Idlewildblueyonder

The Night I Beat Up Johnny Polovoy

2012-01-16T19:58:00.000-05:00

There was a popular song by Jimmy Dean in the early 60s named "Big John." We had a "Big John" in our neighborhood: Johnny Polovoy. He wasn't six foot six. But he surely weighed 245. And it was all muscle.

One night Dennis Werner and I went to the ball field by 159th Street looking for the rest of our friends. We found Tony Induisi laying on the infield between home plate and the pitcher's mound. I should say we "heard" Tony. Johnny Polovoy was sitting on top of him. Tony was screaming bloody murder.

Dennis yelled, "leave him alone!"

Johnny just laughed and seemed to be contemplating which hand to hit Tony with first. He never got the chance. I pushed him off of Tony.

Johnny rolled over on his back and promptly passed out. He was so drunk I could have pushed him off Tony with one finger.

After I got home that night, my brother Joe gave me a look I had never seen before and said, "I heard you beat up Johnny Polovoy."

I didn't know what to say. I briefly basked in the glory of the new-found respect my older brother had for me. But then I got to thinking: Johnny is gonna want a rematch!

I stayed home for three days feigning the stomach ache I knew I would have after Johnny got through with me. Finally, I ventured outside. And who was the first person I ran into? Johnny Polovoy!

"Oh shit!"

"Hail Mary, full of grace..." –– that's Catholic lingo for "Help me, Mary!"

My mind says "run!" But my feet won't move. Johnny draws closer to me.

"Our Father who art in heaven..." –– that's Catholic lingo for "Extreme Unction!"

I don't remember much after that. I may have pleaded for mercy, cried, begged, crawled –– I don't know.

But I know Johnny never laid a hand on me. He just smiled and walked right past me. I could have hugged him. But then he surely would have hit me! Big Bad John!

Loves Me, Loves Me Not

2011-08-25T02:41:00.000-04:00

When I was a little boy, my mother used to take me to the barber shop next to Paley's Drug Store on Rockaway Blvd. "Hold his head still," the barber would complain to my mother as she stood next to the barber chair. I didn't like that barber. And he certainly didn't like to give haircuts to little boys. When I was old enough to cross the street on my own, I went to Joe's Barber Shop next to the A&P on the other side of Rockaway Blvd.

There were really two Joes at Joe's Barber Shop, and neither one had any problems cutting my hair. The older Joe had gray hair and a gray mustache. He looked old, especially to a young kid like me. It was in the late 1950s, so I guess I was around eight or nine years old, and he was probably near sixty. The younger Joe had shiny black hair and was probably in his late twenties. The older Joe smoked a lot. The younger Joe talked a lot. The older Joe just grunted.

Mr. O'Malley was one of the younger Joe's steady customers. He was older than the older Joe. Looking back, I'd say he was already retired. Every time I went to Joe's Barber Shop, Mr. O'Malley was already there sitting in a chair next to his wife, waiting his turn. I didn't mind waiting because it gave me more time to read the current issues of Look Magazine and Life Magazine.

Mr. O'Malley and the younger Joe always had lively conversations about politics and the world –– conversations which probably began as soon as Mr. O'Malley walked through the door, and continued until the younger Joe said, "Okay, Mr. O'Malley, it's your turn." And the younger Joe continued talking while he cut Mr. O'Malley's hair.

Mrs. O'Malley, sat waiting in her chair, in her winter coat, with a kerchief tied under her chin. She never said a word. She just smiled. The older Joe just grunted. Me? I had my head buried in the magazines.

"Okay, Mr. O'Malley. You have a nice day," the younger Joe always said as he finished cutting Mr. O'Malley's hair. Mrs. O'Malley would reach into her pocket book, pull out her small purse, walk up to the younger Joe, and put just the right amount of coins in his waiting hand one at a time. Mrs. O'Malley would then pull out an extra coin, and with an even bigger smile place it in the younger Joe's hand.

"Why thank you Mrs. O'Malley," the younger Joe would say. And both O'Malleys would beam, and walk out the door.

One day Mrs. O'Malley reached in her pocketbook and her small purse wasn't there. She searched inside the pockets of her winter coat. Her smile disappeared. And she spoke the first words I ever heard her say, "Oh dear!"

"Pay me the next time you come in," the younger Joe said. But Mr. O'Malley would have none of that. He insisted on staying until Mrs. O'Malley walked home and returned with the money to pay for his haircut.

Mrs. O'Malley had a long walk ahead of her. She had to cross Rockaway Blvd., walk down half of 157th Street and then down 156th Street to her house, and then back again. It seemed to take forever.

Mr. O'Malley was clearly uncomfortable. The younger Joe tried to engage him in more conversation, but all Mr. O'Malley would do was grunt and look sad.

