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... My Mother's elbow.
I was five years old and she was much much taller than five feet. She was holding my hand and used her other hand to point to something.
I was five years old and she was much much taller than five feet. She was holding my hand and used her other hand to point to something.
It was a statue of Atlas.
He was holding up
the world.
Then she pointed across
the street and said:
That's St. Patrick's Cathedral.
the street and said:
That's St. Patrick's Cathedral.
I had a friend named Patrick.
The Cathedral did not look
anything like him.
anything like him.
The date was September 30, 1954.
It was the day after the World Series began.
It was the day after I saw something
on television that was described as
Willie Mays performed
a miracle with his glove.
If Atlas saw what I saw,
he would have been
so impressed, he might
have dropped the world
on his head.
We were in Manhattan because my Father had tickets
for Game 2 of the World Series at the Polo Grounds.
he would have been
so impressed, he might
have dropped the world
on his head.
We were in Manhattan because my Father had tickets
for Game 2 of the World Series at the Polo Grounds.
We were meeting him one block away from where we were.
We walked through a Promenade to Rockefeller Center and then walked down one flight of stairs.
Again, My Mother pointed. This time to a place were tables full of people were eating outdoors. This five-year-old's tour guide said:
The next time we come here, that will be an ice skating rink. And that's Prometheus, across the way.
It was another statue–a golden statue—of someone stretching inside a ring seemingly mounted on a rock. Prometheus was about ten times as tall as I was.
We walked through a big glass door and more people were eating at tables but beyond them was a bar and ten patrons were transfixed by a man telling them something. The man behind the bar stopped in mid-story and said:
That's my wife and son.
He then told them my favorite TV show was American Bandstand
Again, My Mother pointed. This time to a place were tables full of people were eating outdoors. This five-year-old's tour guide said:
The next time we come here, that will be an ice skating rink. And that's Prometheus, across the way.
It was another statue–a golden statue—of someone stretching inside a ring seemingly mounted on a rock. Prometheus was about ten times as tall as I was.
We walked through a big glass door and more people were eating at tables but beyond them was a bar and ten patrons were transfixed by a man telling them something. The man behind the bar stopped in mid-story and said:
That's my wife and son.
He then told them my favorite TV show was American Bandstand
and how I danced across the living room floor whenever it was on but always ended up crying when the show ended.
Do you want to see him dance?
My mother asked the bar patrons.
Of course they did and I was placed on top of the laminated bar and danced a "Boogly Woogly," wiggling my ass in front of a bunch of people drinking alcohol.
The dance is part Lindy and part "shake your money maker."
My favorite words at the time were
"Boogly Woogly" and "Willie Mays."
From one end of the bar to the other, there were about thirty people. They all cheered me on and put so much money in my father's tip cup that we rode in a limousine to the Polo Grounds.
Willie Mays didn't do anything spectacular in this game but we were sitting four rows behind the New York Giants dugout and I waved to him, certain that he waved back. My Father said he heard Willie say Hello Paul but I think he was lying.
The Giants beat the Cleveland Indians by a score of 3-1.
Just like the first game of the World Series, DUSTY RHODES hit a home run.
In the first game, after Willie Mays had made that other-worldly basket catch with his back to home plate, DUSTY RHODES hit a three-run home run in the tenth inning to give the Giants a 5-2 victory.
We rode home in a limousine. I loved saying Boogly Woogly and Willie Mays but I expanded my vocabulary: in the fifty miles to Piscataway, New Jersey, I must have said Dusty Rhodes fifty times.
On the block where we lived in 1954, we had the biggest rooftop TV antennae. It could pick up American Bandstand on WGIL in Philadelphia. This was three years before Bandstand broadcast nationally with Dick Clark as the host.
In 1954—pre-Dick Clark—the dancing teenagers on television were only broadcast on that local Philadelphia channel.
The only non-locals who could then watch American Bandstand were those within a radius of Philadelphia with a gargantuan rooftop antennae.
Each of the houses underneath those antennae probably contained a five-year-old kid who could dance as good as I could.
