Go play in traffic on Ocean Parkway

"Hey kid, do me a favor and go
play in traffic on Ocean Parkway"

For those who grew up on my block that was a classic line recited over and over to the little kids that used to annoy the living hell out of us on East Fourth.

And not once did one of their parents get mad at us about what we said. Nor did that little kids drive his "Big Wheel" over into the center lane under the glowing green lights of Ocean Parkway.

I guess those same kids annoyed their parents just as well, and they were probably smarter than we thought too.

But hell, we were all like family when we grew up here, so whats the difference anyway.

And today some of those annoying kids are now my best friends.

Ron

Catskill Webcam 7:15 am this morning

Almost three months and still no sign of human life.

Ron Lopez

Guard your Honda Fit in Brooklyn

I see more and more Hoda Fits on milk crates these days,
just dangling there without any tires at all. Saw one
on PPSW this weekend, really sad stuff you know.

Take it from one who had the rear tires of his precious
Monte Carlo ripped off in front of 125 Ocean Parkway
one night while I was sleeping.

Get some wheel locks!

They may not be 100 percent crime-proof, but they will
certainly force the scum to do a little more looking.

Ron Lopez

Catskill Webcam (2:59 pm today)

It's all clear today in the Catskills.
Check out my blog:
http://catskillescape.blogspot.com/
for information on weekend rentals
at the house on the mountain.

Ron Lopez

PBS special about the Buzz-a-rama

I was talking to my cousin Buzzie this past Sunday and he asked me to put the word out if any old timers had pictures of the Buzz-a-rama from the 60's or 70's. It seems that PBS would like to somehow use the old pictures in the special they are doing about the place. If anyone out there has any old photographs please send them to me at: mopar195@yahoo.com.
I will make sure to get them to Buzzie.

Thanks,
Ron

What are you gonna do, huh?

So you’re getting sick because you’re losing all your money and they just told you at work that there would be more layoffs in the next few months. From the glory days of 2005 to the darkest days of 2009, this all sucks so much, doesn’t it?

Remember all that money you tried to save to pay for your kid’s first year of college? Well, it’s looking more like your gonna need that dough to pay the mortgage instead.

Eh, what are you gonna do, huh?
Jump of the Brooklyn Bridge?

Can you say KingsBoro?
I can, and it’s right here in Brooklyn too.

So you may not end up as well off as you thought you would, well neither is the next guy. And let me tell you I grew up on Social Security when my daddy died when I was seven. Just living in an attic while my mom waited for the check to come every month.
Yeah, United States Treasury, that was all I knew until I was
eighteen years old.

So if you have to downsize one day, I’m still here with you.
Still knowing what it’s like to live in an apartment rather
than a big house.

Eh, what are you gonna do, huh?
Jump of the Verrazano Bridge?

Can you say “apartment” along with me?
I can, and there’s no need to impress anyone either.
That’s because they’re all the same size.

So you just can’t sleep at night worrying about every thing, and how you’re going to pay for it. Your job, your house, your kid’s tuition? It all seems so awful compare to just a year ago doesn’t it? Well, don’t worry; because we’re all here with you, all in the same boat watching the same water get higher and higher every day. Maybe telling a joke or two, and remembering about the days we all grew up on the block.

Oh, come on it's not that bad, and you know your
parents certainly had it worse than you.
And they survived, right?

Remember the famlies on our block with eight
or ten kids? One working blue collar Dad and
just one bathroom in the apartment?

How about Nunzio and his family living
in a small apartment just like me?

The Briar's too, all eight kids and a mom
and dad living in an attic with five rooms.

It really makes you wonder doesn't it?
How did they all manage to be so happy
all the time with so little.

Well, thats because their "so little" was
actually more than we can ever have today.

And maybe we all have just too damn much.
Yeah, maybe thats it.

Ron Lopez

The "Play Date" from Hell

The "Play Date from Hell" started like any other “play date” usually does. You’re in a park or playground with you son or daughter just pushing them on that black-seated swing. They’re laughing away with their little legs kicking back in forth having another wonderful day. And there’s that woman next to you again with that big straw hat. You have seen her about three times so far and yet have never spoke. You have your “nanny” radar on and so far so good.
Time to move on this, looks like the mom.

“Oh, so how old is your daughter?”

“Well, she just turned three on August 14.”

So far, so good, no corrections yet
about her not being the mother.

“Are you from New York?”

“Oh, me too”
“What’s her name?”

“Oh, she has such beautiful blonde hair”.

Now, for the big one as your leaving.

“Here, let me give you my number,
maybe the kids can get together one day.”

She smiles and gives you her number too.

"Mission accomplished" is all you say to yourself as
you push open the heavy metal gate of the playground.

And just like any other date, you still wonder if they’re
going to call. Everyone is just so polite nowadays, and you
wouldn’t expect them to crumple up your phone number
right in front of your face now would you?

And then one day the phone finally rings.

“Hi, this is “………” from the playground,
we met the other day.”

“Sure that sounds great”
“I’ll see you then.”

Oh, coffee or tea, what should I make?
Now, which toys have that lead based paint?
Better hide the “Little Princess” stuff.
I know he’s only “experimenting” but she doesn’t.

Ok, good, NPR as back-round noise.

The doorbell rings, and there she is.

“Hi, so nice to see you”
“Oh, she’s so beautiful.”

Now my wife is a stay at home mom and has always been a pretty good disciplinarian with our son. No beatings or anything like that, just right from wrong, stand in the corner, 1, 2, 3, so on and so on. And let me tell you, it all works. He’s eight years old now and hasn’t spit at his teacher since pre-school.

And then it started, just like that.

The big wooden spoon just struck the back of my sons little
three-year-old head. The blonde girl just laughed after she did it.

My wife just sat there thinking the lady in the big straw hat would
say something. Hoping in some way she would tell her daughter
not to do it again.

“Oh, is he having a bad day?”
said the lady in the straw hat.

Is this woman totally insane?

Your little blonde haired daughter just whacked my kid on the head
with a wooden spoon, he’s crying and you’re asking my wife if
“he’s having a bad day?”

My wife gently confiscated the wooden spoon from
the little blonde girl. She then started crying.

“Oh, Virginia, I think she wants the spoon back”
said the lady with the straw hat.

My wife gave the spoon back to the little blonde girl.

“Now no hitting,” said my wife.

“Oh, you don’t have to tell her that,
she knows not to hit.”

And it just continued…………..

My son spent most of the “play date” trying to protect himself from the little blonde girl. The mother was just totally oblivious to anything her daughter did, yet totally tuned in to my sons crying after he would get whacked by the spoon.

“Oh, Andres, I’m sorry, are you having a bad day?”
said the lady with the big straw hat.

Now, my son was pretty verbal as a three year old,
you know the third adult syndrome, blah, blah, blah.

And here it comes, those moments in life that you never forget.
The ones you tell your kids about when they’re older.

The lady with the big straw hat stood by the front doorway with
her blonde demonic child in the stroller.

She just looked at my son and said,

“I hope the next time we visit
you won't have such a “bad day”

With that my three-year-old son
just looked at her and said,

“YOU ARE A VERY STUPID WOMAN”.

The gasp could be heard around the world.

The woman with the big straw
hat just looked at my son frozen.

My wife started sweating while I was
laughing inside as hard as I could.

Let me tell you when you grow up in Brooklyn
you just love moments like this, you just do.

My wife and I did our best to make Andres
apologize for his remark, although we knew he
just said what we were thinking all throughout
the entire play date.

My wife did her best to avoid the woman with the big straw hat form that day on. Carefully surveying the playground before she opened the heavy black gate day after day. It was just that bad.

We don’t know what happened to the lady with the big straw hat and her daughter, she never called us and we never called her. It was Brooklyn justice, plain and simple. But like all good "Kensington Stories", they all start somewhere.

