In the fire, it was burning
Sweetheart, I know, I should have been learning
But my pockets, were full of money, yes they were
I had someone, yes I did, to call my honey
But, Ooh, it's love, that makes a woman
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Freddy, Eddie, Ginny and me sang along with Barbara Acklin. It was July 1968, eighth grade was a distant memory that ended a month before. We loafed on the stoop of 403 East 83rd Street. Ginny's Mom was the building's super, we decided we owned the building. The Chapmans' lived on the first floor and Ginny set up a series of extension cords out her front window allowing me to plug in my portable record player. Ginny was an artist, problem solver, and made fun of my stutter. That bothered me, but I liked it.
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It was midnight, I was supposed to stay over Freddie's and he was supposed to stay over my house. Our intention, stay out all night and play records on the stoop till the sun came up. Eddie had the same scam, lying to his Mom that he was staying over a friend's house. Mrs. Chapman gave Ginny a lot of rope. Each of us, had our own 45 records and we took turns rotating our songs on the player. We hung onto the words of every tune, our taste mingled seamlessly, the four of us were a single DJ playing music we loved and pleasing everybody. No alcohol, no drugs, only records.
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Across the street, Mrs. Walsh took her standard position, leaning out her fourth floor window sill with a pillow under her chest and arms. I was the unofficial president of the mother's fan club and out of all the mothers in the neighborhood, we unanimously agreed, Mrs. Walsh was the best looking mother in Yorkville. Dark hair, heartbreaking symmetrical face and smile, oh, that face, great shape, sassy & funny. Her uniform, a moo-moo house dress, 24 hours a day. She always had something to say when we played in front of her house. After I dropped the ball in a Off the Point game, she said, "Hey, Pryor, nice catch." I was sitting on the stoop one day by myself and out of left field, I hear, "Hey, Pryor, what's a matter? You look like you lost your last friend in the world." We mooned over her.
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Mr. Moylen lived on the second floor of the same building. He hated us, hated our noise, and he hated our game in front of his house on the corner of First Avenue. Playing Off the Point, we'd hit the Spauldeen off the sensational crack on the building directly across the street from Moylen's. That meant someone was covering the outfield right under Moylen. If you struck the ball perfectly off the crack, it would fly off the point, gain height over the infielder in the street, soar over the outfielder on the opposite sidewalk, aiming for Moylen's wall. The ball would sometimes hit as high as the third floor, but usually it hit the wall around the second story. The outfielder would wait for the carom, and the infielder would turn and face the wall to back up the outfielder. Unfortunately, the wall had a series of windows and four of them belonged to Moylen. He didn't lean out the window like Mrs Walsh, but he had excellent hearing. When we started a game and Moylen was home, his windows flew open and we had to make a big decision.
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A Spauldeen was expensive, but 401 was the best point in the neighborhood. The point won. Most the time, all was well, rest of the time, someone would hit a beauty, we'd all turn, face the wall, heads up, watching the sweet flight as the ball sailed through Moylen's window. "Gone, gone, gone."
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After the game, we'd go to our locker room, the 403 stoop, plop down, mostly say nothing, then start giving Moylen the business. Ginny loved the boys hanging out on her stoop, and Mrs. Chapman didn't mind most of our stuff. 403 was our home, and when it got warm, when it got dark, the music came out.
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Freddy put on one of his favorites.
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Some girls like to run around, like to handle everything they see
But my girl has more fun around and you know she'd rather be with me
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It was past one o'clock, and Mrs. Chapman opened her window and said, 'Last song." We laughed, we knew she'd leave us alone. Freddy took the Turtles off and Eddie's song was next. Just as he was putting on the Animals, It's my Life, Mrs. Chapman yanked the wires back towards the window and two of the three extension wires detached and disappeared. We were screwed.
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I was a mechanical idiot, Ginny and Freddy looked blank, but Ekis was working on the light pole in front of the building. He was using his house keys trying the take the bottom panel off. It popped off and Eddie took something out of the base of the pole ~ a regular electrical outlet with a one foot extension.
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"Ekis you're a regular Mr. Science." Freddy said.
"Thank you, Mr. Muller." Ekis smiled and motioned his head, signalling me to bring the record player over. I did, and we plugged our music into the pole on the sidewalk, compliments of NYC 's Department of Highways ~ Bureau of Lights. There were a couple of milk boxes near the garbage cans, we grabbed two and Eddie and I DJed the tunes, and Freddy and Ginny drummed their sneakers off the 403 stoop a few feet away. Despite, Mrs. Chapman's "last call," we kept it going. Around one-thirty, we saw Moylen stick his head out his window and figured we had ten minutes. The squad car dropped by and Officer Bulin the old beat cop got out.
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"What are doing?"
"Playing music."
"How?"
"There's a electric outlet on the bottom of the light pole and we figured it was there for emergencies and things, and this was a thing we needed it for."
"It's too late for music, but I've got admit, I didn't know there was a outlet in the pole. That's pretty good, but you can't use it because it's only for emergencies, OK?"
"OK... can we play one last song?"
"That's it, then, good night. I'm circling the block and three minutes from now, I want silence."
"OK, thank you, officer."
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This was a nice man, Eddie put on our last song.
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I remember when I used to play shoot em up
Shoot em up, bang, bang, baby
I remember, when I chased the girls and beat em up
But I was young and didn't understand
But now I'm a grown up man
I know girls are made for kissing, never knew what I was missing
Now my life is not the same, my whole world has been rearranged
I went from cowboys to girls.
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When the song ended, we put the panel back, closed the record player and sat on the stoop silently. Officer Bulin came around the block and gave us a half smile, then he put his head out the driver's side window, cupped a hand by his mouth and yelled up, "Good night, Mrs.Walsh," to the lady waving down from the fourth floor. Officer Bulin thought Mrs. Walsh was pretty too.
******
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Story's title borrowed from Joni Mitchell's "Big Yellow Taxi" lyric
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Pictures above:
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Ginny and me at 18, a record player that looks very much like mine, Eddie Ekis & Freddy Muller at 17 &18.
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