Love Is Strange In Yorkville in 1962

My brother, Rory, died September 16, 1998. I’m thinking of Rory today but my specific memory is seven weeks before his death on the night our mother died July 24th. Mom had a long ugly battle with dementia and cancer. I was glad she was at peace, out of pain. I thought Rory felt the same. But Dad was keening like he was a boy who had lost his first love. Dad didn’t leave the chair he slept in for days and never stopped crying. He was inconsolable and Rory and I kept giving each other looks like, “where's this coming from?” Our practiced impression was our parents had endured 47 years of professional level fighting as a couple and hardly liked each other and if they loved each other it was habit more than anything else. Rory and I kept thinking, “When is he going to snap out of it?” Dad didn’t snap out of it. He loved Mom with his whole damaged heart and though Rory and I were there for most of the war we didn’t see things clearly. We weren’t them, we were the kids and kids don’t know everything about their parents, period. You can never know everything about anybody. Rory couldn’t live without Mom. I never saw it coming. It’s hard enough to know yourself. I miss Rory, Mom & Dad, though we spent too much time loving each other in unusual ways.

Saturday Movie Marathon - Yorkville 1952

I was talking with my friend, Denny Ferado, about our childhood Yorkville movie going experiences. Mine in the 1960s, his in the 1950s. My favorite memories took place at RKO throwing ourselves down the giant horseshoe staircase, playing hide and go seek in RKO's cave like basement ( the Men's room urinals were so large you could hide in them) and buying 5 cent candy including Pom Poms, Milk Duds & Root Beer Barrels.

Denny's favorite memory was Saturday marathons at the Gracie Square Theatre with fine home cooking. Here's Denny's story:

Designed by the same man who designed the Gallo Opera House (later became Studio 54) and which was built during the same time as the original Park Lane theater that stood on the northeast corner of 89th Street and First Avenue in the Yorkville section of Manhattan. It was a bigger version of his Italian Renaissance Opera House. His name was Eugene DeRosa and It was the largest theater ever built east of Third Avenueon Manhattan’s Upper East Side.

The Park Lane first opened its doors on February 17, 1927 with the comedy “Lunatic at Large,” starring Leon Errol and Dorothy Mackaill with a self-produced revue with dancers, singers and a symphony-sized orchestra conducted by Julius Meyer. There were also recitals by the Park Lane’s Wurlitzer organist. It was purchased by the Brandt family in 1938 and around 1946/1947 underwent a name change to The Gracie Square Theater.Because it was too close to the 86th Street theaters, it did not qualify for first-run movies so the Gracie Square began to show double bills of second-run foreign anddomestic movies. Along with a double bill you’d get news reels, sports, shorts, a few serials and, what seemed to me at the time, a hundred cartoons.

Once you were inside you were there for the entire day. It was, at least, a five or six-hour day, and, you could come out of there with a new wardrobe. All you had to do was tell the usher that you left your gloves, hat or coat on your seat the previous Saturday. He’d say “Follow me” and he’d take you behind the scenes to the lost clothing room where you could look through three gigantic boxes of jackets, sweaters, hats, gloves scarves and goulashes. All items left behind on the seats. Whenever I went into that room with the hope of finding something new, it was always a madhouse. On any Saturday you might find 5 to 10 kids flying around back there, rummaging through the boxes and yanking articles away from one another as we argued over the better finds. Since the boxes were taller than most of us they were usually lying on their sides with the spoils spilled out all over the floor. If you were fast enough you could walk out of there looking like a kid from Park Avenue. So what if you weren’t color-coordinated, you could pick up a hat or a pair of gloves that your family could never afford to buy you. The Gracie Square Theater was kid-friendly.

During viewing there might be a baby or two crying, a peashooter fight taking place in the upper balcony, a wrestling match going on in the center isle mezzanine, a group of guys ten rows above a group of girls and throwing pieces of candy at their heads and the girls shouting out warnings for them to stop. All of this activity happening at the same time. Like a spirited horse revels in freedom these young mares and colts reveled in their Saturday afternoons at the movie house.

We were all young (mostly ten and eleven) and loud in 1952 and 1953 during those summers when my parents would take us, usually seven or eight, on Saturdays, to the Gracie Square Theater for a days outing. My lucky friends who spent those long Saturday afternoons with my parents were: Paddy Dougherty, Ronnie and Jay O’Neill, Tommy Dowd, Jimmy Whalen, Billy Auger and Kenny Loonan. The big payoff came when we reached the halfway point after we had been building up an appetite for a couple of hours. Mom and dad would start to unload the beach bags we had all helped carry along with us. She’d lift out her big pot of spaghetti, take the lid off and the entire 2,012 seat theater would fill up with the smell of meatballs.

My father would hold out the ‘unbreakable’ Melmac plates, one at a time and mom would fill them with food. The first one got passed down along the line to the last kid until we all had a plate of spaghetti, a giant meatball and a fork. Dad would take the lid off our Coca Cola cooler filled with sodas and start sending them down the line. Then, you could hear us, 8 kids slurping up spaghetti through our lips and teeth with lots of “Ahhhs” and “Mmmms” and “Thanks Mom” being whispered along the line. This made mom and dad very happy because we were all getting a good meal and not just “filling your stomachs up with junk!” After dinner everything was passed back the other way and repacked to be returned home and washed by my mother. Then pop would pull out his thermos and he and mom would slide off their shoes, relax and have their coffee. Then I’d hear her whisper to my father:

“Dominick, did they all eat?”