And we’ll never forget the “Play Date from Hell”

Ron Lopez

Live view from the Catskill Mountains

Here is a picture taken from my webcam up in the Catskill mountains just a few minutes ago. As you can see it's snowing like crazy!
Oh, but don't worry it will be spring in about a month or so and it will STILL be snowing in the Catskills.

Please check out my other blog: http://catskillescape.blogspot.com/

We will be renting the house for a limited amount of weekends
between May and October. And you can see what it looks like
without the snow.

Ron Lopez

Donald and the F train

He was tall and thin and carried a black garbage bag onto
the subway car. His skin was dark and his face unshaven.

I remember looking at another homeless man that day on
the F. He walked on to the train at the 14th street station
by Union Square, and just stood there across from where
I was standing.

And people gave him his “room” too, because that’s
what you do when the homeless walk onto your train,
you just give them their space, and hope they don’t
bother you.

I just stared at him and looked at his eyes, because
the eyes never change, even when you’re homeless.

He looked back at me, his eyes were as dark as coal,
he said nothing.

I know he felt strange when I saw him too. So he just
walked away and sat down on a seat facing the opposite
direction so I couldn’t notice who he was.

The people sitting next to him all got up and found
other seats in the subway car.

I walked towards him though, and sat beside him.

“Hey Donald, remember me?
it’s Ronnie from Art & Design”

He turned his head towards me,
but didn’t look in my eyes this time.

“How you doin man?” is all he said

“I’m fine Don, I’m fine”

“Yeah, well, you know since High School
things have been a little rough for me”
“I’m ok, but things are just not that good”

I remember my first day of high school back in 1972,
Donald was one of the first people I sat with at
the lunch table in the back of the cafeteria.

Donald always wore these really cool tinted sunglasses and
had a small goatee. While most other kids weren’t even
shaving yet, including me, Don looked like he may have
been about 20 years old.

Along with Donald, I also sat with Ernest and Sandy.
Donald and Ernest were black, while Sandy was Jewish.
We were certainly a cross section of New York, but hey.
That’s what made the High School of Art and Design
so cool back in 1972.

Yeah, the High School of Art and Design. I never knew
some of my best friends were gay until my senior year.
And to tell you the truth it never really mattered either.
Because we were all such good friends, and all artists anyway.
All going to a school were nobody cared about “what” you
were. And no one felt they were better than anyone else.

We all just loved that school so much,
including my friend Donald.

“Hey man I’m getting off here”

I reached into by jacket and gave
Donald a twenty-dollar bill.

Donald just looked at me and said “thanks”.

That was about 25 years ago and
I haven’t seen Donald since.

So the next time you see someone riding
the F-train with a bundle of sorrow.
Think about my friend Donald, and never
ever feel that you’re better than anyone else.
Because someday that person might just be you.

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

Speaking Brooklyn

I have never been really good with speaking “Brooklyn” you know. And I blame it all on my mom. You see, although she was born in Brooklyn she was raised in Mahony City Pennsylvania until she was twelve. So mom never really had a good “Brooklyn” accent, no it was as non-distinctive as possible. North, East, South, or West, no, there wasn’t any way you could figure out where my mom was from. I guess she kind of sounded like a telephone operator, or at least that’s what people used to tell her all the time.

And that brings this discussion to me now. Born in Brooklyn and still here, all with the slightest “Brooklyn” accent possible.

I remember when I was younger and used to date girls from
other states or countries. They were always perplexed by my
lack of a “Brooklyn” accent.

“Hey, I thought you would sound like Vinny Barbarino from
“Welcome Back Kotter” but instead you sound like…well,
I really can’t tell what you sound like”.

Yeah, real exciting dates you know.
No wonder I stayed single for ten years after my first wife.

But I was always a good listener, and I was able to take in as much “Brooklyn” as possible from many of my friends and relatives who knew how to speak it properly.

These are some of my “Brooklyn” translations.
In regular English and then in “Brooklyn”

Bird is “Boid”

Thought is “Taught”

East Forth is “East Fort”

Mother is “Modda”

Me and you is "Mean you"

Let’s go to her house is "Let’s goda huh house"

With you is "Witcha "

Glasses is "Glassiz"

Something is "Sumpthin"

Pretty mind numbing shit? huh?
Makes you want to go back to
college or something.

Oh don't worry it won't rub off.

But maybe, just maybe the next
time you get a wrong number at
home. Tell the person they got
the wrong "numba" and please
don't "bahda" me again cause
I'm from Brooklyn.

Ron Lopez

Hey, what happened to my cheap gas?

Wow, this really sucks, the price of gas is actually going up.

Now, I know the oil companies are not trying to screw us again,
no, they would never do that. And the billions and billions of dollars
they make every quarter is all donated to charity too.

So I’m never for one moment going to think that the oil companies
are raising the price of gas, no, not for one minute. That’s because
it must be some hurricane, or solar eclipse that’s doing that.
Because the price of a barrel of oil hasn’t really gone up much and
I know the people that run those oil companies would never be
greedy. No they're our friends you know.

Psst…I’m finally selling my bridge too.
Just drive down to Tillary Street and you can see it.
It’s made of stone and steel and needs a paint job.

But don’t tell anyone because
Bloomberg thinks it belongs to him.

And that just isn’t so.

Ron Lopez

Catskill weekend rental (recession priced)

Check out my other blog:
http://catskillescape.blogspot.com/
for more information

Ron

Having a Fit in Brooklyn

If you grew up in Brooklyn you must remember the time when people used to steal parts off cars parked in Kensington. Let’s see, there were Cadillac bumpers and taillights from GM station wagons, along with emblems that used to vanish from the hoods of Mercedes Benz’s.

Some would end up in junkyards, while others would end up in the pockets of kids who went to Ditmas back in 1972.

Hey, one time on my block, someone even stole the driveshaft of Doctor Langsam’s 1971 Plymouth Fury.

There were also radios, cb’s and bowling balls stolen from cars, and I’m sure all this still happens here in Brooklyn. Except today it’s GPS’s and other fancy electronic toys.

Now I hear the big thing is stealing Honda Fit tires. Those things are about the size of regulation Frisbee, what the hell would someone need them for?

So the other day as I was driving through Bay Ridge. And sure enpugh there was a Blue Honda Fit balancing on two red milk crates and a jack under the bumper. All the tires were missing and the car looked sadly naked.

The scence perplexed me.
A Honda Fit?
The thing looked just like my sons go-cart,
it was even the same color blue.

So when I got to work I goggled “Honda Fit stealing tires”.

Well, it seems like guys who drag race the bigger Honda Civic’s use these tires on their front wheels when they race. I guess the fact that they are smaller and skinnier makes sense. It’s a “drag racing” thing you know, even I had skinny front tires on my 70 Cuda back in
the 1984.

But still it must suck to wake up and find your car without the wheels. But then again we still live in Brooklyn.

Ron Lopez

American Express Rot in Hell

Hey want to know a company that really sucks?
American Express that’s who. They dropped me down
from a 35,000 credit limit to a 500 credit limit overnight.

And it better not me my last name Lopez, because I
wouldn’t want to sue them. Oh, but then maybe I would.
This six three blue eyed “Hispanic” is thinking that maybe
they have something against my people.

Shhh…I never joined any Hispanic network though, at work or
even in school. My Spanish sucks you know. But my Polish,
hey I can call you a “monkey’s ass” in Polish.
"Malpe Dupa" thats what my mom always called me.

And to make me feel even more paranoid my "Mexican"
wife told me about a story on NPR about how
American Express is "profiling" us Hispanics.

Slashing our credit lines based
on our names and zip codes.

What the hell? Me Hispanic?
I can hardly even speak Spanish?

