The year was 1960, the location was Queens, NYC. Tall maple trees lined streets shading the the daylight sun from kids playing below. On summer days the street on my block was like a playground. Girls were jumping rope. Boys were playing ball. Little kids were spinning tops or playing skully with bottle caps. Some rode bicycles, some rode roller skates. Some just drew pictures on the blacktop street with colored chalk. Every once in a while a car would pass, interrupting the activities, but that was okay. Meanwhile parents watched from their stoops and porches.
This may sound like heaven for kids, but there were also bullies and fights.
South Ozone Park was a white Italian neighborhood with a mafia element, spotlighted in the movie "Goodfellas", in an era when street gangs were being romanticized by movies like "West Side Story".
I was 9, and my cousin Gary was 11, and we were playing in the street when a group of kids rode up to us on bikes and started a fight. I don't remember much of the fight, except hearing afterwards that Gary gave one of the smaller kids "nuggies" while his friends rode off in defeat.
But the very next day when Gary had gone home to his own neighborhood, I saw that smaller kid walking towards me with his older brother who was even older and bigger than I was. The younger boy was pointing to me, while his brother started attacking me, saying I needed to "pick on someone my own size". There were street fighting rules.
So he proceeded to kick my ass in front of the whole neighborhood. I don't remember too much of that fight either, except it ended with me on the ground with him sitting on top of me, holding down my biceps with his knees, freeing up his hands to hit my face.
I remember I kept trying to reach up with my legs to grap around his head, and almost succeeded the first time, but just wore myself out trying again and again. Meanwhile he kept slapping the sides of my face again and again and again, telling me to "give'.
The funny thing was that the whole neighborhood was watching from the sidelines, kids and adults, and no one even tried to break it up. I deserved that beating, it was sanctioned, and I was totally humiliated. Eventually I gave up, and walked the 100 feet to the front door of my house in shame. In retrospect I realize that beating humbled me and taught me a good lesson about being a bully.
I thought about the story today as I read the latest Donald Trump news. Ironically the Donald and I are only a few years different in age and he actually grew up only 5 miles away from me.
I wondered if the little rich bully ever got his ass kicked like that. Probably not.
Later,
Steve
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