"MY EARLIEST MEMORIES OF FLATBUSH"
I grew up on Foster Avenue, between East 46th Street and Schenectady Avenue in the Hyde Park section of Flatbush but the house where my parents lived when I was born was on East 51st Street, between Clarendon and Beverly Roads. Cortelyou Road was still just a dirt trail at that time and the paved road part of Cortelyou ended at Scenectady Avenue. I lived there until I was about 2 1/2 and then we moved to the Foster Avenue house. I went to Little Flower Grammar School (St Therese de Liseaux is the official name) on Avenue D between Troy Avenue and East 45th Street. Feinberg's candy store was where we spent any money we could scrape together.
My father was a New York cop who was still in uniform back then but he later became a detective and wore a suit and tie on the job. Having a cop for a father was pretty cool in those days when cops were still referred to as, "New York's Finest". The first thing a cop would ask a kid whenever they had any contact with them was, "What does your father do?" We were instructed to say, "My father's on the job!" Dad would make that clear many times over the years. "Don't say your father's a cop," he would tell us. "Say, my father's on the job!" It was insider cop-code for cop-people. Having that secret bit of information kept my brothers and me out of many a legal scrape over the years (not that we ever did anything wrong, mind you).
Ah, Brooklyn! What a great place to grow up in back then although I think wherever a person spends their youth would be the greatest place for them. Back then for me was the early 1940's. Our neighborhood was really special, though. It was magic. We had Holy Cross Cemetary to play in. We had Farragut Woods (before they ripped it up with bulldozers and built the Vandeveer Estates). We had Farragut Pool where we spent most of those hot, humid summer days swimming away from early morning until well into the evening. Farragut Pool was the unofficial baby-sitter for generations of kids. We were lucky enough to have season lockers for every summer that I can remember. If you saw the movie, "The Flamingo Kid", we were the members, not card players. The elite of Farragut Pool.
On really hot days, the kids who didn't have season lockers would have to wait to pay the day rate on a line which sometimes was so long, it extended around the block. Not us. We breezed right past those hot, sweaty kids and just held up our red and white locker key wrist bands to the man at the window who waved us right through. My wife was one of those "day trippers" and she still gets on my case about it even to this day. "You spoiled, little rich kid," she'll say with mock jealousy. What can I tell you, my father was a cop.
Paedergat Park (we called it Farragut Park) was another place we spent a lot of our time. Dodge ball, basketball, the sand lot, the swings, the see-saws, the softball field, the handball courts, the park pool - there was so much to do at the park you could spend an entire day there and never be bored. The park was located on Albany Avenue between Foster Avenue and Farragut Road and East 40th Street on the other side, a block away from Farragut Pool.
When we got a little older, eight or nine, we became a bit more daring and would play in a place that was forbidden - the railroad tracks! Now this was a lot more scarier than playing in the cemetary because dead people never came up out of their graves to hurt us but a freight train could and would run you over. Between the trains and "chicken ladder" - a high voltage wire-surrounded structure that went up about 100 feet and over the tracks; it's a wonder that we survived at all. A kid had to, on a dare, climb up this ladder, walk across the catwalk across the tracks to the other side, all the while keeping his arms tucked in so he wouldn't accidently touch any of the high-tension wires and be electrcuted, then backtrack and climb down the same side that he climbed up. I did it several times (I'm proud to say) but some kids "chickened out" and hence the name. If any kid we hung around with ever chickened out, he was immediately banished from the group and his name would be plastered all over the schoolyard the next day. "So and so is a chicken!" That was a fate worse than death - to be banished and labelled a chicken in our neighborhood.
My earliest memories are of trying to climb over the fence in our yard on East 51st Street because I wanted to get out in the world and see "what was out there." I finally made it over one fine spring day and made my way down the block to the dirt road, turned right and continued across Utica Avenue and started walking alongside Holy Cross Cemetary on Cortelyou Rd. I was on my way to my grandmother's house. She lived in a big, three-storied house on Brooklyn Avenue, between Glenwood Road and Avenue H but I knew exactly how to get there because I would memorize the route my father took in the car. I wasn't yet three years old. I knew I had to walk alongside the cemetary on Cortelyou until I saw the house with the flower pots on the stoop. That was East 37th Street. Once I saw those pots, I knew I had to make a left turn and walk down that street for five long blocks, then turn right, go one block to Brooklyn Avenue and left again. My grandmother lived halway down Brooklyn Avenue on the right hand side. I had to take that complicated route because Brooklyn Avenue didn't go all the way through because of the woods and that was the way my father drove to get there. I had it dialed in my little brain.
I had gotten a couple of blocks on Cortelyou when I noticed a squad car out of the corner of my eye. I knew they were cops and I knew they were looking for me. I tried my best to act non-chalant but to no avail.
"Hey, Billy, where are you going?" one of the cops called out to me. They called me Billy back then because even though my name is Richard, my middle name is William and I had an uncle they called Richie so I went by my middle nickname of Billy. Follow so far?
"I'm going to my grandma's house," I answered with authority.
"Well, get in and we'll drive you there."
Something told me they weren't going to do that. "No you won't," I said. "You're going to take me back to my house."
"No, we won't. We'll take you to your grandma's house. C'mon and get in. It's a long walk and we can get you there much faster in the car."
