 |
| John Jay |
John Jay
The change in venue for the bridge gave Yorkville these icons: P.S. 158, The Suburbans & John Jay Park.
 |
| Ave A & 77th St |
 |
| 158 |
Showing posts with label John Jay Park. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Jay Park. Show all posts
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Watching The Wheels Go Round & Round
The plan was to build a bridge at 77th Street. It was the 1870s. Later, the city decided to move the bridge to 59th Street after doing condemnation on property from Ave A to river, from 76th Street to 79th Street.
John Jay
The change in venue for the bridge gave Yorkville these icons: P.S. 158, The Suburbans & John Jay Park.
John Jay
The change in venue for the bridge gave Yorkville these icons: P.S. 158, The Suburbans & John Jay Park.
Friday, July 15, 2011
"We Need A Big Inning."
I'm ten years old, playing softball down John Jay Park, and I'm coming up to the plate for the Yorkville Stars. Suddenly, Dad is leaning on the fence behind me and gets my attention before I step into the batter's box.
"Hey, Tommy, where are you?"
"Bottom of the ninth."
"How you doing?"
"We need a big inning."
"What's the score?"
"14-2."
My blue Yorkville Stars baseball shirt is under the red jacket in the picture.
Below: my grandmother, 14, selling newspapers outside the Polo Grounds in 1920. She'd sell enough papers to buy a ticket then go inside and root for the Yankees. Nan hated John McGraw and also went to the Giant games to give McGraw the business calling him "Mugsy" and "Little Napoleon." Nan was escorted out of the park a few times with a smile on her face.
Tonight, I’m reading a baseball yarn from my memoir, “Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts.”
I’m part of the “Summer Reading” group @ No Name & A Bag O' Chips!
Tonight, @ 7pm Show’s free!
Readers: MICHELE CARLO, LEIGHANN LORD, KAMBRI CREWS, ALADDIN, THOMAS PRYOR & ALEXANDRA DE SUZE
Otto's Shrunken Head @ 7pm
538 East 14th Street (between Avenue A & Avenue B)
New York, New York
Friday, August 13, 2010
Final Interview With My Left Hip
In June 2003, I interviewed my left hip for the final time, right before it was scheduled for replacement with a high density ceramic impostor at the Hospital for Joint Diseases.
Regretfully, I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to my right hip (removed in 2002), so I made sure I said farewell to my left one. We sat on a bench facing the Great Lawn in Central Park. I tried to maintain full eye contact with my hip during the interview, which must have looked strange to people passing by ~ me talking down towards my ass.
********************
“How do you feel?”
“Not too swift, I’ve had a nice run and know it, but it is time to turn
it over to the robot to take this body to the end of the race.”
“When did you know something was wrong?”
“About two years ago, I was coming out of the subway to make a bus connection about a block away. As I reached the top of the subway stairs, I saw the bus crossing the avenue pulling into the bus stop. I began to do what I’ve done all my life, sent a signal to my legs to start running ~ well, the signal was sent but the unexpected response returned, “can’t do it,” I asked, “won’t do it?” “No, can’t do it.”
“There I was, staring at the bus, looking at my legs staring at the bus. Yet the bus was not moving ~ no one was getting on or off. But, it continued to not move. Was it taunting me? I began to pick up my pace, fast walk at best, and still the bus stayed there. I pushed a little more best I could, and still the bus stayed in place ~ now I got it. What was going on was the same as been going on the savanna in for thousands of years. The bus was the zebra who knew I could no longer pounce. Bye, bye, old lion, I’m going to sit here on my big stripped butt and rub it in real good. It’s over. I see you, and the only thing I'm going to do is stick my fat tongue out at you. So that’s that. The bus hung in a little longer to ensure the message was received.”
“What are going to miss?”
“Well I imagine several of things I am going to miss are many of the reasons I have to come out. When I was very young, young Tommy would use me for a landing pad in the middle of the street on concrete and asphalt. During the summer, the hydrants opened when it is hot and we played in the street under the flow. One of the highlights was catching the blast across the street face so that when you threw your body out to slide on it, like going into third base you would hopefully hit a plane of water between your hip and the asphalt surface. Unfortunately, Tommy was not graceful and usually landed outside the water buffer meaning crushing contact with the asphalt usually tearing the dungarees or shorts along that side of his leg. Another event leading to my premature departure was Johnnie on the Pony.
