2 experiences.

As a kid we had it fairly simple. You bought your ticket, you paid the price. And then stayed all day if you cared to. At the Century’s Avalon, on Kings Highway and East 18^th Street, there was even a balcony; or lodge, as it was referred to on the sign by the stairs. That was where we went to sit if we were bored, or had sat through the movie already. The balcony was the spot to pour soda upon the unsuspecting souls watching the movie for the first time. And for those who cared to sit up close down below; in order to avoid the soda; there was the thrill of hurling quarters; or rocks; at the screen, hoping to tear a hole in it.

But, by far the most exciting way of going to the movies involved a group effort. We would all chip in for one ticket; which was like a buck at the time; and then one of us would go into the theater and let the others in through the fire door, which, when done in the daytime, would bath the entire theater in bright daylight, eliciting moans and curses from the afflicted innocents. Then came the fun part; being chased by the 17 year old usher dressed in an Admirals uniform, armed with a flashlight. He never caught anyone, leaving me to wonder at the lengths which some people will go to for minimum wage.

Well, looking back on it all, I suppose I can now see that I brought it all upon myself, and as such, have no real reason to complain. But man, I miss those days!

"Heat Wave" Martha Reeves and the Vandellas (1965)

I can think of no more appropriate song for the current weather situation than this "oldie but goodie" from 1965. Many of my happiest memories seem to be centered around that year. Being 11 years old was a magical time for me in Brooklyn, where I grew up. And summertime was the ultimate season. School was out by the end of June, not to be re-visited again until after Labor Day in September. Those 8 weeks seemed eternal. There was so much time, and so much to do.

As the years passed by, and I got older, the summers got shorter; as did the years. But whenever the temperature soars above 95, or so, and I hear this song, I am 11 years old again, riding my bicycle down the shady side streets of Brooklyn. And, in my mind I am headed for the beach with a towel wrapped under the seat.

Driving in New York City - 1928 / 2012

This 1928 video from You Tube features Harold Lloyd in one of the old silents still being made in New York City at the time. It's a wild stunt filled ride showcasing Manhattan in the late 1920's. The Great Depression was still a year away.

And here's a little something from my old neighborhood, on Kings Highway between East 15th and 16th Streets sometime in early 2011. I stumbled upon it while looking at old films of New York and Brooklyn subways. I was just there last September. While I do remember that trucks used to get stuck 1 block north of Kings Highway, on Avenue P, quite often, I never remember one getting stuck under the trestle on Kings Highway itself. I guess if you live long enough, you see it all...

"Summer In the City"

With temperatures soaring to the high 90's for the next few days a little summer music is in order. When I was about fourteen I went to summer school. There was too much fun to be had in school during the year, and too much idle time on my hands in the summer, so I suppose I subconciously just split the term up a bit.

It fascinated me no end, when in the summer I would leave our cool, air conditioned apartment for the walk to the subway station, and upon hitting the street I would be slammed with an oven like wall of heat. This was usually about 7:30 in the morning, and though it had already been daylight for an hour or so, the sun was just coming up over the trees. This was my first realization that the sun came up in the East, traversing Avenue R. at a slight angle for the remainder of the day. Years later I learned that this is the apparent result of the elliptical path which the sun seemingly takes, while we, of course make our daily trip around it. But it was so much more magical when I didn't understand it.

I always had my 6 transistor radio on hand, or more accurately, at my ear. "Summer in the City" was one of my favorites that year, which is why it's posted above. Music is funny like that. It has a life of it's own, which can evoke memories that are physically felt.

When I hear this record I still feel 14 years old as I leave the apartment on Avenue R. I can still hear the quiet of the early morning in Brooklyn, and I still see the slow parade of tired commuters making their way to the train station to put in another day at whatever they were doing. And, on a day like today, I can still feel the heat.

Oleans Street - My Secret Walks

There are so many places in Brooklyn, New York, where I grew up, that can leave you wondering, at times, where you really are. Years ago, when I still lived there, I had a habit of walking each evening from about 9 PM until about 2 AM. On any given night you could find me wandering around the streets. It was my habit to walk the area bounded by Sheepshead Bay to the South, and Cortelyou Road to the North, where the subway leaves the elevated line and goes underground.

My meanderings East and West were from Ocean Parkway to Flatbush Avenue, with a customary stop at the Wyckoff-Bennett House, pictured above, on East 22nd Street. The house is from 1763 and used to face South, it was moved sometime around 1900. When I was really little, we lived on Bedford Avenue and Kings Highway. It was 5 long blocks, but not too far to keep us from going there on Halloween. They gave out old silver dollars. This was about 1959.

While in Kindergarten across the street at Public School 197, Ms. Gerber used to take us across Kings Highway (6 lanes!) to see the house and garden. She told us that George Washington had slept there and that these trees had seen him! When I got older and would take my nightly walks I used to enjoy standing beneath the huge old trees that adorned the sidewalk in front of the house. Their leafy canopies offered me shelter from whatever it was I was trying to walk away from. I would rest there and then continue on my nightly quest for, I'm not sure what.

