Wonderful years to be young in Brooklyn…

THE BEST OF TIMES IN THE BEST OF PLACES

As a baby boomer and life‑long Brooklynite, I reflect upon the dramatic changes since my early years and truly appreciate “the good old days”. Yes, I know it’s an old cliché and memories of youth in itself tends to be veiled in nostalgic mist but, unlike the generations preceding and those following, they truly were the best of times in the best of places.

The 1950’s and early 60’s were wonderful years to be growing up in New York City, especially in Brooklyn. Many things that made it so are long gone, never experienced by succeeding generations. Although they can’t understand what they’re missing, we didn’t really comprehend or appreciate what we had in those last innocent days or how fortunate we were to be alive and young at that particular time in that special place.

Parents and children

Two of the most devastating events in history dominated our parents’ lives as they struggled through the Great Depression and World War II. Despite their accounts of those difficult times, we were never fully capable of internalizing their struggles nor could we fully grasp the significance of their legacy.

Our children and theirs face increasing problems with which we never had to deal and most of our diversions, free or affordable to us, have ceased to exist for them. We had the best of all worlds. As middle class New Yorkers, there was no need to worry about a warm bed or hot meal. And in this town, there was always plenty to do no matter your means.

Early memories

New York City, in the post‑war years and well into the 60’s, consisted primarily of middle class neighborhoods. Each had its unique character and sense of community with its accompanying pride and feeling of peace and security. Not that everything was perfect; far from it! Childhood and adolescence are never easy. Beside the normal tribulations of school, parents and peer pressure, there were the local bullies, places to fear and anti-Semitism remaining in our institutions, primarily among the old guard. Some of the ancient battle‑axes in the schools had some very bizarre racial and ethnic attitudes, freely and openly articulated. Although of concern to our uninitiated minds, overall, these were not deemed very problematical. We lived in the greatest borough in the greatest city in the world, where opportunities for fun and culture flourished.

During the immediate post‑war years we’d still see milk and other dairy products delivered to our homes early each morning, street cleaners in white uniforms with huge brooms sweeping our streets free of debris (no alternate side parking) and the neighborhood cop who people knew and trusted (not focused on writing tickets). Trolleys still screeched and clanged down many of Brooklyn’s streets with their overhead wires cluttering the skyline, the last Manhattan el cast shadows as it rolled over Third Avenue and double decked buses plied their routes up and down Fifth.  

Every spring through fall we could count on Fred the Good Humor man driving slowly down our block jingling his bells twice a day. We always preferred Good Humor to Bungalow Bar or the numerous independents who shared the route. There were three baseball teams in town including our own beloved Brooklyn Dodgers playing in Ebbets Field, just a few stops away on the Brighton Line. A seat in the bleachers was fifty cents and general admission seventy‑five, which included the greater part of the stadium. As opposed to the pitifully inept Daffiness Dodgers of our parents’ day, our Boys of Summer were a team that made us proud, dominating the National League and, of special pride, bringing Jackie Robinson to the majors. The hated Yankees though, except for that magical year of 1955, always found a way to beat us in the World Series.

Away from parents

By the time I was able to roam the city with my friends however, the Dodgers were gone, preceded a year earlier by the trolleys that inspired their name. Little did we know that this was only the beginning of the erosion that would take so much more during ensuing years. At the time however, as traumatic as these losses were, there was plenty left to occupy our time with no reason to dwell on things beyond.

Upon reaching our teens, my friends and I would receive a few dollars each week from our parents and that was, for the most part, the limits of our spending. Our parents were able to take care of the necessities (shelter, food, clothing and education), so what we had was ours to do with pretty much as we pleased. Beyond that we could never think of going to “mommy and daddy” for more cash. Collecting and cashing in deposit bottles brought in a bit more, as did shoveling snow in the winter and, occasionally, raking leaves in the fall. In those days however, that was more than enough to take advantage of the myriad of wonders that made up our city and, with the extra amount earned, we were even able to save a bit.

