Happy Birthday, Robert Anthony Pryor!

"Two Guys Talking on the Corner, " one of my favorite Dad stories from my 1960s' nyc memoir, "I Hate The Dallas Cowboys." It also appears in Mr. Beller's Neighborhood.

"Dad, I miss our games of catch."


Happy Birthday, Malibu Bob!

Dad and I did four things together: play sports, attend sports, watch TV, and go to the movies. I liked movies the best; it’s much harder telling a kid what to do in the dark. You would have loved taking me to the movies when I was 6 years old. I was a cheap date, one box of Pom Poms caramels and a dime soda kept me blissful through the whole film and I shut up. Didn’t want to miss anything.
It was the fall of 1960, which I remember for three reasons.
I had just started first grade, the Yankees had lost to the Pirates in the World Series, and Dad was rooting for Nixon against Kennedy to spite my Irish grandfather. I still believed my father was infallible. He never had to use this line on me — “Are you gonna believe what you see or what I tell you?” He accomplished his goals without direct engagement. Looking back, I suspect he periodically forgot I was his son and thought I was the most intelligent dog in the world. But this day would be different.

Dad’s charm was in full swing as he pulled me along up 86th Street. I kept my eye out for friends. The last thing I needed were the guys giving me the business, “Daddy still holds ya hand, Tommy the baby!” Resistance was futile, so I decided to keep tight to Dad’s side so it looked like we were just walking very close together.
“So, what do you want to see?” Dad stopped at the corner of Third Avenue, moved the cigarette out of his mouth and looked down at me.

“The Mouse that Roared, a very funny comedy, or that other film up there, The Time Machine?”
Up ahead of us on the north side of 86th Street were two movie houses, the Loew’s Orpheum and the gigantic RKO.

“What are they about?”
“Well… The Mouse That Roared is about a tiny little country that declares war on the United States. The star of the film, Peter Sellers, is a famous English comedian. You’ll love him.”
I just stared at Dad hoping he’d move on. I didn’t like war. Finally he said, “The Time Machine is a science fiction movie I don’t know much about.”
“What do you know?”
“It’s about time travel.”
“I want to see The Time Machine.”
Dad stared down at me, holding the look, hoping I’d keep talking. I didn’t. Getting this look made me nervous and I usually blabbed on just like Dad wanted so he could carefully talk me out of something. But this time we just stared at each other.
After a traffic-light-missing pause, Dad said, “What???”
“I love time travel.”
Dad rolled his eyes. He had no clue how crazy I

was for Mr. Peabody and Sherman on The Rocky & Bullwinkle Show, which I watched faithfully every Sunday. Mr. Peabody invented the WABAC Machine (pronounced “way back”), which allowed him and Sherman to time-travel to ancient Rome, the voyages of Columbus, the dinosaur era, you name it. I wasn’t sure what science fiction was, but I loved time travel.
Dad recovered. “Oh, I bet it’s going to be one of those talky films you hate.”
I said nothing.
Dad threw a wild punch, hoping it would land. “If we go to The Mouse That Roared I’ll take you to Prexy’s afterwards for a hamburger and a milk shake.”

I ducked his shot. “Why can’t we go to Prexy’s anyway?”

Dad’s shoulders rolled forward and his chest fell as he grabbed my hand. Swiftly, we crossed Third Avenue, sidestepping the spray from a street-cleaner truck, and headed to the RKO to see Rod Taylor, whoever he was, in The Time Machine.

86th Street Memory

In the early 1960s, Martin's Bar on 86th Street sold french fries to go in a one-pound brown paper bag. I snuck it into the movies. During the film, when I took a sip of my soda I put the steamy bag in my lap. Eventually, every pair of dungarees I owned had a big oil stain in the crotch. Did not go over well with Ma.

If you enjoy my stories please  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 and Noble.

The book has 108 Amazon five star reviews out of 108 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. You can also purchase my photography portfolio, "River to River - New York Scenes From a Bicycle" on Amazon.

"Our Little Town, Yorkville" @ Barnes & Noble East 86 St ~ Tonight ~ Friday !