One evening, late, it was after dark, I found myself on the quietest street I could ever have imagined. It was called Oleans Street and could have been a lane in a small country town. I have thought often of the darkness and quiet beauty of this street over the many years since I left Brooklyn. I've often wondered how it got there, slanted amidst the neat rows of numbered and alphabetized streets that make up most of the borough. And while browsing the site Forgotten Brooklyn.com yesterday I got my answer.

Oleans Street runs for 2 blocks between East 22nd and East 24th Streets, and diagonally between Avenues N and O. This came about as a result of Ocean Avenue being straightened. Older maps indicate that it was curved in several places until it became a main route that runs all the way to Sheepshead Bay. Oleans Street was, at one time, a part of Ocean Avenue. You can still see the overhead power lines for the old trolley in this picture.

The most beautiful thing about this area were the gardens. I was raised in an apartment, and although my father kept window boxes of geraniums, we had nothing like these beautiful lawns and flower beds, which adorned the homes around Bedford Avenue, as well as my beloved Oleans Street. So, this was a magical place that I have always looked back upon with secret affection. I just didn't think anyone else knew about it!

The streets of Brooklyn are a hodge-podge of history. The old Dutch names recall the times of the earliest settlements, some of which were in nearby Gravesend and Flatbush. I was never bored as a child, there was always somewhere to go, or something to see. The past still seemed present when I was a child.

I'm not sure why, maybe it's the change in the weather, but I find myself looking back, more and more these last few days, to Brooklyn and the past. And though I know I'll never go back there, at least for any length of time, a part of me will always be walking those same streets, drinking it all in and remembering those walks. Still looking for, I'm not sure what..

My First Libray - Kings Highway and Ocean Avenue

This is the Library on Ocean Avenue at the corner of Kings Highway in Brooklyn, New York, where I was raised. It's also where, at the age of 5, I got my first library card. And I've had one, or more, ever since. It's the first stop my wife, Sue, and I make when we move to a new town. It's where we register to vote and gain some sense of the town. Libraries are like that, they are, in their own way, the heart of any town.

Until I thought about it today, there were several things I didn't know about the Library where I grew up. I remember that I was fascinated with the flagpole at the Northern Entrance (left side) of the Library and considered the building itself to be somewhat of a temple. The process of getting the card was very simple, and still is, but the card was delivered with a solemnity that, in retrospect, fit the occasion.

Today while browsing about and thinking of Brooklyn, I learned quite a bit about the Library from their web site at;

http://www.brooklynpubliclibrary.org/branch_library_history.jsp?branchpageid=179

But to make things easy for you, here is some of the story. The part I found most fascinating was that the branch opened on October 12th, 1954, just 4 days after I was born! I'm glad my parents got it done in time for me to learn to read. And I'll never forget my first trip to the Library.

Branch History

In the early days of the Brooklyn Public Library, many unstaffed deposit stations were established in stores and other facilities throughout the borough. The location of the Kings Highway station was probably unique: according to a newspaper report, in 1910, the library placed a collection in the undertaking establishment of a Mr. Cornell at Kings Highway and E. 12th St. After the undertaker's, the station soon moved to a shoe store. In 1912, the Kings Highway branch opened in its own quarters. The branch's new home, a little frame shack at 1508 Kings Highway, quickly proved too small for the reading public. Several additional moves followed. Finally, in 1952, a ground-breaking ceremony took place at the current Ocean Avenue site.

The new building, designed by architects Knapp and Johnson and constructed by the Department of Public Works, was the first branch library to be erected in Brooklyn by the City of New York. The official opening ceremony was held on October 12, 1954. The busy Kings Highway branch currently serves as a Reference Center, offering a wider range of reference materials than other branches. The branch has the highest circulation rates in the BPL system, serving a community that is notable for its thirst for books and information. Resources available include specialized encyclopedias as well as collections focusing on health, business, computers and literary criticism. The branch receives over 300 magazines, and hosts weekly programs for Brooklyn Public Library's Service to the Aging department. Through these and other resources and programs the Kings Highway Branch looks forward to serving the community for generations to come.

Computer Wars and Snail Mail

My computers are down. Well, not down, just not doing what they are supposed to be doing. And it's frustrating.

So I have to look back and remember how it was when I was younger. Take the picture here for example. I'm mailing a letter to my Grandmother Marcus in California. The year is 1957 and I'm in Brooklyn, corner of Kings Highway and Bedford Avenue. It will take 5 days for that letter to reach Los Angeles. And another 5 days to get a reply, if she wrote back right away. Long distance calls were way too expensive then and reserved for important occasions like illnesses or holidays.

So I guess I'm just trying to put all the frustration in perspective. I have lived in an age where we have progresssed from dropping pieces of paper into metal boxes on the side of the road to sitting in a comfortable chair and hitting the SEND button. Pretty remarkable. And the photo is pretty cool, too.

Direct contact

I would love to hear more from anyone reading this blog. I realize what a pain it is to fill out all that junk and join something else with another password- so just hit comment and choose anonymous on the drop down menu- or contact me at my yahoo;
robertrswwilliams@yahoo.com

Thanks for stopping by and I look forward to any comments you may care to make.
Robert
PS That's an old picture- I am much more mellow now.