But still F_ _ k them!
And don't you dare mess with my people.

So today I told them to cancel my card and
threatened to write about this on my blog.

To all my friends out there, cancel your American Express cards!
Boycott these assholes and stick it to them where it hurts.

No not there, I mean their wallets.

Ron Lopez

To all my cars I loved before

In 1976 I bought my first car, a 1973 Buick Century.
Had more fun in this car than any other. One time I
even drove it through the woods on a camping trip.
Oh, your first car...you always remember it.


In 1979 I bought a car to tinker around with.
A 1970 Plymouth Cuda. Took it to many Islander
games and drove it up to Canada with my ex-wife
many times. I still have it, and it still looks great.


Oh God, the Monte Carlo!
Now I bought this baby in 1986 right after I
married Jessica, my first wife. The car had only
11 thousand miles on it and somehow ended up
with a target-master 350 engine. This car could
really fly and was later known as the "Jade East"
on wheels. After my divorce I really had a ball
with this car you know. Used to get chased by
the cops all the time by the Verrazano, Prospect
Park and Plum Beach.


The Green Cuda.
The green Cuda was purchased right after I was
dumped by an old girlfriend. I guess it was my way
of getting my mind off her. That was October of 89,
I think I spent 1400 to buy this car. And yes I still
have this car and drive it once and a while here in
Brooklyn.


Now the Thunderbird was the first "new" car I
ever bought. One Christmas night the Monte
barely made it home from Florida New York,
so the next day I just decided to buy a new car.
Man, the decisions were so easy to make when
I was single. Just me and my shadow and a
brand new car. This thing was fast and cool just
like me. But then I got married and it was
all about to end!


So you grew up in Kensington and always
heard all these horror stories about Fort Greene.
The shootings, killings, robberies, etc.
Well guess what Ronnie, your future wife just
bought a Brownstone in Fort Greene and she
wants you to move in. My Thunderbird parked
on the street? Are you nuts! And in Fort Greene
no less! Must go to plan B, keep the woman but buy
a piece of shit car to park in Fort Greene.
Thus in 1997 I bought this 1977 Dodge Aspen.
And to this day I am always reminded about
it from my wife. No, she was not happy with
my decision. Nor all the people who used to
try to flag us down on Fulton Street because they
thought we were car service.


Whats happens after you get married and have a
baby? Yeah, thats right, you buy a piece of shit Volvo
that overheats and has no air conditioning. You go
from a brand new Thunderbird that can cruise at 110
mph like nothing, to a crapmobile that goes form
zero to sixty in 110 minutes. I got rid of my red
Thunderbird "Booty-Mobile" for this????


The Ford Wagon in 2001.
Ok, so after the Volvo we decided to buy something
newer. Thus the 1999 Ford was purchased used from
a dealer out on Long Island. This car was great and
had a sun-roof. Wow, I never had a sun roof before!
And man was this baby good in the snow. One time
we drove home from upstate in 10 inches of snow.
This car was a tank I tell you!


Hey, have some extra home equity money?
Feeling bored with your Ford?
Well how about a new Nissan Quest?
I am still out on my opinion of this van.
It totally SUCKS in the snow and the doors
get frozen shut every time it snows.
But still after about 75,000 miles not
too many issues to say it's bad.

So there you go, just follow the cars from
when I was single until I got married and had
kids. From supercars to a minivan.

Oh, but don't worry I still have a few of them if
I decide to have my mid-life crisis someday.

Ron Lopez

Park Circle Lanes on a Winter's Day

I think my earliest recollection of Park Circle Lanes was when my cousin Tony took us there on a snowy winter’s day.
I must have been no more than seven years old and it was the first time in my life that I had ever seen a bowling alley.

And the walk to the bowling alley was real simple too. Just straight up East Fourth and then a right on Caton Avenue. Follow the horse crap from Kensington Stables and then you're there! You see the bowling alley was right across from the horse stables and also the Park Circle roller rink. Just a little wonderland of things to do when it was snowing outside.

So with cold toes and snow on our feet we opened the doors and walked into the warm air of the bowling alley. The long dark maple planks that made up the alleys along with bright lights shinning on the bowling pins were the first thing I noticed. There was a concession stand that sold hot dogs and popcorn along with soda machines lining the back wall. And of course there was cigarette smoke in the air, because back in the 60’s everyone smoked at bowling alleys. So smelling like smoke when you got home was no big deal, no, just change your shirt and it will all be fine.

Now cousin Tony was always so nice to us little kids when we were growing up on East Fourth. He must have been at least fifteen years older than us and I’m sure could have been having much more fun with his friends down by Avenue M where he lived. But for whatever reason Tony always made sure to show us all a good time, either riding sleds in Prospect Park or ice-skating at Wollman Rink. Yeah we all loved Tony, and were always excited when we heard he was coming over.

“Ok guys, we’re going to have to get each one of you a pair of bowling shoes”.

I remember being very confused because I was told to
take off one shoe and give it to the lady behind the counter.

“What size is he?”

“He looks like a size five to me”

“Here, just make sure you return them with the laces UN-DONE!

The women behind the counter handed me a pair of strange looking red and white shoes. I walked over to a plastic bench and proceeded to put them on.

There were also racks and racks of bowling balls all over the place too, mostly black bowling balls with a few red ones scattered around.

“Ok Pete, Ronnie and Joseph, I am going to get each one of you a bowling ball and I want you all to be very careful with them. They are very heavy and if you drop it on your foot your parents aren’t going to be very happy with me.”

Tony walked over to the racks and lifted various balls with his right hand. After a couple of minutes he started bringing over the black balls and gently placed them on the rack right behind the ball return

“Now Ronnie this is how you throw the ball”

I remember watching Tony as he rolled the black ball smoothly down the long dark alley. Within seconds the pins exploded and the ball disappeared into darkness. Tony looked at us and smiled.

“See guys that’s how you do it”

When it was my turn I remember picking up the heavy ball with both my hands, I slowly walked up to the alley and rolled it with all my might. Within moments the ball slid sideways into the gutter. I walked back feeling somewhat dejected but Tony made sure to cheer me up by telling me I did a great job. He also did his best to encourage me too.

"Ronnie, try to roll it straight down the lane next time,
I know you can do it".

So the second time I rolled the ball it did go straight down the lane, it hit about three pins and I felt like a millionaire!

That was 1965 on a snowy winter's day in Kensington Brooklyn.

It’s funny how you just remember certain things in life, and if there’s one thing I will always remember it’s the first time I rolled a bowling ball down at Park Circle Lanes. The agony of seeing it fall into the gutter, along with the joy of seeing the ball knock down a pin or two. The smell of popcorn and hotdogs along with cigarette smoke on your clothes. The walk home through the snow filled sidewalks of Kensington with Tony, Joseph and Pete. Feeling so proud of myself that I got a twenty-five, and so excited to tell my mom about the bowling alley and the fun I had there.

I still remember that day, isn’t that something?

So whatever happened to Kensington’s Park Circle Lanes?

Well sometime back in the late 80’s or early 90’s it closed down like many other bowling alleys in Brooklyn and just became another memory for a child of Brooklyn. Now replaced by a gigantic church right across the street form Kensington Stables where it once was.

Oh, but don't you worry, some things never change. One snowy Saturday a few weeks ago I took my kids over to Melody Lanes in Sunset Park. When the lady behind the counter handed us our shoes she made sure to remind us to return them with the laces UN-DONE!

And both my kids had the time of their lives,
and maybe someday will think of it too.



Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

71.1275

Thats how many people visit my blog every day.
Now please let me know if you visit everyday, once a week,
once a month, etc. I'm just wondering, thats all.

