Coney Island Story by: my dad

I was so impressed when I read this story written by my dad that I had to share it.

Interesting to note most of this story is based on truth. His brother that died in the war is actually him. He came close to being drafted, but argued that his religious beliefs, which he did not have as an atheist, made him a pacifist. As a kid he did not like his given name Ira and wished that he had been named a more common Steve. But in time he learned to appreciate his somewhat unique name

I can’t remember A “B” reflected in the window. B! Brooklyn, that’s where I grew up. It was so long ago, I can barely remember. Mom and dad were alive, and it was before my brother Steve died in the war. Somehow I survived, or did I? I can’t remember. Oh those were the sweet days. Dad and I went to see the Dodgers play a doubleheader on a hot Sunday in July. What was the name of the stadium? something with an “E” I think. Sitting in the stands, we were all sweating. I was eating a big, juicy hotdog, oozing with yellow-brown mustard and lots of salty, delicious sauerkraut. I can still smell and taste it. The batter swings, snap, and the crowd roars. Who won that game, dad? I can’t remember. We lived in Coney Island, right on the beach. One summer, I found a ring in the sand. It was gold and had a turquoise stone. Wonder where it is now? I could sure use some dough. Met a girl on the beach. She was so beautiful, but she broke my heart. No air conditioning back then, only the natural kind when the darkness fell and the wind kicked up across the moonlit water. Through the open window, I could hear the crashing waves, and in the distance, the ding, ding, ding of the bell buoys. It put me right to sleep. Wish I could still sleep that well. Seen too much, done too much. Now I can barely sleep at all. The games we played in the schoolyard; stickball, basketball, and handball. Do you remember skelly, the game played with bottle caps? In the summer, Steeplechase Park was great, but we were too poor to afford the fancy Coney rides. All I could do was watch in awe and envy of those who floated to the ground on the parachute jump or who whirled and twirled on the Cyclone coaster. Then there was Bob, the overweight and somewhat grungy carnival guy who had all those girls hanging around. What did they see in him? Each day, the old men and women would bring their flabby bodies to sit naked at the Turkish baths. Too embarrassing for a teenage boy to do, but wouldn‘t the soothing, warm water and hot steam baths feel wonderful now. The crazy woman who rode the bus every day, sat in the last row, opened the window, and talked to herself or anyone in earshot of the passing bus. Getting old and crazy is not fun. Now where was I? Where am I? Is any one listening? Hey buddy, can you spare a couple of bucks for an old man to get a cup of coffee and a newspaper?

Mount Vernon Baltimore

Mt. Vernon

I lived in Mt. Vernon a neighborhood in north Baltimore for two years. According to statistics, Mt . Vernon is one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city. I however see Mt. Vernon as probably the richest, poorest, most liberal part of Baltimore. It is home to the wealthy who occupy the condos, the disenfranchised who occupy the streets, and the homosexuals and anarchists who occupy the liberal mindedness. My residence was The Belvedere Hotel, which was built in 1904 and more recently converted into condominiums. The building itself contained three bars, two restaurants and countless colorful people. Strangely I often felt like I was the only person who lived there, because certain times of the day the building seemed completely empty and lonely.
It would be possible to never leave the building and still eat, drink and socialize. Many people including myself and the custodians sifted through the trash. For some reason residents would discard expensive well functioning items like portable dvd players, furniture , and new turntables.

Living in a hotel comes with many advantages. As most women believe you are by definition wealthy they are very eager to see your home and literally sleep in your bed. As I knew the inner workings of the building, I could take the freight elevator past the guards and into a swanky party serving incredible food that I did not pay for.
Gary the rotund black doorman is the face of the Belvedere who is at the same time notoriously friendly and notoriously shady. Nearly all of the Belvedere staff was black but that did not create a barrier as most residents were friendly and actually very fond of most of the people who worked there.
A board consisting of owners dictated the rules which I often liked to break. . I decided to create innovative community programs, like for instance leaving magazines or books in the mail room to be traded amongst the residents. The board did not like this so they tried to put an end to it by posting a notice on the community message board. In a drunken rage, I solved this problem by taking the message board with me.