Riding the rails

Fifteen cents got us on the subway and, when cash was low, exploring the system was an adventure in itself. Beginning on the Brighton or the D Line, which ran on the old Culver tracks (today the F), we’d usually head straight to midtown Manhattan where several lines converged. At most of the major stations there were machines that dispensed paper cups of soda for a nickel and concessions that sold hot dogs and knishes for fifteen cents each. After taking advantage of the cheap munchies, we’d ride lines to The Bronx, Queens or far reaches of Brooklyn where they emerged from the tunnels to enable us a view of the diverse neighborhoods that made up our city. Sometimes the attraction was the train itself, like the Myrtle Avenue El that still ran old wooden cars with their ancient motors screeching as if their last gasp. Subways were always safe and efficient. Never was there a thought of danger at any hour, breakdowns rare and line closures and rerouting virtually non-existent.

Culture

As great a diversion as the subway was in itself, it was the fastest and safest way to get around the city. The city‑owned cultural institutions were free so visits to the Museum of Natural History, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Bronx Zoo and our very own Brooklyn Museum, as well as many others, were frequent, providing good times and the culture we so resisted when our parents dragged us to the very same places. But the city was; and still is, a museum in itself. Most times we’d simply choose a location, exit the station and roam. Never was there a lack of places to go, things to do, sights to see and food to munch on, even when funds were low. On the streets, as in the subway, there was never a threat of danger wherever we’d venture at any time of day or night.

Sports

Although the loss of the Dodgers left a tremendous void, the Yankees were still in town enjoying their dynasty years so, once we overcame the animosity, a subway ride to The Bronx took us to the home of our former foes. Yankee Stadium itself was a sight, with monuments of the greats in play in deep center field and a copper frieze trimming the top of the grandstand. Within a few years, the old Polo Grounds reopened for baseball with the Mets (whose initial ineptitude is legend). Both teams still played regular doubleheaders, when we’d bring huge bags overflowing with food and drink to last throughout the long summer afternoons.  

The football Giants were a dominant NFL team playing at Yankee Stadium and shortly, the Titans (now the Jets) began playing out their AFL schedule at the Polo Grounds. In the winter we could see the Knicks and the Rangers at the old Madison Square Garden for seventy‑five cents with our high school G.O. cards.

Summer

Of course, in season, there was Coney Island, practically in our own backyard, still the center of the amusement world. Huge swimming pools, fast food, rides and attractions lined Surf Avenue, the Boardwalk and the Bowery from the old Half Moon Hotel to Brighton Beach. Most summer weeks we’d blow almost the whole bankroll. For the few dollars we’d spend a full day riding the greatest rides in the world, playing skeeball and gorging ourselves at [pre-corporate] Nathan’s, where everything was always fresh and delicious. A walk down the block to Shatzkin’s was routine as well, where the world’s best knishes were being tenderly fashioned in front of us by white‑haired ladies in pristine white aprons while we’d relish gobbling one down fresh out of the oven. (See The Last Glory Days of Coney Island)

A little took us a long way

After killing just about the entire budget, we did whatever we could still afford. The change in our pockets was usually enough to wander the city, visit cultural institutions or take a subway ride. Otherwise, we’d play baseball (or one of the many variations, like stickball, punchball or stoopball) with the guys in the neighborhood or tour Brooklyn on our bicycles. Occasionally we’d ride down to the ferry at 69^th Street and take it over to Staten Island. While enjoying the cooling breezes from the boat we’d view the Verrazano‑Narrows Bridge slowly rising above the water, spanning the Narrows which, upon its completion, would signal the end for the last Brooklyn ferry. (Today’s version doesn’t take vehicles or go directly to Staten Island.)

We had it all!

Although most people tend to look back at “the good old days” with nostalgia, our generation was genuinely blessed, especially those of us fortunate enough to grow up as part of a middle class family in Brooklyn, New York. The Depression and World War II had been relegated to history, our streets and schools were safe and we had the ability and the means to take advantage of so many varied and wonderful things. The entire city was our playground and Brooklyn was our home. We couldn’t ask for anything more; we had it all.

6/2021