Tonight, Friday, October 17th @ 6pm at Barnes Noble, 150 East 86th Street, we're exploring "Our Little Town, Yorkville." Partnering with my Fourth Grade palsfrom St. Stephen of Hungary we are celebrating our neighborhood. The students start at 6pm, I follow the kids with my reading and book signing. Please come early to hear the children's fine essays. Through the eyes of a child memories of a place set in forever.

East

"I Hate The Dallas Cowboys: tales of a scrappy New York boyhood" ~ Thomas Pryor's Book Event @ Barnes & Noble 150 E. 86 Street

My family's lived on York Ave for 118 years. They left Sicily in 1896 and landed at 1403 Avenue A. I have the horseshoe that hung over their front door. My great grandparents went back and forth to Sicily separately a few times before staying put in 1903 with their three kids and a star boarder, their nephew, Charlie or Carlo. My Uncle Joe "Cheech" played baseball with 

Jimmy Cagney before Cagney made his acting debut at Keith's 86th Street Theatre.

My family has played, shopped, fought and gallivanted along 86th Street for a hundred years. The heart of Yorkville thumps under 86th Street near Lexington Avenue. I feel it under my feet each time I walk our boulevard and my memories rush back. 

Tomorrow Friday, October 17th @ 7pm, at the Upper Eastside Barnes & Noble, I'll read from my Yorkville memoir, "I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood." The book has 53 stories and it's loaded with photos of the neighborhood going back to 1906. Many images in this Facebook album are in my book. Several are tied directly to the stories you'll read. I promise to take you back to that world in sight and sound. Think TV's "The Wonder Years" just add taverns, subways and Checker cabs.

St. Stephen of Hungary School is my partner for this neighborhood celebration. Tomorrow at 6pm before I read, please come early and hear St. Stephen's Fourth Grade students read their Yorkville memories. 

If you like what you hear please buy my book. I've knocked myself out presenting hundreds of stories and pictures of old Yorkville on Facebook and other neighborhood digital meeting places including my blog, "Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts." If you enjoy my work, you will not be disappointed. Promise.

The Ingenuity of Eddie Ekis

403 East 83rd Street girl gang on stoop

Ginny put the 45 on the record player:

You got a thing about you,

I just can’t live without you, I really want you, Elenore, near me.

Your looks intoxicate me, Even though your folks hate me.

There’s no one like you, Elenore, really.

Freddy Muller, Eddie Ekis and I sang along to the Turtles tune. It was July 1968; eighth grade was a distant memory that had ended a month before. We hung out on the 83rd Street stoop where, Ginny, my future girlfriend lived. Ginny had lined a series of extension cords out her first floor window, allowing us to plug in my portable record player.

It was midnight. I was supposed to stay over Freddy’s and he was supposed to stay over my house. But our real intention was to stay out all night and play records on the stoop till the sun came up. Eddie had the same scam. Each of us had our own 45s and we took turns rotating our songs into the play list. We hung onto the words of every tune. Our tastes mingled seamlessly.

Across the street, Mrs. Walsh leaned on her third floor windowsill with a pillow under her chest and arms. I was the unofficial president of the mothers’ fan club and out of all the mothers in the neighborhood, we unanimously agreed, Mrs. Walsh was the best looking. Dark hair, yummy kissable face, a mouth like a sailor and oh, that smile. Her uniform was a muumuu house dress that hid her ins and outs. We prayed they’d come out for a peek. Sometimes, you forgot she was up there. I was sitting on a stoop by myself one day, and I heard, “Hey, Pryor, whatsamatter? You look like you lost your last friggin’ friend in the world.”

Eddie Ekis & Freddy Muller

Mr. Moylan lived on the second floor of the same building. He resembled the actor Edgar Kennedy and hated us playing “Off the Point” in front of his house. We’d hit the Spaldeen off the edge of the ankle-high ledge on the wall directly across the street. If you struck the ball perfectly it would fly off on an angle, gain height, and soar over the outfielder toward Moylan’s building. The outfielder would wait for the carom off the wall.

