Feel assured, when we die, the beach will still be there creating memories to treasure for all who come after us.
When I was 15, too many people met at eight o'clock mass on summer Sundays at St. Stephen of Hungary's chuch. Afterwards, we headed up to the #6 Local on 86 Street and took it to Bleecker Street and transferred to the A train to Far Rockaway (sometimes we had to switch trains at Broad Channel). There was one structure left on the boardwalk down there~ a knish stand ~ we called it "the Alamo." The owner, Milton, loved us. We all had the munchies and nobody brought anything to eat. Nothing but potatoes and condiments in our stomachs at the end of the day. Oh, and we drank liquids. There were still a few vacant Victorian homes spread out through the neighborhood. When it rained, we explored them. To avoid having too much fun with the gang, I took a constitutional walk to 116 Street on the boardwalk to check if Curley's was still there and back to Beach 44th Street. A cute sharp redhead named Susan, a junior from Julia Richmond High School usually joined me. When she did, my insides were warm and sunny.
Here are more Far Rockaway photographs.
If you like my work check out my memoir, "I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood." Available at Logos Book Store or online at Amazon or Barnes & Noble.
The book has 103 Amazon five star reviews out of 103 total reviews posted. We're pitching a perfect game. My old world echoes TV's "The Wonder Years" ~ just add taverns, subways and Checker cabs.