The lower commercial space of the building was owned by the Russians. They looked suspicious, were suspicious and by all accounts were criminals funneling their money into a restaurant that seemed to have no intention of making money. Next to them was an unusual space below ground that was regularly being shut down by police raids and liquor board. Without liquor to sell they targeted young inner city kids which consisted of rival gang bangers ultimately resulting in occasional shots being fired.

A prison three blocks to the east hung a banner reminding people to “Drop the gun or pick a room”, but as I said that was three blocks, in Baltimore terms another universe.

Mt. Vernon might be best known as the gay capital of Baltimore. Down the street was the Hippo, a gay nightclub which was across the street from Grand Central a gay bar. Next to the Hippo is Eddie’s a small traditional grocery store, where all the people come together; to shop not necessarily to intermingle. Each year the neighborhood hosts gay pride. Gays, bis, tris, straights, men, women, and all that is in between attend. It is in one sense about being open, but also in another about shocking and possibly pushing those more conservative further away.

Across the street from entrance to my building is a beautiful old church which overflows with music and black patrons every Sunday. I always wanted to join in, but this was a racial barrier in which I felt I was not allowed to cross, but true Christians should be welcoming.

I frequented Red Emma’s, an anarchist collective run bookstore coffee shop for free internet, yerba Mate, a tea like drink sipped out of a gourd, and political conversation. The collective consists of intellectual snobby, hipsters, who actually have become the people they hate. One of the founding members admitted to me that collectivism does not work in practice as some people are forced to take charge where others fail. Enzo is the most famous customer. He is an overtly friendly homeless black man who hocks stolen goods to support his drug habit.
When I first arrived in Baltimore I decided I wanted to be a part of the hippy, dumpster diving, bicycle riding, deep thinking scene. I first became friends with a young lesbian girl, but our friendship never evolved partly due to the fact that I was attracted to her. I then dated a bisexual polyamorous girl. She was a member of the Red Emma’s collective which briefly elevated my status, but I soon broke up with her after she candidly admitted to having HPV
I worked as a busboy at XS one of the many restaurants in Mt. Vernon. Most of the staff were either students at MICA, the art college or former students. Working there I was allowed into their scene, but after I was fired I was ostracized and never again let back in.

As an entrepreneur I turned an ice cream cart into a coffee and pastry cart. I branded myself The Coffee Peddler and stepped onto the turf of The Hot Dog Guy. The Hot Dog Guy owned the corner directly to the northwest of my building. He was a large, old man with a thick foreign accent. He sold hot dogs and drinks in the afternoon.

My license specified that I be moving unless I was making a sale, but my cart was so heavy it was practically impossible to do. I setup early in the morning and sold a quick breakfast to people on their way to work. Although the Hot Dog Man never saw me, he soon heard of me.

After I realized morning traffic was slow, I moved to Pennsylvania Train Station which is just over the border of Mt. Vernon. One day returning from work I crossed the path of Thee Hot Dog Man. Straining, on the verge of a heart attack he let me know that the block belonged to him.

Lost in Translation

On my second night with my host family I became very sick. My stomach was killing me, I had a fever, and I felt dizzy. I also had trouble communicating so I decided to just use the computer. Glorianna, my host sister, typed "La mama......."and the computer translated "My breast (which is one meaning) will give you something." The pain went away at that point. I was ecstatic that it was so easy, until I realized she meant that her mom was just giving me some medicine.

Hey Jude

At a recent Toastmasters meeting Gergely, pronounced Gergay, spoke of a funny video he had seen on You Tube. The person in the video was singing “Hey Jude.” He asked the audience if any of us knew of this song. Gergely is an immigrant from Hungary and apparently is not too familiar with the Beatles. I indicated that I knew the song and he answered “well you are Jewish so I guess you would know of this song. The song was written about John Lennon’s son Julian, but I guess I can understand the confusion.

“Hey Jew”

Hey Jew
Where is your yarmulke
You must have left it at shule

Hey Jew
And when you try to cheat me
I’ll kick your kike ass


Hey Jewy, Jewy, Jewy, Jewy

Me, Myself

Three generations of my family lived in Brooklyn, NY. In 1976, to escape the crime and big city my Dad took a job with the Tennessee Valley Authority in Knoxville. In 1982 I was born. Knoxville was on the rise and hosted the World's Fair. Countries from around the world set up pavilions and shared their culture and science. The theme was energy.