Thanks,
Ron

Making fun in Kensington

Besides being a word tinker I am a pretty damn good maker of hockey masks and auto parts. Back in the early 90’s I used to make hockey masks in my basement at 399 East 4th. You know when you’re single you could just about do anything without someone else telling you it’s bad for your health. Oh the smell of fiberglass resin in the morning, there's nothing better let me tell you.

Then later I learned the art of some very complex silicone mold making. Shown above are two actual headlight bezels that I made for my 1970 Cuda. They are made of plastic and were manufactured right here in Kensington Brooklyn. Now silicone is a lot safer, thats the stuff you can bake muffins in. And the plastic, well, it's not really bad unless you drink it.

Looks like real hard stuff huh?
Well, when you have fun doing something you like,
it's never hard. No, it's just fun!

Ron Lopez

Sunrise in the Catskills (today @ 7:24 am)

Well, my webcam is still working up in the Catskills.
This photo was taken this morning, and the snow
never seems to melt.

I have been looking through the eyes of my webcam
for about a month and a half now. From work, from home,
at all times of the day and night. And NOT once have
I ever seen a human. NOT once!

A bunch of wild turkeys, but that's just about it.

A nice place to get away from it all,
and I mean IT ALL!!!

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

My TWO bit life!

You know not much has changed for me in the
past fifty-one years. And in many ways the number
“TWO” is all I reached.

Oh, let’s see…
I have been married twice, so that’s TWO wives.
I have lived in only TWO places in Brooklyn,
so that’s TWO apartments.
And I have had only TWO jobs in my entire life.
TWO jobs.
Oh, right, TWO kids too!

Yeah, being employed since 1975 and I have never taken
off more than TWO weeks from work in one stretch.

Yeah, TWO weeks.

No month off to “collect” my thoughts or no TWO month trip
to travel cross-country. That was nine years at one place and
twenty-five years at another. All without ever getting laid off
once in my entire “TWO-BIT” life.

What the hell is it with the number TWO?

Even when I played roller hockey down at Avenue F
I was always the number TWO goalie in the league.

NUMBER TWO!!!

One of my old girlfriends used to always say;

“Oh Ron, you are so predicable”.

Ok, so maybe I am, but isn’t the sunrise too?

Does the number TWO make you predictible I ask?

Maybe that’s why most of my old girlfriends and even
both my wives lived very “unpredictable” lives before
they met me. I guess they all needed to be with someone
who was “very” predictable to balance all their
"unpredictableness".

Marry someone just like me?
What the hell, are you freaking nuts?

I want to hear all the stories about the twenty jobs
and the fifteen apartments you had.
The year you lived in Mexico City, along with the
summer you spent writing in Sag Harbor.
Readings of your book along with stories about
that crazy roommate you lived with in Boston.

Yeah, it’s really true that opposites attract,
it’s really true. Because "predictable" me never
passed the number TWO.

Ron Lopez

Readers Comments

These are some recent comments left on my blog. I am very happy to know that many past Kensington residents along with new folks are reading all this nonsense.


Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "Kenny's Toy Store":
"I definitely remember Kenny's Toy Store on Church Ave. I no longer live in the states, but grew up in Kensington on East 3rd & Ft. Hamilton Pkway. Ron you have brought back many great memories of my days when a trip to Kennys was such a treat back in the early 60's. I attended P.S. 130 and Ditmas JHS 62 then went on to FDR High... I still have relatives that live on Caton Avenue across from IHM. I remember all the great times at the old Beverly theater every Saturday with my cousins. But most of all I remember Mr. & Mrs. Kenny you pegged them right. Thanks for the trip down memory lane"

Profenglish has left a new comment
on your post "Insanity at Ditmas JHS":
"Ciao Ron, It's funny how nothing was different in Mr. Spodeck's classes... even when I attended Ditmas from 1965-68"

Kat has left a new comment on your post:
"My Mom’s “Fonzi” scheme":
Ron,
I certainly do enjoy your stories. Although I've only been in the neighborhood for a little more than 5 years, it seems like home. And your stories are not so unfamiliar as mine own growing up in small town PA. Good friends, great family, even greater memories.

Thanks again everyone,
sometimes the best things in life are free!

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

My Mom’s “Fonzi” scheme

You know every time I hear the phrase; “Ponzi Scheme” I think about my mom and I start laughing. And it’s not because I think that people losing their money is funny, no.
It’s just because I imagine what my conversations with my mom would turn into every time she’d hear it on the news.

Now my mom lived a pretty shitty life, all within a seven year span between 1963 and 1969 she lost her husband, son, and was told by the doctors over at Methodist that her daughter was downs syndrome. A real tough hand my mom was dealt, a real tough hand.

And my mom was strong too, with all the hard aches and “mountains” she had to climb she just kept on going. I mean I don’t know, if I had all that shit happen to me in such a short period of time I may have just looked for a tall building and an open window. Because let me tell you, that was a lot of stuff for someone to go through. A lot of stuff.

And my mom was proud too, don’t you dare ever call her an “old lady” just because her hair was snow white or her hearing was bad. No, there must be something wrong with your eyes and you must be mumbling when you talk.

“You know you mumble when you talk, that’s why I can’t hear you”

And Brooklyn, let me tell you my mom was a Brooklyn girl from the start. She was raised on Eighteenth Street between Fourth and Fifth Avenue long before the real estate people called it “Greenwood Heights”. She used to shop and hang out in Park Slope before Pete Hammill was born, and she used to dance the nights away at the “Grand Prospect Hall” during World War Two. Oh, right, there were trips to Coney Island and rides on the parachute jump with her favorite boyfriends.

Yes, my mom was a real Brooklyn girl and maybe those nights at the Prospect Hall were spent too close to the live music. Because when my mom got older, her hearing was leaving faster than all the Irish and Italians who lived in Kensington.

“You know Ronnie you really need to speak up,
and stop mumbling too”

“Mom, I think you should have your ears checked, because…”

“There’s NOTHING wrong with my hearing”
“YOU need to speak up when you talk!”

And then there was the “sounds like” but
that’s not what I really said sentences.

“Hey Mom I’m going out tonight with the guys”
“Flies? Where did you see a fly?”
“No, mom, I said the guys, not flies”
“You know you mumble”

“Hey mom, isn’t it a great day”

“Who’s gay?”

“Oh, I knew that Rock Hudson was gay, or at least
that’s what people used to whisper all the time”

“Ronnie, did I ever tell you the story about the time Beatrice and I went to a gay club my mistake. I think it was in the 1940’s somewhere in Greenwich Village. The most handsome guys in the world, and I knew something was wrong because they didn’t even look at us.”

“No, mom, I never heard that story, and I never knew you used to hang out in the Village when you were young.”

Yes there were the “books” that sounded like “crooks”
The “block” who sounded like “clock”.
The “pears” who sounded like “stairs”.

It went on and on, and no, my mom never got a hearing aid.
No, because only “old” people get hearing aids, and my mother
was not old.

So, all this brings me to this whole “Ponzi” scheme thing,
and I can just imagine what the conversation would be
like if mom was still alive.

And I think it would go something like this:

“Hey mom, what to you think about this whole “Ponzi scheme?”

“Fonzi’s team?”

“I loved that show Ronnie, wasn’t it funny? and what a shame that Ron Howard went bald, he looked so nice with that red hair”
“Oh, and your sister Isabel, boy does she love that Fonzi”.

“No, mom, I said “PONZI” scheme.

“Potzy?”

“Oh, I remember him from that show too, don’t you think that Rod Blagojevich guy looks just like him? It must be the hair or something”

“You know mom , you have a point, you really have a point”

Yeah, do I miss my Mom, and I’m sure
glad she never got a hearing aid after all.

