The Day the Candy Store Died
It all began with a phone call. While we pulled on the yo-yo string, or batted the little sponge Hi-li ball stapled to its racquet, we waited outside the candy store for the ring. In the East Bronx tenements who had a phone in 1938? No one we knew had one. After the ring, Mrs. Baretz would waddle out of the store and shout the name of the recipient. We waited our turn. The next one in line would tear away and call the person to the candy store phone. The candy store was located on East 172 St. between Seabury Place and Minford Place in the East Bronx.
Frequently it was a two-cent tip, or a milk deposit bottle that we brought to the grocer in exchange for two cents. If we were lucky, a call for Mrs. Winter earned us five-cents.
As our bodies grew, this legacy was passed on to the next generation of messengers. But we didn’t abandon the candy store as we matured (did we mature?). We bought five-cent Mello-rolls, a Charlotte-Russe, an ice cream cup with a movie star photo on the top flip side, Good and Plenty, Hammer’s Double Duck sodas, Black Crows, May Janes, Planter’s Jumbo Blocks, Chuckles, Jujubes, Sen-Sen, Dreams, Bazzini nuts, Walnettos, a Just Born or a Hooten chocolate square for two cents. For some of the older boys, a one-cent “loosie” put a cigarette in their mouth.
As we aged, our candy store became a hub of hilarity. No one had a legitimate given name. For some of the names, there was no explanation. Myron, whose toe boxes on his shoes pointed upward became UTS for UpTurned Shoes. Why was Albert called Peanzy? The Nose was “The Nose” because it occupied a major part of his face. Ears at right angle to his head baptized Eddie as Flippy, Sol was Nervous. Why? Because the Creep named him Nervous, that’s why. Then there was Miserable; self-explanatory. After dropping an easy fly ball with one hand, Herman became The Bandit (The One-Armed Bandit), another Herman was Seven because he was given a generous seven-cent allowance for the week, The Creep called Jerry Trenchfeet because he wasn’t fast enough to reach an easy ground ball to his left. Why was he The Creep? Another nose titled Arthur, Puggy. Since he raised pigeons, Julie was Fodderwing, from the movie, The Yearling. A third Herman became The Baker because his father owned the neighborhood bakery. Marty was the The Barber. His father owned a barber shop on Boston Road. When Mutt walked into the candy store with a haircut that appeared to be styled from an iron pot, he was Ironpot. Milty was The Fink after he ratted on the boys who broke the grocery store’s window while playing stickball, and I became Dud after I made a firecracker that merely fizzled.
Outside the candy store was an aging oak newspaper stand held together by enameled advertising signs. Alongside this stand were two gadgets, one dispensed sunflower seeds, and the other indian nuts (pine nuts) for one-cent, but inside, where the boys hung out, the laughter was endless.
Peanzy and Nervous’ father bought the candy store from Steve the Greek. Jerry (Trenchfeet) initiated the enterprise by ordering an egg cream. Peanzy withdrew a “clean” spoon from the utensil jar to dip it into the chocolate syrup. A cockroach was hanging at the of it. Jerry opted for a Coke.
Sol was behind the counter when he heard Elaine on the phone:
“Flame-Glo lipstick? It’s strictly for the birds.”
“Errol Flynn movies? They’re strictly for kids.
“Strictly speaking, I don’t like tight sweaters.”
“I can’t say that I strictly care for my steno course.”
He christened her Strictly. She detested the name.
Into the store she came, and from behind the counter Sol greeted her:
“What’ll you have Strictly?”
She stomped out, slamming the door behind her. Her mother, who was waiting to pay for a newspaper said,
“Sure she’s strictly. She’s strictly kosher.”
To which Sol replied,
“Strictly kosher my ass. She’s strictly bullshit.”
In the candy store, sex was never discussed. We wouldn’t have known what to do with it if we had a willing partner. But one day two elderly patrons, Beep-Da-Da-Brook, a retired furrier, and Silver the proprietor of a Minford Place grocery were in the store sipping on seltzers when a sexy young lady walked in for a pack of cigarettes.
Silver, panting breathlessly said,
“Oy! Vott I ken do mitt her!”
“You could do notting mitt her,” replied Beep-Da-Da-Brook.
“So, nu, big shot,” replied Silver. “Vott ken you do?”
“She could get me so eggsited, I could kerry a pail mitt it! (He could carry a pail on his erection).
“End vott ken you do?”
“She could get me so eggsited, I could put fifteen pennies on it.”
“Yeah,” replied Silver. “Vun on top uhv di odder!”
No one laughed harder than Pinyeh, who, according to the Creep had the biggest and hardest head ever supported by a human neck.