I was an extraordinarily shy child and only felt comfortable watching cartoons. At the age of three, I would hide behind my sister. When asked by a neighbor how old I was, I peered over my sister's shoulder and answered that I was "free years old." I also often asked my parents to hold my "hingers."

In the first grade I was placed in the "shy club." In class each of us would be called out and ushered into another room. They figured shy kids should be together. We sat and colored in silence.

At the age of seven, I left the country for the first time. we traveled to Venezuela. Mangoes were a penny a piece due in part to the fat that you could pick them off the trees yourself. A maid would make breakfast for us each morning. Arepas were a favorite. Yese a native girl we staye with showed me porn for the first time. She could also sing the theme to Heathcliff in Spanish.

For most of my childhood I only had one friend at a time. Chris who lived in a trailer dropped out of high school, Chris who became a minister, and the other Kris who became a professional frisbee golf player.

At the age of nine, I left the country again going to Costa Rica. It would be six more years until I would travel outside the country again, going to Italy. Italy was and still is my favorite country. It was the food, the people, and the way of life.

At the age of 16, I joined the Jewish B'nai Brith Youth Organization. This led to many friends, more confidence, and a more outgoing sense of being.

When I graduated high school, I didn't want to go to college. I was anti college. I used my time to visit friends. Ben in upstate New York. Matt and Ben in Bloomington, Indiana and Mitch in Boulder, Colorado.

Then my sister and I were given a free trip to Israel with the Birthright organization. It aims to inspire you to make aliyah and live there in an effort to grow the Jewish population.

At 21, I started college at the University of Tennessee majoring in psychology. My family had since moved to Baltimore, leaving me alone in Knoxville. After a few semesters I dropped out and moved north first attending Harford Community College.

My sister dreamed of moving to the city. I said "Hell no, Have you watched the evening news." She persevered and we bought a condo in the Belvedere, a 100 year old hotel with 3 bars, 2 restaurants, and 2 night clubs.

The next 3 years I worked odd jobs until deciding to go into business for myself. I bought an ice cream cart in Pennsylvania. After failing city regulations for selling ice cream, I decided on coffee and French pastries. I established good relationships with Zeke's Coffee and Patisserie Poupon.

My cart was set up outside Penn Station in the early to late morning. The experience was incredible. I met great people, had loyal customers, and was going to be the center of a story for the City Paper. However it was hard work and I could only manage to break even.

After awhile I let the business go. I returned to the world of work without a degree. I landed a nice job as a valet driver, which with tips could pay up to $60,000 a year. Unfortunately I am not a good driver and after 4 or 5 accidents they let me go.

I returned to HCC and found my calling, social work, which I am now pursuing a degree for at UMBC.

At the age of 26, I have now traveled to over 20 countries, I love college, and I don't think I could have appreciated it as well at the age of 18.


appendix

I collect coin operated machines. I own a pinball machine, gumball machine, slot machine, 2 arcades, a parking meter, and a pay phone.

I'm in love with my car a bright red Datsun 280zx that I refurbished. It runs beautifully, but I prefer to just look at it.

I am an agnostic. I don't believe I know enough to rule out the possibility of a god which I strongly believe is a fabrication.

I do however have a fascination with Buddhism and am intrigued with reincarnation. Energy and matter are neither created or destroyed according to the laws of conservation of energy and matter.

Eventually, I would like to create a family business for my future children. I'd like to have a storefront and an apartment above.

George W's Library

Why does he get a library? He obviously doesn't read and admits it openly. I guess he could fill it with comic books.

Wouldn't it make more sense to name a prison after him? Rather than discouraging children to read we can encourage them to follow the rules of civility.

Defriended

I was recently defriended by someone who I thought was one those friends who would always be there. To get a jump start on the situation I declared the defriendment first. I'd like to know what I did to deserve this. After inquiring why he would not hang out with me on my once a year visit to my hometown Knoxville, he responded "I have three girlfriends and can not find the time" This may well be but I once balanced eight girlfriends and a social life.

Update
Turns out life is tough for everyone is especially during the holidays. No defriendment needed.