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

The "other" Buzz-a-Rama in Kensington

You know when you get older you tend to forget many things, my cousin Pete who's 52 will always remember things that I don't and visa-versa. Well, Mark from PA just reminded me that there "was" another slot car place in Kensington back in the day. Now it was not as big or as popular as the Buzz-a-Rama, but it was here. You know where that gigantic laundry place is on McDonald, right between PS 230 and Pitta's? Well, that was the place.

In Mark's words.....
"Brooklyn history? I remember when the place opened. There was competition from another track venue on MacDonald Avenue right next to the P.S. 230 schoolyard. What this place had going for it was the Triple Nickel with burgers/fries/drinks all three nickels. A short walk from Tehama Street..."

Thank you Mark, I am beginning to remember that place now!

Ron Lopez

The Buzz-a-Rama was "Buzzing"

Wow, the Buzz-a-rama was really buzzing with people yesterday. I haven't seen that many folks there in a long time. The kids all had a ball and so did we chasing their cars. The Brooklyn News Channel was there instead of channel 7. But nevertheless many of the kids saw themselves on TV last night. Pass the word on about this place, because it is sure a part on Kensington and Brooklyn history that is still with us.

Buzz-A-Rama 500
(718) 853-1800
69 Church Avenue,
Brooklyn, NY 11218

Sat and Sun 2-6 pm

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

Channel 7 News at the Buzz-A-Rama today at 2

Ok, I just confirmed that Channel 7 will be taping at the Buzz-a-rama starting at 2pm today. My cousin Buzz said that barring any earthquake or flooding they WILL be there.

So if you want to put Kensington back on the map again, please be there to support the Buzz-a-rama and maybe get your face on TV.

Buzzie also said that PBS did a spot last week on the place and it should be airing soon. He will keep us posted.

FYI-The Buzz-A-Rama is a slot car racing place that has been in Kensington since 1965.
You will love it and so will your kids!!!!

Thanks,
Ron Lopez

Buzz-A-Rama 500
(718) 853-1800
69 Church Avenue,
Brooklyn, NY 11218

Sat and Sun 2-6 pm

Bobby Wilson and East Fourth Street

Bobby Wilson had to be one of the toughest looking guys around when I was growing up on East Fourth street. With jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes, Bobby stood about six feet tall and was kind of husky. His jaw was as square as a pizza box from Korner and his head always looked like it was on the verge of exploding into a
million pieces.

Yeah, if there was anyone who looked like they were going to kick some ones ass on my block, it had to be Bobby Wilson. Because Bobby just looked that scary.

Bobby also drove a tow truck for Al and Leo’s collision over on 36th
street right off of Fort Hamilton Parkway. A bright yellow GMC
with “Bobby” painted in script letters on the driver’s side door along
with his kids names gracing it's big steel hood.
Bobby Jr., Richie and Eileen.

Bobby would always park the truck in front of his house at 418 East Fourth Street too, right by the “Johnny Pump”. I could always hear the police scanner he had in his truck from my house, that’s because Bobby put it full blast while he was upstairs having lunch with his family. Just waiting to hear about an accident somewhere so he could quickly jump in his truck and chase it down.

You see in the days before the police outlawed tow trucks racing through Brooklyn at 70 miles per hour to be the first “hook” at an accident. Guys like Bobby Wilson were around doing just that. But Bobby never drove down our block that fast, no when it came to East Fourth Street, Bobby would never cross that line.

Now Bobby had to be about thirty-five years old at the time while we were all about seventeen. And we used to spend a lot of time hanging around on his stoop just to hear all his stories about Brooklyn and driving his tow truck.

Well, actually we used to just hang out with Bobby because we all really liked him that’s all. And besides, if your hanging out with him, there’s a much less chance that he’d kick your ass over something.

But the funny thing was that no matter how tough Bobby acted, it would all just melt away when he was around his kids, especially Bobby Jr., his oldest son. Bobby just loved Bobby Jr,. maybe it was all because he had the same dark blue eyes and long eyelashes as Bobby. I don't know, but Bobby just loved that kid the most, and we
all knew it.

Yeah, those long black eyelashes and deep blue eyes, both Bobby and his son had the most beautiful eyes that would make any woman green with envy.

And Bobby loved his kids more than anything in the world,
more than anything.

“You know Ronnie, if something ever happened to one of my kids I don’t think I could ever live” “I just don’t know how your mom can go on, I would have blown my brains out along time ago”.

Now Bobby was good friends with my mom and knew all about the fact that her son died when he was thirteen years old. And Bobby just couldn’t understand how my mom existed on this earth knowing that her son was dead and buried. Seeing him die a slow death in the hospital bed and then kissing his ice-cold face in a casket over at Pitta’s on McDonald Avenue.

No, there was no living if something happened to one
of Bobby’s kids, and he always let me know it.

Now I always used to spend a lot of time in Bobby’s apartment too. Just hanging out and bull shitting about anything and everything by their kitchen table. And I guess I kind of liked Bobby’s wife Eileen too, I mean she was more than pretty and certainly caught my eye, even if I was only seventeen while she was thirty-five.

And I’ll never forget the night I was hanging around in their kitchen, Bobby and the family just got back from Lake George and Bobby junior was complaining that his head hurt during the whole vacation.

“Ah, the kid probably needs to get his eyes checked, I but you he needs glasses”

Bobby never worried about the headaches Bobby junior was getting, no it was all going to be all right because little Bobby just needed glasses that’s all.

But the headaches didn’t go away, and little Bobby who was about five years old at the time was told to see a doctor about the pain in his head. And Bobby Wilson’s life was about to be shattered.

And then something very strange happened on the block, Bobby wasn’t hanging around on the porch anymore and we didn’t see his tow truck that much on the block.

No, little Bobby was diagnosed with a brain tumor, and Bobby Wilson was planning his death. Because there was no way Bobby could live without his son, no there wasn’t.

Little Bobby died not too long after the doctors told Bobby Wilson about the brain tumor. The Wilson’s were never the same after then and neither was Bobby. There were no more visits to his house and no more stories on his front stoop. Bobby Wilson was dead, and you could see it in his face.

I’ll never forget the day I was coming home from work back in 1985. There were just a lot of people milling around on my block and a lot of people hanging around in front of Bobby Wilson’s house.

“Hey Ronnie, did you hear Bobby died?”
“They found him upstairs in his bedroom”

The first thing I thought was that Bobby blew his brains out, just like he always said he would. But no, there was no gun and no suicide note, because according to the medical examiner Bobby died of a brain aneurism and nothing else.

And although Bobby left a gaping hole on East Fourth Street and in his family, at least he was with his son Bobby junior. Because he told me he could never live without him. And I guess he was telling the truth, because their both buried side by side over in Greenwood Cemetery.

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

Open House Sunday 1-4 (403 East 4th)

Ok, so who wants to live next door to me?

And what better place to live than good old
East 4th street between Beverly Road and Avenue C.
We are Kensington and we are proud!

And to all my old friends who left the block,
now's your chance to move back. We can play hockey
on the street and hang out on the front porch
just like the old days.

Thats all because my good friend Rob has his
beautiful bottom floor apartment for rent.
And the price has been reduced to a very fair 2250.

I have to tell you this place is really nice.
And just like my house this apartment has tons of
original detail.

Thats 403 East 4th this Sunday 1/25 between 1-4 pm.

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

The Brooklyn Paper Rocks!!

Ok, so these folks at the Brooklyn Paper are great.
I took the chance and emailed the suggestion that
they post my blog link on their site...and they DID!!!!

There I am "Kensington Stories" floating between some
of the greatest blogs in Brooklyn! I mean they got me
in the same square as "Only The Blog Knows Brooklyn"
over Park Slope, by birthplace.

I mean, we're even in the same sans serif typeface!

Psst...was "Smart Mom" born in Brooklyn?
Not that it matters, I was just wondering thats all.

Oh well, as my grandpa used to say;
you'll never know, if you never try.