            That wall had a series of windows, though, and four of them belonged to Moylan. He didn’t lean out the window like Mrs. Walsh, but he had excellent hearing. If he was home and we were playing, his windows would fly open and any balls that went in would never come out.

            At that point, we had to make a big decision. A Spaldeen was expensive, but this was the best point in the neighborhood. We could move around the corner to a safe ballpark without windows, but the point there was mediocre.  We usually stayed put and took our chances. Sometimes, one of us would hit a beauty and we’d all turn and watch the sweet flight of the doomed ball sailing through Moylan’s window.

“Give it back, you bald S.O.B.,” Mrs. Walsh would say, using her two hands to form a megaphone on the sides of her mouth. After the game, we’d go to our locker room – the stoop – plop down, mostly say nothing, and then start giving Moylan the business.

Ginny loved the boys hanging out on her stoop, and Mrs. Chapman, her mother, mostly didn’t mind.  On warm days like this one, when it got dark the music would come out.

Freddy put one on:

Boom, boom…boom boom, boom, ba-boom

Boom, boom…boom boom, boom, ba-boom

I’ve been trying to get to you for a long time,

Because constantly you been on my mind.

Sometime past one, Mrs. Chapman opened the window and said, “This is the last song.” We knew she didn’t mean it – Mrs. Chapman was a softy – so when Freddy took the Turtles off as the song ended I grabbed a new record. But then Mrs. Chapman did the unexpected and yanked the wires. The extension cords disappeared back into the window. This was the first occasion we located Mrs. Chapman’s last straw.

I was a mechanical idiot, and Ginny and Freddy looked blank, but Eddie was working on the light pole in front of the building with his house keys, trying to remove the bottom panel. It popped off and Eddie took something out of the base of the pole – a standard electrical outlet with a short extension cord.

“Edward, you’re a regular Mr. Science,” Freddy said.

“Thank you, Mr. Muller,” Eddie smiled, and motioned with his head, signaling 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, or whatever the agency was called.  Eddie and I grabbed a couple of milk boxes and deejayed the tunes, while Freddy and Ginny drummed their sneakers on the stoop.

Around 1:30, we saw Moylan’s head pop out his window and figured we had ten minutes. And that was when the squad car eased to a stop and Officer Bulin joined us.

“What are you doing?”

“Playing records.”

“How?”

“There’s an 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 to admit, I didn’t know there was an outlet in the pole. That’s pretty good, but you can’t use it because it’s only for emergencies, OK?”

“Can we play one last song?” Ginny asked.

“That’s it, then, good night. I’m circling the block and three minutes from now, I want silence.”

“OK, thank you, officer.”

Eddie put our last song on:

Cowboys to girls,

 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.

When the Intruders 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 soft 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,” as she waved down from the third floor.

This coming Saturday, October 4th, help us honor and remember Eddie Ekis our friend, Yorkville son & SJU Rugby brother. We’ll celebrate Eddie’s love for life on Saturday, October 4th from 4pm to 9pm in the York-Hill Coop’s Community Room at 1540-1550 York Avenue (bet. 81St & 82 St.) 

There will be music, lot’s of Eddie’s stuff, pizza, salad, wine, beer and soft drinks. $15 per person. The community room is located in the basement on the 81st St. side of the building. Enter through the main entrance on York Ave and take the elevator to the basement; the community room is on the south end. If you loved Eddie, please join us.

Many of us claim Edward was our best friend. He was. Boredom was impossible if Mr. Ekis was around. In 1973, we watched the soap operas, “How to Survive A Marriage” and “Somerset” on a portable TV every week day while missing classes at Hunter & CCNY. We climbed out his 2nd story kitchen window onto the roof deck over the 82nd St. tailor’s shop, the caged deck that doubled as an exercise area for his monkeys, Toto and Chiquita. When was the last time you drank Yago Sangria with two monkeys swinging over your head? That lost semester our A’s & B’s magically turned into C’s & D’s.