Johnnie on the Pony was a game of immense endurance and stupidity. One side was th
e Pony the other the Johnnie. Game’s strategy involved one team forming a long bent row like a Chinese New Year’s dragon while the other team lined up to jump onto the sitting target as hard as possible with the only intention to collapse the Pony. The pony formed with one guy against a fence facing everyone else. He was the chain’s anchor. Next fellow would bend over gripping the anchor’s sides butt in the air. All others would follow suit till the line resembled Hannibal’s’ legions stumbling over the Alps. Once the line formed the Johnnies, the other team would begin to strategize….game usually was at least ten to a side so 10 Johnnies got ready to put their weight and flaring elbows on top of the prone ponies. Game ended when the Pony collapsed or all Johnnies rode without falling off for ten one hundredths. As a hip, this game had the same allure as open battlefield surgery without anesthesia. Matthew Brady was often seen setting up his equipment taking photographic stills of our events. The Johnnies always led with the same strategy, you sent your largest first and aimed for the weakest links. Best area to land was no man’s land between the thoracic and lumbar regions. Hopefully catching no soft tissue and driving you straight into the bony matter.
Much attention was spent on developing jumping technique. Since the teams had ten or more the weakest link might be bent over way up front. Therefore you wanted to attain maximum height and distance. Height was an art. You would study many cartoons trying to learn the secret of freezing in the air for a few seconds or longer at the top of your arch. This is critical to allow gravity to pull your body swiftly back to the earth maximizing impact into your opponent’s neck and back. Once landed you would make grapes with your hienie. Making big rocks into little rocks, grinding away at the millstone pushing into the fellow beneath you as if the chance of a single remaining air bubble between you would bring life as we know it to an end. As the pile grew, the moans and groans filled the air like a children’s orchestra at their first ever practice. From the top of the mountain it played in your head like a beautiful siren song. Someone was going towards the rocks. With a particular strong pony the Johnnies went to the Tower of Babel strategy. With less that three jumpers in the shoot all the Johnnies would begin to gather at one location in the chain usually over he who could use the most relief. Once the spot was chosen the Johnnies would begin their assembly assuming classic Greco-Roman moves the tower would begin to rise at the perceived weak point. Unintelligible orders and exclamations flying out of the ball of human braying and swaying like a deranged fire hose while underneath the ponies began acting like a band of rogue elephants readying a stampede on the defenseless village. As a non participant it became a recurring game to try and grab a sound of the pile and convince others it was English…”I understood that one, that was Billy and he said, “Christ got off my foot and stop grabbing my balls.” The tug of war would roll until the levee broke or the group rode the dragon for the required time…it was hard to watch and not play but if you did you were rewarded with a show that combined all the best elements of a tragic ballet with a really fine car accident. A collapse was beautiful…when it happened, so much detail and attention… you have to imagine that Sam Peckinpah would not have developed his keen eye for transfixing violence into a sumptuous slow motion ballet unless he watched a number of Johnnie on the Pony games end with a collapse.
Another thing I m sure contributed to my demise was the swimming pool games. In water you were invincible. As a kid everything worked better in water, you moved faster, you were stronger. Taking three to four people on top of you was all part of the day. "Hey, I bet one more person on top of me would be just fine, no problem at all, exactly what I need to finish this morning’s swim off." And on would jump the fourth person on your shoulders, neck, and head grabbing you hard trying to get you to crumble into the pool. Four people, who that morning had 13 mission sodas, 11 drake cake products, 3 quarts of juice, 2 boxes of cereal a loaf and a half of bread, 3 sticks of butter, 9 sandwiches and three dollars of penny candy between them.
In my ears their stomachs swished and loudly announced their failure to digest their contents and that if I kept moving around would join us in the pool. Something I didn't want for several reasons but primarily because I didn't to get banned from the pool. The entire summer was built off the expectation and assumption you would get to go in water x amount of times. This expectation must be met or the summer was failure. That's all I can think of right now, but let's just say Tommy, you never gave any of your bones much thought.”
“Well, thank you, left hip, it’s been a great 49 years together.”
“No, thank you, Tommy, it was a good run, I’d not do anything differently, we had lots of fun together, now, its time for the scrap heap.”
“It’s been a pleasure, thank you, old friend, sleep tight.”
********************
“How do you feel?”