I just added these great people to my blog roll.
Check them out!

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

Move back to Brooklyn

In an effort to convince all my old friends from the block to move back to Brooklyn, I have decided to insult the places where they now live. I know it is childish and immature, but what else can I do, huh? And besides, I don’t think I ever really “grew up” anyway, or at least that’s what my mom used to say all the time.

Ok, so here we go.

Top Ten Reasons why you should move back to Brooklyn.

#10- When I’m bored all I have to do is sit on my front stoop and say hi to people I don’t know. It sure beats “constant boredom”, doesn’t it?. I bet you you'd be scared to death if someone walked by your house? Maybe call the Police.

#9- I can have my daughter cut my front lawn with her “safety scissors” in an about an hour. It sure beats buying a lawn tractor and doing it yourself in two.

#8- Coney Island is still better than any brand new amusement park by you. And if I can’t shoot the freak there, I can still do it in Prospect Park at night. What “freak” can you shoot? a deer?

#7- Manhattan is our town to visit, what’s yours? The shopping mall?

#6- Are the suburbs really called “Gods waiting room?”

#5- Don’t you feel sick all the time because of that “Radon” seeping in through your basement walls. You should really see a doctor you know.

#4- When I’m away, I can ask at least a dozen people to keep an eye on my house. Who can you ask? , that silly cement figurine on your front lawn with that freaky looking beard? What to they call them? lawn trolls, they scare me.

#3- When I get the chills and feel sick, I know it’s because of my National Grid bill. When you get the chills and feel sick, it’s because you just got bit by a tick and have one hour to live before you die.

#2- Could you imagine David and Victoria Beckham naming their kid “Smithtown?” Doesn’t sound real cool, does it?

#1- You know you’re going to default on that mortgage, and when you do just call me. Because I own this big ass three family house, and I’m sure I can find you a bed somewhere. Because some things never change, including me.

Ok, Ok, don't get mad, just move back!

Ron Lopez

Because that's all I ever knew

School was never one of my best positions you know. Back in the days of PS 179 and Ditmas JHS, I could only remember my report card looking like someone bled all over the damn thing. Just a mosaic of red and black squares with a lot of “Ronald needs to do this and Ronald needs to do that” scribbled in between.

And maybe it was because there were a lot of things happening at home, I don't know. Between my dad and brother dying four years apart, and my mom looking after my little sister Isabel who was downs syndrome, there really weren't too many bed time stories being read at night or help with homework.

Yeah, maybe that was it, who knows.

So those 65’s I used to get on my report card were a real big victory you know. And as far as I was concerned it was all that mattered. A win is a win right? And a 65 is better than a 55, because a 55 means you failed in mister Sendick's class.
And who wants to be "left back?" no, only "bad kids" get left back.

But then there was sixth grade and mister Bernstein’s class…
You know I found a picture of my sixth grade class the other day and I’m real concerned that I may have been in some freaking special ed class. I started to closely study everyone’s face including mine and we just didn’t look “normal”. We had all these weird smiles and looked kind of stupid.

Oh, what did you say? Oh, I get it, maybe we were just happy that’s all. Ok, I’ll buy that. That sounds good to me.

God, but then there was the trip to the guidance counselor’s office and it was all falling apart.

Ok, so this time I hit rock bottom over at Ditmas. It was December 1969 and I was failing everything they threw at me. 40’s 50’s, 60’s, my report card was so heavy with red ink it looked like a Turkish flag. Just give me a pole to hang it on, because I give up, I’ll never pass another class again, I’m staying home.

I remember my mother crying in mister Cisco’s office while he handed her tissues. She was telling him along with another counselor that my brother just died a few months before, and maybe that may have had something to do with my poor grades.

I on the other hand was totally shocked to hear my mom say that because I thought one had nothing to do with the other. No, I just thought I sucked at school and nothing else.

But then something happened, and I really can’t put a finger on it. Well on second thought maybe I can, I left Ditmas and was accepted at the High School of Art and Design in New York City.

All the drawing I did at Ditmas while I wasn’t paying attention and skidding by with 65’s somehow paid off. A total stranger in a new school and no one knew who I was. And to help matters along the dying stopped in my family for a while. And my mom was starting to feel a lot better about life.

So you see, I guess what I’m trying to figure out after all these years, is that what goes on at home may actually have something to do with how well you do in school. And the funny thing is I never realized that one had something to do with the other.

Oh, but then again, maybe I just sucked at school
because that’s all I ever knew.

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

Favorite Sons of Brooklyn

After almost a year and a half I finally figured out how to add some other cool blogs to my blog roll. Please check out my "Favorite Sons of Brooklyn" section for some pretty nice stuff written by some real Brooklyn originals. Scroll down and look on the right for links to Brooklyn Born and the SpinZone.

Ron

Silk Dreams at 90 Church Avenue

You know those subjects you can’t bring up at the dinner table, the ones that get some people mad.
No, were not talking about politics or religion here, it’s something worse.

Back in the summer of 1956 my grandmother and grandfather decided to take a stab at the big fat cash cow called “Church Avenue”.

Now, Church Avenue has always been excellent when it came to simple “foot traffic”, even back in the summer of 1956. Except for one slight problem according to my grandfather “Paco”. The more affluent people with money in their pockets simply made the left from the F-Train and walked along Church to Ocean Parkway.
They never looked towards Dahill Road or even bothered to give it a second thought.

The name of my grandmothers store was “Isabel’s”; it was located at 90 Church Avenue. Basically the cash cows “tail”, which rarely moved to swat a fly no less.

My grandmother Isabel was always a working woman you see. And she usually held positions such as supervisor or “floor lady” wherever she worked. One of her specialties was hand-made lampshades, and she was proud of her position at Krasnours Lamp Shade Factory on Prince street in Manhattan. She was the floor lady there; basically supervising the workers to make sure the quality of the shades were up to standard. A job she held for many years until she decided to give her own business a shot one day.

So with the knowledge of Kensington and a “store for rent” sign at
90 Church, my grandparents took a plunge into owning their
own business.

The grand opening was sometime in the summer of 1956. They sold custom-made silk lampshades, imported plates, crystal, porcelain figurines and various other “high end “ knick-knacks. The entire family worked there and helped to keep it a float. My mom, dad, aunt Dolores, and uncle Pete helping out my grandmother and grandfather any way they could. Making deliveries, working the register or taking the F-Train to Canal street to buy the lamp shade skeletons that gave them their shapes.

I always remember my grandfathers face getting red when he used to talk about “the store”.

“What a waste of money, we should have invested in
another property instead”. “God damn store!”.

Now you have to remember that as kids growing up we only heard about “the store”, because it closed down before my cousins and I were even born. Although we knew something had happened once, there was an entire room in the basement full of lampshade skeletons, rolls of silk material, plates and porcelain figurines. And a wonderful large old-fashioned gold cash register in the garage. A huge monster that just sat in the corner gathering dust. As kids we used to play with it, pushing hard down on the buttons to make a metal numeral flip up in a glass window. Or just hide Matchbox or Hotwheels cars in the coin slots.

“There they go, never walking this way” said my grandfather Paco standing in front of the store at 90 Church Avenue.

“This side of Church Avenue is invisible, this store may as well be in the middle of the woods up in the country”.

“With all their money in their pockets, they just walk to their castles in the sky on Ocean Parkway”.

“The people that walk past this store are the working class poor, who only look and never buy”.

My grandmother just looked at my grandfather and said;
“You mean just like us?”

My grandfather just shook his head and my grandmother just kept working away, cutting patterns and sewing the beautiful silk shades and hoping for a miracle. Because she always believed that those who worked hard survived, and they both survived the great depression right here in New York City. My grandfather Paco selling Good Humor ice cream off his back in Central Park and my grandmother making hand made silk flowers from their apartment on Pearl street in downtown Brooklyn. Now the site of Metrotech.

