Brooklyn Was Another Country

If you were a child living in the Bronx (of course New York) during the early war years (to us this meant what Archie Bunker referred to as “the big one, WW II”), there were some very definite ideologies that you could count on without fear of contradiction. First, there was only one president for the past 50 years, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and he would continue to occupy that office for the rest of your life. Secondly, the mayor of New York, Fierello H. LaGuardia, fit the same description. “The Little Flower”, as he was affectionately referred to, would always be in office and available to read the Sunday funnies to you over the radio whenever those “unpatriotic” newspaper people would go on strike. Thirdly, and most importantly, Germany and Japan didn’t stand a chance against our combined forces.

If you had any doubts about that, you needed to go to a movie theater on Saturday morning, where for only a quarter you could see a double feature that always included at least one John Wayne movie that showed the power and righteousness of the American cause. Ole John always won whether he was a pilot in Flying Tigers, a foot soldier in Back to Bataan, or a fighting engineer in Fighting Seabees. Of course the Duke proved our superiority and kept fighting the war against the Axis powers long into the 50’s and 60’s with such winners as Flying Leathernecks (1951), The Longest Day (1962) and In Harm’s Way (1968). Since his was such an extended war, he must have killed more enemy than the combined forces of Audie Murphy and Sgt. York. With heroes such as this we felt safe at home.

Life during the war progressed normally at home in the Bronx. Of course since I was born in 1937 and only 4 when Pearl Harbor was attacked, it was hard for me to have a comparison of what life was like before the war. Being born in ’37 I really didn’t fit into any of the recognized categories of “depression baby”, “war baby” or the later, all time famous “baby boomer”. I guess I just happened. Maybe my older brother, Bob, who was born in 1934 fit the depression description. He had all the breaks.

Our family was lucky that my father did not have to go into the service and he was home the whole time. I never did find out why he wasn’t drafted, as there wasn’t any medical reason that I knew of, and I don’t think he was too old. Once I heard that since he was an owner and operator of an essential industry for the war effort that he was excused. I’ve always looked for someone to explain to me why a processor of woolen rags was essential to the war effort.

I knew dad did business in a round-a-bout way with the government, as he was always getting “specials” for us. When my brother and I would go to summer camp in Vermont each year we would have brand new, off white, woolen blankets with the words “U.S. Navy” stamped in dark blue across the front. One year I remember having a Navy blanket and an Army blanket, which made me stand out as someone special up at camp. Everyone figured we had connections. On top of this, we were the only kids who were able to get all the Fleer’s Double Bubble Gum at a time that it was scarce. I never could understand why there would be a shortage of this popular item, but it sure helped to make me popular at grammar school and camp.

Probably the best “connection” my father seemed to have was the ability to get extra ration stamps. During the war many items were rationed so that the boys at the front could get all they needed. Gasoline, tires, shoes, meat and many other things were rationed. You would receive ration stamps based upon the number of adults and children in a family. By rationing, the government probably figured that not only did it make some needed supplies more plentiful for our troops, but it made people more aware of the war by having to make some form of a minor sacrifice. To me it appeared that people were very aware of the conflict since their loved ones were away fighting, getting wounded, and in many instances killed. Wasn’t that a sacrifice? Of course, what did a four or five year old know?

We lived in a section of the city known as Highbridge, which is in the West Bronx. While growing up I had always heard that this was the better part of the Bronx. I never did find out why. But, one of the many advantages of living there was that we were a matter of blocks from the “The House That Ruth Built”, Yankee Stadium. The stadium overlooked Jerome Avenue Park where we would play ball, roller skate or enjoy ourselves on the swings or monkey bars.

Baseball was always a topic of discussion for both young and old (TV wasn’t around yet to make pro football and basketball as popular as they are today.) After all, we lived in the shadow of the Stadium and “everybody” was a fan of the New York Yankees. Everybody that is except my brother and me. We were New York Giant fans. I never knew why my brother liked the Giants, but I knew I owed my allegiance to him as he was older and smarter than I was. After all, he was seven. Of course getting to the Polo Grounds, where the Giants played, was not hard to do. All you did was go to the elevated train station at Yankee Stadium and take the “special” train across the river to Manhattan and get off at the first and only stop. It wasn’t easy being a Giant fan amongst all those Bronxites, but I held true to my convictions even if I didn’t have a clue as to why. After all, who couldn’t worship Joe Dimaggio? Of course the Yankees and the Giants were in different leagues, so a problem would only arise if they played each other in the World Series, which didn’t happen too often. Most of the time if there was a “subway series” the Bronx champs would be playing the Brooklyn Dodgers.

We hated the Dodgers. After all, the Yankees and Giants both proudly wore baseball caps that said NY, and so did their uniform shirts. Dodger caps had a B on it, which of course stood for Brooklyn. That’s when I came to the realization that Brooklyn must be another country, let alone part of New York. They were a strange, outspoken people with a team that was even referred to as “Bums”. Of course they could play baseball pretty well and were in the World Series against the Yankees more often than my beloved Giants.

Brooklyn was a place we as a family visited fairly often, as my father’s parents lived there. It was a schlep to get there. Most of the time we didn’t take the family car but instead would go on public transportation, which today is referred to as “rapid transit”.

First we would take the bus from around the corner of our apartment house to the elevated subway station next to Yankee Stadium. Then we would take the subway train to some station in lower Manhattan where we would change to another train that would take us across the East River to Brooklyn. I wasn’t sure if we needed passports to do this. When we arrived at the Utica Avenue Station we would then board a trolley car for the rest of our journey. After arriving at our stop we would walk the three blocks to grandma and grandpa’s house. Believe me, it would have been a lot easier if my father would have taken the car from its “good” parking place and had driven us to Brooklyn.

Arriving at my grandparents’ house there would be kisses all around, which I didn’t exactly relish. Grandpa’s mustache always scratched and he could kiss louder and wetter than anyone I knew. And the pinch on the cheek I could have done without. I always thought it was a “Brooklyn” thing.

After our long trip from civilization we of course were thirsty. But, this always presented a problem for me. We were given a choice of water (which tasted funny), seltzer, Cel-ray tonic or Pepsi. Pepsi? Who drinks Pepsi? Everybody in the Bronx drinks Coke, or sometimes Dr. Brown’s cream soda. But Pepsi? Excuse me, I forgot that we were in another country. For snacks all they ever had was fruit, which to a chubby, Jewish boy from the Bronx was like offering matzah ball soup to the Pope. But, you love your grandparents and you please them by eating an apple or something. Needless to say I would look forward to the time to make our return trip to the land of my birth and get something to eat.

Of course, there was a redeeming part to Brooklyn……Coney Island. It was always a special day when we were taken, by car thank God, to ride the Steeplechase or the bumper cars and make that all important, almost religious trek to Nathan’s Famous. Where else in the world could you get such a wonderful, long, Kosher, grilled hot dog with dark brown mustard and warm sauerkraut that made you forget all other foods? This was heaven on a bun, with a side of fries. Food, such as this, had a way of forgiving Brooklyn all its shortcomings.

After a meal like this I didn’t mind going through customs on my way back to the Bronx and America.