But it is now 2017 and if any of those 5-year-olds are still around, I challenge them to a dance contest.
I wanted the contest not because I needed a senior citizen dance trophy. I had no desire to win anything. I don't have the kind of ego
that must get approval for others for talents that I have.
To pulverize a Vince Lombardi quote:
It was not about winning...It was about being there.
Victory pales in comparison to memory.
Maybe some of former 5-year-olds would still have 60-year-old photographs of the antennae that brought American Bandstand into their lives and god knows what dreams would fill their heads after the dream dispensers were wowed by the massive antennae signals.
What was it my Father use to say?
A rooftop TV antennae is just like a crucifix but only different. The crucifix is the reason we go to church every Sunday, because we believe in Jesus. The antenna is the reason we turn on the television every day because we... ah, crap... I always forget the reason why.
Of course they did and I was placed on top of the laminated bar and danced a "Boogly Woogly," wiggling my ass in front of a bunch of people drinking alcohol.
The dance is part Lindy and part "shake your money maker."
My favorite words at the time were
"Boogly Woogly" and "Willie Mays."
From one end of the bar to the other, there were about thirty people. They all cheered me on and put so much money in my father's tip cup that we rode in a limousine to the Polo Grounds.
Willie Mays didn't do anything spectacular in this game but we were sitting four rows behind the New York Giants dugout and I waved to him, certain that he waved back. My Father said he heard Willie say Hello Paul but I think he was lying.
The Giants beat the Cleveland Indians by a score of 3-1.
Just like the first game of the World Series, DUSTY RHODES hit a home run.
In the first game, after Willie Mays had made that other-worldly basket catch with his back to home plate, DUSTY RHODES hit a three-run home run in the tenth inning to give the Giants a 5-2 victory.
We rode home in a limousine. I loved saying Boogly Woogly and Willie Mays but I expanded my vocabulary: in the fifty miles to Piscataway, New Jersey, I must have said Dusty Rhodes fifty times.
On the block where we lived in 1954, we had the biggest rooftop TV antennae. It could pick up American Bandstand on WGIL in Philadelphia. This was three years before Bandstand broadcast nationally with Dick Clark as the host.
In 1954—pre-Dick Clark—the dancing teenagers on television were only broadcast on that local Philadelphia channel.
The only non-locals who could then watch American Bandstand were those within a radius of Philadelphia with a gargantuan rooftop antennae.
Each of the houses underneath those antennae probably contained a five-year-old kid who could dance as good as I could.
But it is now 2017 and if any of those 5-year-olds are still around, I challenge them to a dance contest.
I wanted the contest not because I needed a senior citizen dance trophy. I had no desire to win anything. I don't have the kind of ego
that must get approval for others for talents that I have.
To pulverize a Vince Lombardi quote:
It was not about winning...It was about being there.
Victory pales in comparison to memory.
Maybe some of former 5-year-olds would still have 60-year-old photographs of the antennae that brought American Bandstand into their lives and god knows what dreams would fill their heads after the dream dispensers were wowed by the massive antennae signals.
What was it my Father use to say?
A rooftop TV antennae is just like a crucifix but only different. The crucifix is the reason we go to church every Sunday, because we believe in Jesus. The antenna is the reason we turn on the television every day because we... ah, crap... I always forget the reason why.
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Footnotes
THE FIRST TIME I SAW NEW YORK CITY, THE FIST THING I SAW WAS is the copyrighted property of LCSoL.
People who know virtually nothing about baseball are not be ignorant of the name Willie Mays but the same can not be said about Dusty Rhodes. That might explain why, ten years after being a New York World Series hero, he was earning less money than a drunken 15-year-old punk Catholic school boy. You can read all about it by clicking here.
THE FIRST TIME I SAW NEW YORK CITY, THE FIST THING I SAW WAS is the copyrighted property of LCSoL.
People who know virtually nothing about baseball are not be ignorant of the name Willie Mays but the same can not be said about Dusty Rhodes. That might explain why, ten years after being a New York World Series hero, he was earning less money than a drunken 15-year-old punk Catholic school boy. You can read all about it by clicking here.
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