So there was going to be no giving up here,
at least not without a fight.

I remember it was something like 1984 when we sold the cash register. I think my aunt listed it in the Buy Lines. And it must have weighed at least 100 pounds. My cousin Pete and I both helped the man carry it to his car. I think he gave us 25 dollars for it. He was opening up his own business somewhere here in Brooklyn, and he liked the old fashioned register. We tried selling the lampshade skeletons back in 1990, the man who looked at them thought they were beautiful, but the rust on them was too much and would only destroy the silk. When he was leaving we even offered them for free, he just smiled and said “no thanks”.

With rent being paid on time and little business coming in, the store closed about two years after it opened. There was no meat on this “cows tail”, and my grandfather Paco always had his reservations about that side of Church Avenue. And unfortunately he was right.

My Dads 1957 Plymouth station wagon pulled up in front of 90 Church Avenue that day. All the contents of the store were hauled to our house at 399. The inventory was split between my aunt’s old room, the basement and the garage.

A month later the store was for rent again.

The lamp shades made great props for parties when we wore them on our heads as teenagers. And not to mention there was always an endless supply of porcelain doll eyes for us to look into as kids, constantly worried that they would move, or blink.

I spoke to my aunt Dolores the other day, and she said the basic story about her mothers store could be summed up as “wrong place in the wrong time”. I laughed and told her that grandma would have made a killing in today’s Park Slope with a store like that. She said that grandma would have loved to open the store in Manhattan, but just couldn’t afford the rent.

But not all family stories have crash landings like “Isabel’s”. About ten years after my grandmothers store closed, her niece Dolores and husband Buzzy opened up another place you may have heard of. Its still called the “Buzzarama” and managed to survive over forty years on the “cows tail” of Church Avenue.

And my grandfather Paco, well he always believed real estate was your best bet and bought two hundred acres of land in upstate New York. Right before the store fiasco and just five years after he bought 399 East 4th. So “Isabel’s” was just a bump in the road, a bad decision, and a “wrong place at the wrong time”. Sure they lost money with the store and it made my grandfathers face turn red at the dinner table. But hell, that one hundred pound cash register was sure fun to play with along with those dozens of lampshades on New Years Eve.

And like they say, if you never try, you'll never know.


Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

East Fourth House Fire

This is my good friend Jimmy Spinner's house. It took somewhat of a hit on Saturday night, but thank God everyone got out safely including his mom. Still no word on what caused the fire, but we should have an answer soon.

You know as a homeowner you never think about a fire. I guess you sometimes think the your house is indestructible and made of stone. But what happened to Jimmy's house is a wake-up call, and you better believe that I checked all the smoke alarms and bought power strips for all my tenants to use soon after. That’s because these houses have some real old wiring, and using a power strip can sometimes prevent an overload on the socket. Basically the power strip will trip before anything else. And that’s a good indicator that there’s an overload.

Also please do not use any of those space heaters that have those bright orange coils that glow like a toaster. Those things can fall sideways and easily cause a fire.

Watch those burning candles along with smoking in bed and make sure your fire escape doesn’t have all kinds of junk on it that could block you from getting out quickly.

And if you are a landlord you better take some time to look at your insurance policy, because many people carry outdated policies that don’t cover as much as they should.

Don’t be so cheap, increase your coverage and spent a few extra bucks a year. These houses cost a lot more than 200,000 dollars if they need to be re-built.

Oh, and crank up the heat too, because this will prevent anyone in your house form using a space heater and overloading your very old brittle wires.

Now once again we do NOT know the cause of the fire over at Jimmy's house. But all of the suggestions I'm writing can certainly help prevent a fire in your house.

And just remember, these houses are made of wood not stone.

Ron Lopez

A rough time on East Fourth.

This past night my friend Jimmy Spinner's house caught fire. Well, the good news is everyone got out safely, but the bad news is Jimmy’s old house took quite a beating. I guess the firemen have to break every window in the place to vent the fire, but man it was quite a shocker to see the house wounded like that. They even had to chain saw the damn roof. But hell, I know it won't take too much time before the place is all fixed up and everyone is back.

And once again the folks on my block came through, everyone who lived in the house was offered a place to stay by their neighbors. “An extra room because my son’s in college” or “that old bedroom someone’s daughter slept in before she got married.” Real old school stuff that I always knew growing up here.

And you better believe the first thing I did when I got home was check the smoke alarms and see that the fire escapes were working. Because “fire” never has a friend, and neither does “smoke”.


Ron Lopez

Jim McMullen’s and Kensington Brooklyn

Jim McMullen’s Bar was a pretty hot spot back in 70’s on the Upper East Side. The place always seemed to attract models, movie stars and professional athletes.

“Mr. McMullen is best known as the convivial owner of Jim McMullen's, a steakhouse that had one of the Upper East Side's archetypal swinging singles bars in the 1970's. Back when Reggie Jackson was beginning his evenings being showered with candy bars at Yankee Stadium, he was ending them with his pals at Jim McMullen's.”

Now I never knew Jim McMullen Jr. myself because he was older than the rest of us, but sometimes we’d get a glimpse of his Red Corvette that he drove up the block and parked in by his parent’s house.

The girls would always seem to giggle when he drove by, and some of them would run up to his car to get a better look of him and his pretty blonde hair.

You see mister McMullen’s son Jim was a professional model and did all kinds of TV commercials back when we were growing up. He may have even been in a movie or TV show too, but we never really knew or even seemed to care that much. Because when you’re a “guy” and the girls that you have crushes on run away from you to see Jim McMullen Jr., well, you just kind of resent him that’s all.

But not his dad mister McMullen, because mister McMullen was a sweet old man that worked for the buildings department and drove a city car. No, the girls weren’t running after his Dodge Dart with a NYC Department of Buildings logo on the side. No, we could deal with that. And if I remember correctly Peter and Nuzio Competiello used to walk the McMullen's dog Sam all the time, and Sam was kind of overweight for a Beagle and the girls never giggled when he walked by or made poop in the street.

Oh, Ok, Ok, maybe we were all a little jealous back then of pretty Jim with his blonde hair and his fancy red Corvette, while we were riding ten speeds and had pimples. But come on, how would you like it if a girl ran off while you were in mid-sentence to chase a guy?
Not a real confidence booster huh?

Well time has passed and it’s all pretty funny now, and from what I hear McMullen’s closed a long time ago and is no longer there.

But you know what, just as that place exists in the memories of all those celebrities, models and professional athletes who used to go there back in the 70's. I bet you there's a guy named Jim McMullen who maybe still remembers the Brooklyn of his youth, and a street he grew up on. A street that he may remember, that was called
East Fourth.

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

-15 degrees in the Catskills

Greetings from the web cam up on the mountain.
The temperature tonight should be dropping to
about 15 to 20 degrees below zero.

The tundra is frozen and the wind is blowing, and
its all just 150 miles from Kensington, Brooklyn.

Ron Lopez

Kensington Fury 1973

The blower motor in Robert Brennan’s Plymouth Fury was on full force. With hot air blowing like a hurricane on my snow-covered boots, the heat of the Fury did little to defrost my feet and toes. No, once again my boots felt like two blocks of ice, and it would certainly be a while before they’d feel
warm again.

“Let me show you how she rides Ronnie, this ones real heavy duty”

With that Robert put the Plymouth Fury into gear and stomped on the gas. The huge 440 four barrel suddenly came alive and moaned a loud throaty sound. With the rear wheels trying desperately to grip the cold frozen asphalt, the Fury started to wildly squeal and fishtail in front of my house. I just held on to the dashboard for dear life until the Plymouth finally found its way and started rocketing up the block in a straight line.