“Not too swift, I’ve had a nice run and know it, but it is time to turn
it over to the robot to take this body to the end of the race.”“When did you know something was wrong?”
“About two years ago, I was coming out of the subway to make a bus connection about a block away. As I reached the top of the subway stairs, I saw the bus crossing the avenue pulling into the bus stop. I began to do what I’ve done all my life, sent a signal to my legs to start running ~ well, the signal was sent but the unexpected response returned, “can’t do it,” I asked, “won’t do it?” “No, can’t do it.”
“There I was, staring at the bus, looking at my legs staring at the bus. Yet the bus was not moving ~ no one was getting on or off. But, it continued to not move. Was it taunting me? I began to pick up my pace, fast walk at best, and still the bus stayed there. I pushed a little more best I could, and still the bus stayed in place ~ now I got it. What was going on was the same as been going on the savanna in for thousands of years. The bus was the zebra who knew I could no longer pounce. Bye, bye, old lion, I’m going to sit here on my big stripped butt and rub it in real good. It’s over. I see you, and the only thing I'm going to do is stick my fat tongue out at you. So that’s that. The bus hung in a little longer to ensure the message was received.”
“What are going to miss?”
“Well I imagine several of things I am going to miss are many of the reasons I have to come out. When I was very young, young Tommy would use me for a landing pad in the middle of the street on concrete and asphalt. During the summer, the hydrants opened when it is hot and we played in the street under the flow. One of the highlights was catching the blast across the street face so that when you threw your body out to slide on it, like going into third base you would hopefully hit a plane of water between your hip and the asphalt surface. Unfortunately, Tommy was not graceful and usually landed outside the water buffer meaning crushing contact with the asphalt usually tearing the dungarees or shorts along that side of his leg. Another event leading to my premature departure was Johnnie on the Pony.
Johnnie on the Pony was a game of immense endurance and stupidity. One side was th
e Pony the other the Johnnie. Game’s strategy involved one team forming a long bent row like a Chinese New Year’s dragon while the other team lined up to jump onto the sitting target as hard as possible with the only intention to collapse the Pony. The pony formed with one guy against a fence facing everyone else. He was the chain’s anchor. Next fellow would bend over gripping the anchor’s sides butt in the air. All others would follow suit till the line resembled Hannibal’s’ legions stumbling over the Alps. Once the line formed the Johnnies, the other team would begin to strategize….game usually was at least ten to a side so 10 Johnnies got ready to put their weight and flaring elbows on top of the prone ponies. Game ended when the Pony collapsed or all Johnnies rode without falling off for ten one hundredths. As a hip, this game had the same allure as open battlefield surgery without anesthesia. Matthew Brady was often seen setting up his equipment taking photographic stills of our events. The Johnnies always led with the same strategy, you sent your largest first and aimed for the weakest links. Best area to land was no man’s land between the thoracic and lumbar regions. Hopefully catching no soft tissue and driving you straight into the bony matter.Much attention was spent on developing jumping technique. Since the teams had ten or more the weakest link might be bent over way up front. Therefore you wanted to attain maximum height and distance. Height was an art. You would study many cartoons trying to learn the secret of freezing in the air for a few seconds or longer at the top of your arch. This is critical to allow gravity to pull your body swiftly back to the earth maximizing impact into your opponent’s neck and back. Once landed you would make grapes with your hienie. Making big rocks into little rocks, grinding away at the millstone pushing into the fellow beneath you as if the chance of a single remaining air bubble between you would bring life as we know it to an end. As the pile grew, the moans and groans filled the air like a children’s orchestra at their first ever practice. From the top of the mountain it played in your head like a beautiful siren song. Someone was going towards the rocks. With a particular strong pony the Johnnies went to the Tower of Babel strategy. With less that three jumpers in the shoot all the Johnnies would begin to gather at one location in the chain usually over he who could use the most relief. Once the spot was chosen the Johnnies would begin their assembly assuming classic Greco-Roman moves the tower would begin to rise at the perceived weak point. Unintelligible orders and exclamations flying out of the ball of human braying and swaying like a deranged fire hose while underneath the ponies began acting like a band of rogue elephants readying a stampede on the defenseless village. As a non participant it became a recurring game to try and grab a sound of the pile and convince others it was English…”I understood that one, that was Billy and he said, “Christ got off my foot and stop grabbing my balls.” The tug of war would roll until the levee broke or the group rode the dragon for the required time…it was hard to watch and not play but if you did you were rewarded with a show that combined all the best elements of a tragic ballet with a really fine car accident. A collapse was beautiful…when it happened, so much detail and attention… you have to imagine that Sam Peckinpah would not have developed his keen eye for transfixing violence into a sumptuous slow motion ballet unless he watched a number of Johnnie on the Pony games end with a collapse.