Then The Sheriff came in. He looked like he had an exhausting day driving the herd from sunup to sundown over the East Bronx range. We called him The Sheriff because he might have been 6’ 2”, but was so bowlegged that his rear end might have swept the ground as he tied his horse to the hitching post and moseyed into the candy store for foaming brew of seltzer.
Whenever there was a possibility of turning a coin, Willie the Weasel and Jake the Snake, permanent residents of Pop’s poolroom on Boston Road, made their entrance. Into the candy store they came with Willie holding two oranges and Jake with a Salvation Army reject.
“I’ll bet this cashmere overcoat my rich uncle gave me for cash that my man Jake can throw an orange further than anyone in this store.”
It was summer, what were we going to do with a pathetic rag of a coat?
Monty, Willie and Jake’s sidekick, ran upstairs to his apartment. He brought his brother’s two suits to up the ante.
A challenge is a challenge. We had been given a challenge to our athletic ability that could not be dismissed. We emptied our pockets and came up with twelve dollars. Willie the promoter replied,
“Are you kidding? Twelve dollars for a cashmere overcoat and two suits?”
Nervous would not miss the event. He went to the cash register and removed three dollars to make the stake fifteen dollars. He knew of Willie’s financial antics, so he suggested that the money be left with him until the end of the event.
The boys huddled to determine who had the strongest arm. It was agreed that I did. The two suits and the overcoat were draped over the newspaper stand as Jake and I went behind a sewer lid to throw an orange. A coin was flipped. I went first. The orange sailed past the intersection of Minford Place and East 172 St. and hit a fire escape on the second floor of a building on East 172 St.
Jake was next. He got off a fine throw. It landed in the middle of the street just before my splattered orange on the fire escape.
A quick measurement was followed by an anticipated argument.
Willie was ready to run to the candy store for the fifteen dollars.
“Anyone can see that Jake’s orange is ahead of the orange on that fire escape,” he said.
“What are you blind?” asked Trenchfeet. That orange is way past Jake’s orange and would have gone further if it didn’t hit the fire escape.”
With that, Willie sped up to the newspaper stand grabbed his cashmere. Monty trailing behind him collected the suits. Game over. Nobody wins.
A new candy store owner invested in the business. He and his wife were married in a Displaced Persons camp at the end of WWII. They were Holocaust survivors. He came to this Golden Land only to buy a tarnished candy store. Why should he be treated any differently than his predecessors? Like a successful parasite, we found a weakness and exploited it.
Jack’s eyes glistened and his mouth salivated whenever a young lady crossed his threshold. We dedicated this ditty to his lust:
Refugee Jack (Sung to the tune of Gentleman Jack)
Refugee Jack’s a sex maniac, There’s no such thing As a piece of dreck (shit) To Jack, Jack, the sex maniac.
To which he replied,”
I outlived Hitler and I am going to outlive ALL OF you!”
The lighting in the store my have been dim, but its characters made it glow like a beacon.
Fast forward to September,1952. I came home to Seabury Place after being discharged from the army. Seabury Place, whose sidewalks were teeming with children, Seabury Place where housewives were coming home from Jennings Street Market, Seabury Place where women were sitting on chairs waiting for their husbands to come home from work was as quiet as a mortuary. The only greeting I got was from the spinning red, white and blue barber pole adjacent to Nick, the shoemaker.
Of course, there was joy in apartment 11 of 1540 Seabury Place. Chicken soup, roasted chicken, helzel (stuffed derma), and all of its side dishes were waiting for me. After I was drained of all the questions, I decided to go to the candy store. The ageless newspaper stand still stood guard outside the store. Upon opening the door, Lenny, Irv and his friend were there. I nodded to the new owner. Lenny greeted me then Irv said,
“I haven’t seen you for a while. Where were you?”
“I was in the army.”
“Where were you?” asked Lenny.
“In Korea,” I replied.
“Did you see any action?” he asked.
“I did.”
“He did,?” squealed Irv’s pipsqueak. “Where’s my helmet!
Where’s his helmet? I pictured the KIAs in my company: Harry Lapich, Wayne Caton, Sgt. Rutledge, Sgt. Massengale, Jesus Camacho, Truman Moen, Murray Lichtman, John Mendel, Paul Boring, and our forward observer for artillery. Add to that, all of our wounded.
This little microsquirt who probably couldn’t pass a physical was “looking for his helmet.” He probably wouldn’t know what to do with it if it was issued to him.
I left the store and returned home.
This was the day the candy store died.
For the complete story read: Seabury Place: A Bronx Memoir by Daniel Wolfe