“I told you she’s heavy duty”
“I told you”

The Plymouth barreled up East Fourth at about fifty-five miles an hour and then suddenly screeched to a stop at the corner of Avenue C. The little air freshener pine tree that Robert loved so much swung crazily from the radio knob.

“And she stops on a dime too”

“ Robert, she started skidding about six houses back?”

“Don’t worry kid, she’s seen all kinds of action”

Now Robert Brennan was one of my best friends from the block, and for some reason he always liked to buy old worn out police cars at the city auctions up by Willis Point. And because Bobby was a couple years older than the rest of the guys, he was the first to own his own car. And when you can’t drive what you don’t have yet, you just get into anything your friends are driving, no matter what.

And for my cousin Pete and I, it was a 1970 Plymouth that Bobby drove around all the time. A retired New York City undercover police car that drove like a tank and flew like a rocket.

“How about a trip to White Castle Ronnie?”

Oh God, that freaking White Castle up on Fort Hamilton Parkway. The place had bulletproof glass where you ordered, white tiled walls and floors, and the most horrible looking stainless steel tables and seats. And to top it off, it was always filled with the scariest looking people Brooklyn ever produced. Just a perpetual “freak show” that made any thing over in Coney Island look like kids stuff. Just shoot me and preform the autopsy on one of those stainless steel tables, but just don't forget to clean up the blood.

Oh, and they also had an armed guard inside the place, just standing in the corner with a black handgun in his holster. A real nice place to take the kids for a night out in Boro Park.

“ Robert why do we have to go there?”
“Why not the new Burger King over on Dahill Road?”
“One day we’re going to get killed over at White Castle”

“Ronnie, there’s nothing to fear, you got me and we have the “car”

Now because we drove around in an old unmarked police car, the truth is everyone thought we were cops. Including all the freaks over at White Castle who looked like they just got out of the Brooklyn House of Detention.

Even the security guard who worked there used to salute us. So when it came to feeling safe, I guess there was nothing better than driving an old police car and looking like a bunch of undercover cops.

And Robert, well he stood at six feet five inches and bigger than a bear. Yeah, I never felt tall or big around Robert, no not even at six feet three and two hundred pounds.

Robert always seemed like an older brother to me too, and in many ways reminded me a lot of my brother Joseph who passed away just a few years before Bobby became one of my best friends. He was loud like my brother, he sometimes bossed me around like my brother. And he always had the last word like my brother. Yeah, maybe a friendship that would never work for others, but somehow oddly worked wonders for me.

Yes Robert filled the void that was left after my brother died, and I certainly loved being around him all the time. But most important, I always felt safe around Bobby no matter what.

We made the left on to Fort Hamilton and drove past the brand new Burger King on Dahill road. I could see the blue and white logo of White Castle way in the distance by Forty-second Street in Boro Park.

“Oh God, that freaking place again Bobby?”

“Don’t worry kid, you’ve got me and we got the car”

Robert made a hard right into the parking lot of the White Castle. And as usual the place was chock full of “hard nighters” and the scariest residents of Brooklyn. The Plymouth made an abrupt stop against the concrete slab by the front tires. Once again the little fragrant pine tree swung wildly on the radio knob. Robert shut off the now hot 440 engine, my feet were finally warm.

“You ready for action?”
“I guess so, lets do it”
We both opened the door and walked into White Castle.
Just another night in Brooklyn, the year was 1973.


The other day I was in an auto store with my son, we were standing by the counter when I happened to notice one of those little green pine tree air fresheners. I picked it up and threw it on the counter with the rest of my stuff.

"Dad who's that for?"

"It's for an old friend son,
it's for a very old friend"

Ron Lopez
Mopar195@yahoo.com

Save IHM from closing!

There was an article in the Times today about the most recent rash of Catholic School closings in Brooklyn. And it seems like IHM up on East 3rd and Fort Hamilton may be closing by the end of the school year.

Yes, IHM, the school of the O’Callaghan’s, the Spinners and many other good old Kensington Catholics back in the 60’s and 70’s. Oh right, IHM was also where I used to go for “religious instructions” too, but let’s not bring that one up today. Because today is not a good day for many parents who send their kids to IHM. And besides I’m told that nuns don’t wear those black and white habits anymore.

Who could forget all of those IHM church bazaars we used to go to all the time huh? The rides, the “legal gambling” inside the gym, mister O’Callaghan’s voice echoing throughout the bazaar calling out the numbers on the roulette wheel. How about all those Mets that the school used to get to show up every year to sign autographs?

Well, although I didn’t go there full time, I heard all the stories from my friends. And more importantly what I’m hearing from many parents who send their kids there today is that it’s a wonderful school, and nothing like it was back when we all went there. No, the ear pulling nuns are long gone, replaced by teachers that both parents and students really like and are thrilled with.

So what can you do to save IHM, well try writing a letter to Bishop Nicholas DiMarzio. Roman Catholic Diocese, 241 Clinton Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11205. (718 230-1789).
Because hopefully the wheel that squeaks gets fixed first.

Ron Lopez

Dell PowerVault

“Snow Days” in Kensington by Paul McNally

Here's another story from one of my best friends.
Former 403 East 4th resident, PS 179 and Ditmas
JHS schoolmate Paul McNally.


Thinking back on the winters we had in the old neighborhood, brings to mind a few of the things we did to stay busy and have fun in the snow. Any time the snow fell was a good time, but it was especially good if the storm occurred on a school night, cause this meant…SCHOOL CLOSINGS! That’s right, we all stared at the sky hoping and praying that the snow accumulation would be enough to cause school to be closed the next day. I know things change, but some things stay the same, because my kids feel the same way today. Any time you have a choice to either play in the snow or go to school, the winner will always be, play in the snow.

Once again, this meant playing outside of course, because anytime you had to stay and play indoors was usually some form of punishment. And the pain of being stuck indoors on a snow day was the worst form of punishment possible. So, Mom, if you are reading this I was scarred for life those days I had to stay in and watch from our third story window as my friends made first tracks in the virgin East 4 Street snow. I specifically remember a few storms that dropped enough snow that the streets were completely closed down. Maybe 2-3 feet of the stuff would cover everything, leaving the cars parked on the street submersed under a blanket of white, only recognizable by the antennae popping through the crust.

This meant a whole new set of games to be played. Gone were all the rubber ball games, replaced by snowball games. The first thing you checked when you went out was to see if the snow was good “packing” snow. Good packing snow was the first ingredient of any quality snowball fight. Once you knew this, then it was game on. When trying to strategize my attack, I always felt that a good offense was my best defense. Get the first shot in and your opponent now had to play catch up. With the street closed down, it made the playing field that much larger and safer. As you looked up and down the street, the only cars were the ones snowed in on the side of the road. It gave me a feeling like we owned the street it was ours alone. No interruptions of passing cars to disrupt the flow of our games. A kind of quiet that only happened on snow days.

Of course with the snow came other things to do, including building snowmen and busting down other kids weak attempts at snowmen. Building snow forts and tunnels out of the mounds of snow built up by the shoveling efforts of our Fathers and Grandfathers. And who could forget trekking up to Church Ave. to go to the A&P for milk, eggs and bread. Staples your Mom didn’t want to be without on a snow day.

These days all seemed to be perfect in isolating the block. We were snowed in and couldn’t go anywhere except up and down our street. It all was ideal until the first big Buick came barreling down the street plowing through the snow as if on a mission to be the first to get the world moving again. And after that, it felt like the snow day would soon be over. How long before the huge garbage trucks fitted with the plows would come by and clear the streets, meaning once again that school would soon be open.

So, the snow day was over. But the next time you saw a single snowflake, your thoughts and gaze shifted to the sky thinking, “pleeeese let it be enough to close school”.

Paul McNally

Dell PowerVault