Another thing I m sure contributed to my demise was the swimming pool games. In water you were invincible. As a kid everything worked better in water, you moved faster, you were stronger. Taking three to four people on top of you was all part of the day. "Hey, I bet one more person on top of me would be just fine, no problem at all, exactly what I need to finish this morning’s swim off." And on would jump the fourth person on your shoulders, neck, and head grabbing you hard trying to get you to crumble into the pool. Four people, who that morning had 13 mission sodas, 11 drake cake products, 3 quarts of juice, 2 boxes of cereal a loaf and a half of bread, 3 sticks of butter, 9 sandwiches and three dollars of penny candy between them.
In my ears their stomachs swished and loudly announced their failure to digest their contents and that if I kept moving around would join us in the pool. Something I didn't want for several reasons but primarily because I didn't to get banned from the pool. The entire summer was built off the expectation and assumption you would get to go in water x amount of times. This expectation must be met or the summer was failure. That's all I can think of right now, but let's just say Tommy, you never gave any of your bones much thought.”
“Well, thank you, left hip, it’s been a great 49 years together.”
“No, thank you, Tommy, it was a good run, I’d not do anything differently, we had lots of fun together, now, its time for the scrap heap.”
“It’s been a pleasure, thank you, old friend, sleep tight.”
The 50,000 mile tune up took place on August 6, 2003. Both artificial hips are peachy keen.
My left hip's favorite song "You Keep Me Hanging On," from 1967 by the Vanilla Fudge:
My left hip's second favorite song "Here Comes My Baby," also from 1967 by Cat Stevens:
Friday, July 9, 2010
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Yankees Win Series ~ My Memories Slide Home
I'm ten years old, playing softball down John Jay Park, and I'm coming up to the plate for the Yorkville Stars. Suddenly, Dad is leaning on the fence behind me and gets my attention before I step into the batter's box.
.
"Hey, Tommy, where are you?"
"Bottom of the ninth."
"How you doing?"
"We need a big inning."
"What's the score?"
"14-2."
.
"Hey, Tommy, where are you?"
"Bottom of the ninth."
"How you doing?"
"We need a big inning."
"What's the score?"
"14-2."
.
.
Below: my grandmother, 14, selling newspapers outside the Polo Grounds in 1920. She'd sell enough papers to buy a ticket then go inside and root for the Yankees. Nan hated John McGraw and also went to the Giant games to give McGraw the business calling him "Mugsy" and "Little Napoleon." Nan was escorted out of the park a few times with a smile on her face.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Johnny on the Pony
I lost both my hips. Their decline was due to poor genetic lotto and a thousand games played on concrete and asphalt. One 
stood out ~ Johnny on the Pony ~ a game of immense endurance and stupidity.
stood out ~ Johnny on the Pony ~ a game of immense endurance and stupidity. 
Game’s strategy involved one team (the pony) forming a long bent over row like a Chinese New Year’s dragon, while the other team lined up to jump on, as hard as possible, trying to collapse the pony. The pony started with one guy against a fence facing everyone else. He was the anchor. Next fellow would bend over gripping the anchor’s sides with his butt in the air. All others would follow suit till the line resembled Hannibal’s’ elephants stumbling over the Alps. Once the line formed, the Johnnies would begin to strategize….game usually included at least ten to a side, so ten Johnnies got ready to put their weight and flaring elbows on top of the prone ponies. Game ended when the pony collapsed or all Johnnies ro
de without falling off for a count of ten one thousands. .
