Indian Rock Overlooks Crotona Park Lake Polished by the forces of erosion, and then delivered by a glacier, The Indian Rock stood sentinel on a hill overlooking Indian Lake. Four smooth, well-worn grooves in the rock provided a grip for my Keds in order to reach its crest. Damn! Why do I play handball? I could… Continue reading Join Me in a Visit to Crotona Park
Wayne Caton Has Our Puppy Gone Astray? Maybe he is lost? Night plays tricks on our orientation. But the Chorwon Valley in Korea was wide, and the moon shone brightly. I definitely saw Wayne and Flaherty on my left when we reached the crest of Hill 121. But then there was a blast from a… Continue reading Has Our Puppy Gone Astray?
Mail to a hungry GI was on a par with C-ration’s only mouth watering premium delight – Franks and Beans. Elaine was one of the contacts I had with the homefront. After a sniper killed Lapich and Rutledge near their bunkers, her mail broke the drudgery of cautiously blending in with my surroundings. Although I… Continue reading My Best Correspondent
Stickball, The Rational Pastime In the Bronx, The National Pastime evolved into The Rational Pastime – Stickball. The year was 1946. No sneaking onto the subway, no three quarters-of-an-hour walk to the Yankee Stadium, no charge of .55 cents for a seat in the bleachers, no coming home with a medium-rare sunburn. Stickball was the… Continue reading Stickball, The Rational Pastime
Late as usual, with her bouncing jet-black hair hurdling the nap of her navy-blue woolen sweater, her skirt feathering my arm, Shirley came streaming into our senior homeroom class at James Monroe H.S. in the Bronx. Her smile lit up a toasty complexion. It reminded me of the sexy Spanish women that only appeared in… Continue reading Questions But No Answers
At the beginning of ninth grade in Hermann Ridder Jr. H.S., a stranger entered our classroom – algebra. As an introduction, Miss Clarke said, “x could be anything and you will have to find the solution to solve it.” Well, if x could be anything, could it be that Nazi janitor across the street from my apartment building?… Continue reading Good Old Golden Rule Days