Well, that made sense. Still, I wasn't sure I could trust them. "You promise you'll take me to my grandma's house"?
"Sure, don't worry, we'll take you to your grandma's house. We promise."
"Okay." I climbed into the back seat of the cop car, kind of relieved that I wasn't going to have to walk the rest of the way there. It was a little longer than I thought and my little legs were starting to get tired. This was much better and I couldn't wait to see my grandma.
The door closed behind me and the cop who was driving made a quick u-turn and started heading back towards my house.
"No!" I protested. "This isn't the way!"
"No, Billy, we're taking you back home," one of the cops said.
"But you promised!"
"We know, but we had to say that to get you to come in the car. You mother is worried about you, Billy. You don't want her to be worried, do you?" the cop asked in a kind voice.
"No," I answered, meekly. "But I really wanted to go vist my grandmother, though."
"We know, but it's better if you let your father drive you there. We're friends of his and we'll tell him how much you really want to visit your grandmother. He'll take you there when he gets home, okay?"
"Okay."
Well, he didn't, not for a long time. My mother was so relieved to see me that I didn't get scolded but after that she started tying me to the clothesline so I couldn't escape from the yard, anymore. Try as I might, I couldn't undo those knots she used on the rope. She must have been a girl scout or something because she really knew how to tie a good knot.
This is Richie D., The Kid From Flatbush. We'll talk again, soon.
6 Comments:
Hola, Mr. Richie D. The kid from flatbush. I was looking up the area of east flatbush due to my being in contract with a home on e 52 st and foster. I was concerned with any cancer survivors or hazardous material information of the area becasue I see some industrial areas all about that territory. Instead of what i was looking for, i found your blog. I want to say how wonderful it was to hear about your slice of life. The places that you mention, i've seen on maps and passesd in cars. Your blog was so historically interesting. Thank you for sharing that piece./ irma gonzalez. stifia@aol.com
OHMYGOSH! Found your blog by accident and it transported me back to my childhood in Flatbush. I lived on Clarendon Rd. & E. 46th, attended Little Flower & McAuley HS. I am even wondering if our paths crossed? Didn't think anyone remembered the train tracks (did you hunt bottles on the "junk pile"). My brother's friend was horribly hurt from climbing on top of those boxcars (lost limbs. My friend lived in Canarsie and 3 of the Bklyn Dodgers lived on her block every summer. Do you remember von Dohlens on Ave. D? (I later lived on Ave D & E.39th, with Henry's Grocery on that corner.) My dog used to chase the nuns who walked past my house when they visited back and forth from McAuley and Little Flower! Oh, I could go on and on... Thanks for so much fun reminiscing--loved it!
Barbara
I grew up on Clarendon Road just off Flatbush Avenue. we lived there in the 40's and I went to P.S. 89 on Newkirk Avenue and E31st st.. The school is still there (I looked it up on Zillow). I remember some great time sleigh riding down some steep hills in Farragut Woods which was right across Newkirk Avenue from P.S. 89.
My best days were when there were snowball fights with the kids from St.Jeromes Catholic School right across the big empty lot off Nostrand Avenue.
Right on E 31st St in the border of Farragut Woods was a hot dog stand where I would get a single or a double for lunch many days.
Sadly, those days are gone. After graduating from P.S. 89 I went on to Brooklyn Tech and have never seen Farragut Woods since.
I grew up on East 39th Street betwen Ave D and Foster Avenue.
I went to Farragut pool in the early 1960s.
Great memories!
Leonardo
My name is pat and I grew up on 726 e43st i remember everything u guys say i went to erasmus hall hs farragut pool was where i learned to swin my dad was a fireman do u remember the life guard th ey were all firemen I'll remember the train tracts and I remember someone getting hurt there do u remember steeplechase I had a ball there I also went to little flower. Do u remember sister Mary george she was tough it was a great place to grow up in
Holy smoke! I grew up in the same neighborhood. Went to PS 89, and this is the first time I have seen a commentator mention our old school. The building is still there, apparently, but it is no longer a school, just a government building. 89 had a pool in the basement--the only public school in the city with a pool. We lived on 29th St, between Foster and Farragut. Used to go sledding with my friend Ginnie Rosenstein in the Farragut Woods--my Dad would take us. Then, the city tore up the Woods and built 6-story buildings just off the same streets. Shame, it was a fun place then. My Dad grew up in Brooklyn, and I've found out his family lived in Brooklyn for around 200 years--he had an uncle who served in the Brooklyn Unit of the NY troops that fought in the Civil War, and he told me one of his uncles was the Cable Foreman on the Brooklyn Bridge. Don't know if that was when they were building it, or after it was built. St. Jerome's Catholic Church was a few blocks away. My Dad went to Erasmus, as did his sister. We went grocery shopping at A&P and Bohacks. Guess they are gone, now. Of course, we did have Ebinger's Bakery--best cakes in the world. For small things, we went to John's Grocery on, I guess, Nostrand, although I am not sure about that. Our family attended Vanderveer Park Methodist Church. We moved, when I was going to Midwood High School, to Stratford Road to a much larger house, where my Dad had his Chiropractic office. We moved to California in 1960 for work. Saddest time of my life. Edward T. Barron, we may have known each other. I just turned 80 in January. Lovely to see your memories, as they are some of mine, too. Lynne Burt (then)
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