Summer's Last Breathe

Here are photos from Central Park over the last few days of summer. It's time for your autumn sweater.

ps buy this amazing Yo Lo Tengo record if you don't own it, "I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One."  It will cheer you up whether you need to be cheered up or not.

“I Hate the Dallas Cowboys – tales of a scrappy New York boyhood.” The book release party is Tuesday, October 14th @ Cornelia Street Cafe @ 5:30pm – 8pm 

My special guests: Leslie Goshko & Adam Wade. 

I’ll also read and sign at Barnes & Noble, 150 E. 86 St on Friday, October 17th @ 7pm in the Yorkville neighborhood on the Upper East Side.

You can pre-order the book online at Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Early praise for the book:

“Thomas R. Pryor has written a sweet, funny, loving memoir of growing up old-school in a colorful New York neighborhood. A story of sports, family, and boyhood, you’ll be able to all but taste, smell, and feel this vanished world.”

Kevin Baker, author of the novels “Dreamland,” Paradise Alley,” and “Strivers Row,” as well as other works of fiction and nonfiction


“Tommy Pryor’s New York City boyhood was nothing like mine, a few miles and a borough away, and yet in its heart, tenderness, and tough teachable moments around Dad and ball, it was the mid-century coming of age of all of us. A rousing read.”

Robert Lipsyte, former city and sports columnist, The New York Times

“Pryor could take a felt hat and make it funny.”

Barbara Turner-Vesselago, author of “Writing Without A Parachute: The Art of Freefall”


“Pryor burrows into the terrain of his childhood with a longing and obsessiveness so powerful it feels like you are reading a memoir about his first great love.”

Thomas Beller, author of “J.D. Salinger: The Escape Artist”

Happy Half-Birthday!

Why at 60 do I remember my half birthday is tomorrow? I never forget. The reason is Uncle Norman.
Mom had this thing with shoe stores. She always complained her feet hurt. We’d go in and out of Yorkville’s many shoe stores looking for the perfect comfortable shoe that she never found. Rory and I played on the store’s big ladder on wheels flying it back and forth across the floor with one of us hanging off with one arm free in front of the customers. This usually stopped when the clerk or Mom threw something at us. Then we’d pick up the foot-measuring device. It was all metal and looked like it held some secret code with its side measuring knobs. It must have been expensive because the clerk went bananas when we threw it. Rory tried on spiked heels he grabbed from the store’s front window display. He’d wobble up and down the carpet smiling from side to side. I studied him with one hand to my chin and my elbow to my leg. Involuntarily, my head swayed with him as he traveled back and forth, back and forth.

Rory and I liked two shoe stores best. One was “Salamander Shoes” on 86th Street. The other was “Buster Brown” on 83rd Street. Each store had a kid gimmick. Uncle Norman in “Buster Brown” always made sure he knew your birthday. Then he’d send you a birthday card. Six months later, he’d send you another card wishing you a happy half-birthday. I’d get my half-birthday card and say out loud, “Boy that Uncle Norman is one swell guy. Hey Mom, I need a new pair of shoes. What do you think?”

Mom delivered her look. First of all, I never cared whether I had any shoes much less new ones. I only cared about new sneakers. The only thing that triggered me getting a new pair of shoes was a good rainstorm after a hole in my shoe’s sole developed. Either, I’d get home from school and Mom would notice my socks were wet, or I’d take off my blue socks and Mom would notice my feet were blue from the sock’s dye. Only then, Mom said, “Tomorrow we go for new shoes.”

The other store’s gimmick was a beauty. Salamander was the high-end shoe store in the neighborhood. If you had orthopedic needs, this was the place. I tested the laws of gravity by dropping my body from rarefied heights. My feet took most of the damage and had orthopedic needs. Here’s the gimmick. Salamander gave you a balloon with every pair of new shoes. What the cheapskates failed to give you was helium. The balloon was nice but filled with mere air; to hold it aloft Salamander’s management decided to put it on a straightened out metal shirt hanger. You left the store flying your balloon majestically above the stick of metal. Most kids never made it a full block before the metal punctured the balloon. This left an extremely disappointed kid carrying a straightened out hanger with a shred of rubber dangling from its tip. Most times, the kid took his frustration out on another kid. 

