My Brooklyn

Readers Report


R

Brooklyn, my beautiful, impossible Brooklyn. Through tears of longing for that place and that time, and dreams as high as the Parachute Jump, and me as high as my grandpa's pants pocket, holding my hand and speaking to me in Italian while we walked across the footbridge over Sheep's Head Bay through the gauntlet of fishing poles. Remember the sign on it that said "Do not make fast to this bridge"? My rebellious brothers and I would run across that bridge to see what would happen. Many years later I realized what the sign actually meant—don't tie your boat to this bridge. Too late. As I sometimes feel like I am set adrift in life, my heart is made fast to Brooklyn and wherever I am in the world, East 19th and Avenue O is indelibly tattooed on it. Thanks forever for that blessing.

7 June 2001


Bob Rutman

My Brooklyn was Brownsville and East New York with all the parks and playgrounds that a kid could play stickball in with thoughts of being on the Dodger or Yankee starting lineups. P.S.184, George Gershwin J.H.S. and Thomas Jefferson H.S. are the schools that I attended. The walks with my parents to Pitkin Ave. and helping my mother shop on Belmont Ave. from the pushcarts that lined the street. Watching some of the best ballplayers move gracefully through the summer night air in Nanny Goat Park and in the gym of the Brownsville Boys Club on Linden Blvd. This Brooklyn was home to my family and the relatives that safely migrated from Europe to form their uniquely American life with the "Brooklyn" edge to it. I now live in Alaska; a land so different in every way but I will never forget the memories of a young boy growing up in an area that was so vibrant; I still see the hill next to the BMT Canarsie line that we all would go sledding when school was closed. I miss the people and the memories of what Brooklyn was to me.

9 June 2001


steltob@aol.com

My Brooklyn Road was a long time ago in Sheepshead Bay. When we moved to E. 22nd St. and Neck Rd. A few blocks past our houses were lots and the remains of the old race track. We would pick wild flowers on the next block. It was the country. We used the BMT subway—Neck Rd. was our subway station. P.S. 206 was on the corner of E. 22nd St. and Neck Rd. In the summer we would walk to Brighton Beach (a long walk) to go swimming. The houses were and still are two family houses. The place hasn't changed too much—only many more of the same type of houses and different ethnic groups.

9 June 2001


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