For my hips, this game had the same allure as open battlefield surgery without anesthesia. Matthew Brady was seen setting up his equipment taking photographic stills of our events. The Johnnies usually sent their smallest first and they shimmied up the pony towards the anchor, then they sent their largest and aimed for the weakest links. Best area to land was no man’s land between the thoracic and lumbar regions. Hopefully, catching no soft tissue and driving yourself straight into bone. Attention was spent on developing jumping techniqu
e. Since the teams had ten or more, the weakest link might be bent over way up front. Therefore you wanted to attain maximum height and distance. You would study television cartoons trying to learn the secret of freezing in the air for a few seconds at the top of your arc….this is critical to allow gravity to pull your body back to the earth maximizing impact into your opponent’s neck and back. Once landed, you'd make grapes with your hienie ~ making big rocks into little rocks, grinding away at the millstone pushing your butt into the fellow beneath you, as if the chance of a single remaining air bubble between you and him would bring life as we know it to an end.
e. Since the teams had ten or more, the weakest link might be bent over way up front. Therefore you wanted to attain maximum height and distance. You would study television cartoons trying to learn the secret of freezing in the air for a few seconds at the top of your arc….this is critical to allow gravity to pull your body back to the earth maximizing impact into your opponent’s neck and back. Once landed, you'd make grapes with your hienie ~ making big rocks into little rocks, grinding away at the millstone pushing your butt into the fellow beneath you, as if the chance of a single remaining air bubble between you and him would bring life as we know it to an end. .
As the pile grew the moans and groans of the 
pony filled the air like a children’s orchestra at their first ever practice. From the top of the mountain, the sounds below played in your head like a beautiful siren song. If it was a particular strong pony the Johnnies went to the Tower of Babel strategy. With less than three jumpers in the shoot, all the Johnnies would begin to gather at one location in the chain, usually over he who could use the most relief. Once the spot was chosen, the Johnnies would gravitate to that point assuming classic Greco-Roman moves to cling together. The tower would rise at the perceived weak spot. Unintelligible or
ders and exclamations, flying out of the ball of human, braying and swaying like a deranged fire hose, while underneath the ponies began acting like a band of rogue elephants readying a stampede of the defenseless village.
pony filled the air like a children’s orchestra at their first ever practice. From the top of the mountain, the sounds below played in your head like a beautiful siren song. If it was a particular strong pony the Johnnies went to the Tower of Babel strategy. With less than three jumpers in the shoot, all the Johnnies would begin to gather at one location in the chain, usually over he who could use the most relief. Once the spot was chosen, the Johnnies would gravitate to that point assuming classic Greco-Roman moves to cling together. The tower would rise at the perceived weak spot. Unintelligible or
ders and exclamations, flying out of the ball of human, braying and swaying like a deranged fire hose, while underneath the ponies began acting like a band of rogue elephants readying a stampede of the defenseless village. .
Non participants played a recurring game ~ try and grab a sound fragment out of the pile and convince others it was English… “I understood that one, it was Freddy, and he said, ‘Christ, get off my foot and stop grabbing my balls.’”
.
The tug of war would roll on until the pony broke, or the Johnnies rode the pony for the required time. It was hard to watch and not play, but if you did, you were rewarded with a show that combined all the best elements of a tragic ballet with a terrific car accident. A collapse was a beautiful kaleidoscope for your five senses, rich complex detail. I imagine Sam Peckinpah would not have developed his keen eye for transfixing violence into a sumptuous slow motion dance unless he witnessed a bunch of Johnny on the Pony game-ending collapses.
Would I do it again? Absolutely.
Would I do it again? Absolutely.
.
*******
.
All our Johnny on The Pony games between 1962 & 1975 were played in the Hockey Field in Carl Schurz Park, or down John Jay Park. Photos above are Carl Schurz, John Jay, and the east side of York Avenue between 84th Street & 83rd Street.
All our Johnny on The Pony games between 1962 & 1975 were played in the Hockey Field in Carl Schurz Park, or down John Jay Park. Photos above are Carl Schurz, John Jay, and the east side of York Avenue between 84th Street & 83rd Street.
.
.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
My Glove
Kenny Mulhern, the look sharp guy in the front of the photo, was playing first base down John Jay Park in August 1973. I was pitching for our softball team and I heard mumbling coming from Kenny's area. I ignored it for a while but it started picking up.
.
Kenny getting comfortable with the tune lifted his voice. People in the park's swimming pool a smile away could hear his declaration. Kenny pounded his over sized first baseman's mitt and crooned.
.
And when I go away
I know my heart can stay with my glove ,
its understood.
It's in the hands of my glove ,
and my glove does it good.
Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo,
my glove does it good.
And when the cupboards bare,
Ill still find something there with my glove,
It's understood.
It's everywhere with my glove,
And my glove does it good.
Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo ,
my glove does it good to me.
.
.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)