If you were lucky, you might witness two kids leaving the store with their balloons at the same time. Walking in the same direction, smiles on their faces, arms outstretched, hoisting their balloons toward the clouds, screaming without sound, “Hey look at me!” “No, look at me!” Suddenly one of the balloons burst. With no pause, the victim turned toward the still breathing balloon delivering a deathblow.


This is an excerpt from my new book, “I Hate the Dallas Cowboys – tales of a scrappy New York boyhood.” The release party is Tuesday, October 14th @ Cornelia Street Cafe @ 6pm – 8pm. I’ll also read and sign at Barnes & Noble, 150 E. 86 St on Friday, October 17th @ 7pm in the Yorkville neighborhood on the Upper East Side.


Early praise for the book:


“Thomas R. Pryor has written a sweet, funny, loving memoir of growing up old-school in a colorful New York neighborhood. A story of sports, family, and boyhood, you’ll be able to all but taste, smell, and feel this vanished world.”

Kevin Baker, author of the novels “Dreamland,” Paradise Alley,” and “Strivers Row,” as well as other works of fiction and nonfiction


“Tommy Pryor’s New York City boyhood was nothing like mine, a few miles and a borough away, and yet in its heart, tenderness, and tough teachable moments around Dad and ball, it was the mid-century coming of age of all of us. A rousing read.”

Robert Lipsyte, former city and sports columnist, The New York Times

“Pryor could take a felt hat and make it funny.”

Barbara Turner-Vesselago, author of “Writing Without A Parachute: The Art of Freefall”


“Pryor burrows into the terrain of his childhood with a longing and obsessiveness so powerful it feels like you are reading a memoir about his first great love.”

Thomas Beller, author of “J.D. Salinger: The Escape Artist”

Sunset on the River ~ Tonight's Stoops to Nuts

Spent a sunset on the East River at 86th Street on July 4th. This is what I saw.


Our "City Stories: Stoops to Nuts, show tonight, Tuesday, July 8th @ 6pm @ Cornelia Street Cafe is a big whoop.

Our stunning artists: "The Duchess and the Fox, aka, Andrea Diaz and Joe McGinty (standout and founder of The Losers Lounge), Jennifer Barrett (Living Loud), Nicole Ferraro (NY Times) and Harry Rolnick (WSJ). We're bringing the musical side of storytelling to our show in a big way with Andrea, Joe and Jennifer merging with two of my favorite tellers in NYC, Nicole and Harry.

New Yorker of the Month

I am grateful and proud that Ask a New Yorker named me April’s New Yorker of the Month.

Mid-March, I took a long walk through Yorkville with Kennedy Moore, the founder of Ask a New Yorker and it all came out.  My love for the neighborhood, the city, the people still here and those gone. The rich Yorkville memories block to block, up to the avenues then down to the river.

Our walk started at Lexington Avenue and 86^th Street, the center of Yorkville’s universe. We meandered the lower 80s and went up to the footprint of the old Ruppert Brewery. Stopped at the Isaacs/Holmes Housing Project, then over to Asphalt Green football field. We played in Carl Schurz Park, strolled the Drive and concluded our walkabout in front of 517 East 83^rd Street, my old home, where our journey ended.

I love our city and my warren, Yorkville.  Thank you, Ask a New Yorker.

Our next City Stories: Stoops to Nuts storytelling show is six days away, Tuesday, April 10, 2012 at the Cornelia Street Café.

Our sensational line-up: Slash Coleman, Kurt Gertsmann, Dave Lester, Susan Neuffer, Sherryl Marshall and Thomas Pryor.

Admission is $7 and includes a free drink. I guarantee a good time.

Rear wall of the Yorkville Casino ~ 85th St

Heidelberg

Old Timers

Mom in front of 519 E 86th St ~ 1961

East Side Settlement House cornerstone 

1903 drawing of East Side Settlement House