“Yes, Marg, They all ate.” The next quiet moment on the screen I’d hear Mom gently snoring.

story by Dennis Ferado

D - Day: The Longest & Loudest Day

D-Day June 6, 1944: the Allies invade five Normandy beach heads. Every person my age knew the significance of this day. In 1962, Dad took me to 86th Street's RKO to see the D-Day film "The Longest Day." I can still hear the theme song in my head. Every boy in the neighborhood whistled it for a year after the movie came out. It was on the radio like a hit record.

Almost 40 years later, "Saving Private Ryan," was released. I decided to return the favor and this time I'd take Dad to a D-Day picture. Well on his way to being deaf, Dad always refused to get a hearing aid out of vanity. But because of his love for all things World War II nostaglic, for the first time ever he decided Private Ryan would be the first time he'd use a hearing assistance device. When we entered the theatre he asked a matron for a device and we took our seats before the show. He didnt put it on right away telling me he was going to avoid the coming attractions and put it on as the film started.

And that's what he did. Unfortunately, he didnt do a sound check, he had the volume on maximum and the film was "Saving Private Ryan." When the action starts they hit the beach and the thundering explosions don't stop, the loudest in movie history. After it was too late, the first explosion went off in Dad's ears sending both his arms straight up like he was in a surprise stick up, then he quickly brought his raised arms down to rip the device off his head then he returned his hands to his ears and rocked gently side to side holding his head in a craddling motion.

I Feel A Strange Exciting Thing About To Be

In June 1968, St. Stephen's Troop 654, spent two weeks in Ten Mile River Scout Camp in Narrowsburg , New York. Best two weeks of my life. First part of the story's below.

On Tuesday, July 13th @ 9pm Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts," kicks off it's weekly one hour radio show on the Centanni Broadcasting Network, live from Giovanna's Restaurant.

It's no surprise, Sueno, by the Young Rascals is the show's theme song. Please tune in ~ I'll take you back to the neighborhood and show you around. I'll put you right in a seat at RKO's 86th Street. After, we'll go to Prexy's, "the hamburger with a college education."

be well, Tommy

when you go to the link, give it a few seconds before the song starts streaming:

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/s/Sueno/1Y2SkS

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Yorkville on the Radio

The urinals in the bathroom of the 86th Street RKO were so big, we hid inside them when we played hide & seek after we watched the film too many times. On a regular basis, I went to the Loew's or RKO in Yorkville for the first show around 11 am and didn't come out of the theatre until it was dark.

In the RKO, Steve Murphy and I made a human ball wrapping ourselves around each other, and threw ourselves down the three-story high horseshoe staircase, we rolled like a barrel. The carpet on the stairs was so thick it hardly hurt. No evidence, till the next day when black and blues sprung up all over our bodies. This was not a big hit with RKO personnel.

Last night, I was Valerie Pepe's guest on her terrific radio show on the Centanni Broadcasting Network. Thank you, Valerie, Betty & Johnny Anello. We told Yorkville & Staten Island neighborhood stories, you can listen by going to the link below ~ go the "The Valerie & Betty Show 5/19/10" ~ click and the show should open in your media player. After you listen, take your kid to a movie and leave them there for the day.

http://www.centannibroadcasting.com/

Safe at Home

I never shook Mickey Mantle's hand and that remains one of my few regrets.

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When I was 8 years old, Mickey stood right in front of me at the 86th Street RKO theatre in April 1962, when they made that silly movie "Safe at Home," to capitalize on the Maris & Mantle, M&M boys' 1961 home run derby. The Yankee team made appearances in several New York City movie houses to promote the film.

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I forced Dad to get to the theatre two hours early to make sure we were on the aisle. We had a quick burger across the street at Prexy's first. At seven o' five, word spread the team bus had pulled up in front. The Yankees came into the lobby dressed in suits & ties and marched down the right side of the movie house. Yogi Berra walked by me and stepped on my toe, but I didn't notice, though my father did and wanted Berra to apologize. It was strange seeing Dad pissed at Yogi.

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Elston Howard stopped in front of me, and put his arms behind his back like a military MP. Ellie saw I was having a baby over Mickey Mantle standing right next to him two feet away from me shaking in my sneakers. Dad and Ellie exchanged laughs over my dilemma, then Howard leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Say hi, he won't bite you." But I was too scared to say anything to Mickey. As the Yankees walked on stage for a final bow, I dribbled my opportunity away.

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Below is a letter I wrote to Mantle when I was 13.

101 Dalmations

When I was 6, Dad took me to the 86th Street RKO to see 101 Dalmations. We split a large Seven-Up and a box of Pom-Poms. I immediately loved the movie for a bunch of reasons, but two stuck. The first was the scene in the film where they all sat around and watched TV together. Dad, Mom, Rory and me did that too. Only thing we did without battling. The second impression that never left was these two dogs were terrific parents, the kids screwed up, got in all kinds of trouble but the parents hung in with them. I remember thinking, I hope Dad is watching this movie closely.







I achieved a Joe DiMaggio type streak today. 101 straight days of blog entries.
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