"Are you okay Mr. O'Malley?" the younger Joe asked. In the mirror, he could see tears running down Mr. O'Malley's face.

"She's not coming back. She doesn't love me anymore," Mr. O'Malley muttered. The younger Joe looked bewildered. For the first time ever, he didn't know what to say.

"Look! There she is!" the younger Joe said. He pointed out the window! Mrs. O'Malley was walking up 157th Street!

Not believing the younger Joe, Mr. O'Malley got up from his chair, looked out the window, and saw his wife struggling valiantly up the street. With tears still running down his cheeks, he smiled and said, "she still loves me!"

On Thanksgiving Day

2009-11-26T09:59:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving Day is a day for giving thanks for all the blessings we have received. It is a day for family and friends. It is a day for feasting on turkey, dressing, and everything else that is placed on the table in front of us.

Instead of dishes, my wife would give my brother, Joe, and I platters so we could fit a little of everything we wanted on one plate. Sometimes, we would still come back for more. We would then sit in the recliners, watch about five minutes of football, and then promptly fall asleep.

My brother died of a heart attack in 2000.

Thanksgiving Day is also a day for remembering our departed loved ones.

Jerry Morris

....BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

2009-11-21T17:52:00.001-05:00

Tommy Conlon Remembers An Old Friend

On September 8th, 2009 Joe Scherer passed away at the age of 61. I had lost contact with Joe for about 20 or so years because he moved to Iowa and I had moved and left no forwarding address. Then Bruce Katt called me and said Joe was visiting his sister on Long Island and found his phone number in the book and paid a visit on him and his wife Andrea. I phoned him on February 10th, 1998, his 50th birthday and we talked for 2 hours and caught up on the past 20 years very quickly. Two week's later, he called me on my 50th birthday and we talked for another 2 hours. We got together for dinner every 2 years or so with Joe and his wife Linda (who was his soul mate). Bruce and his wife and my wife, Laura. In late August, Joe, his wife and 3 family members came to my home and we went out to dinner, (Bruce was away). We did nothing but talk about old times and some of the crazy hings we all did, like hanging out at the bench (road block 145th Ave. & 156th Street) in the freezing cold or driving to Bear Mountain for a cup of coffee, and the time we picked up a hitchhiker who was going to Chicago - we took him to New Jersey (its a good thing we had to go to work the next day or God only knows where we would have driven him!).

We talked about someday getting together with all our old friends. We shook hands and said goodbye. About a week and a half later, Linda called and told me Joe had died that morning. I will miss him dearly, as I know all of you will as well.

Sincerely,

Tommy

Just a few words from me as well:

I didn't know Joe and Linda very long, but felt a connection, perhaps because of how Tom felt about him. I wish you guys could have seen Tom and Joe together - both of their faces lit up like a Christmas Tree especially when talking of the old days when they were young. It was a joy to see. Joe will be sorely missed by all. May God rest his soul.

Laura Conlon

Old Stoneface: Memories of New York

2007-09-11T15:25:00.000-04:00

On this anniversary of 9/11, I want to repost my thoughts, written ten days after 9/11.

Old Stoneface: Memories of New York

In times of grief, I can usually call on Old Stoneface to help get me by. Old Stoneface first appeared in 1968 outside of a church in Pennsylvania. The military pallbearers carried the casket into the church. The rest of the honor guard, myself included, stood at parade rest, outside in our blues, in the freezing cold, staring at the church doors. I thought of the soldier we were honoring: killed in Vietnam. He deserved respect for paying the ultimate sacrifice. I stood taller, staring straight ahead, unblinking and solemn: Old Stoneface.

I was part of the Honor Guard from Stewart Air Force Base, New York, my first assignment from technical school and close to home. New York City was home, Jamaica, New York, to be exact. I grew up close to JFK Airport, back when we used to call it Idlewild Airport. My father was a New York City cop. My Uncle Frank was a New York City cop. My Uncle Mike was a New York City fireman.

My first date was in New York City. I took a girl named Stephanie to Radio City, which I knew was right down the block from the Automat. What I did not know was that there was more than one Automat in New York City. Stephanie wore high heels that day. She got blisters.

I have faint memories of attending a game at Ebbetts Field. My brother, Joe, used to recite the entire Brooklyn Dodgers lineup frontwards and backwards. I remember most of them by position: Roy Campanella, catcher. Gil Hodges, first baseman. Junior Gilliam, second basemen. Pee Wee Reese, shortstop. Don Hoak and Don Zimmer, third basemen. Sandy Amaros, left fielder. Gino Cimolli, right fielder. Duke Snider, centerfielder?

The Duke of Flatbush was somewhere on the playing field, but to a young boy, Mickey Mantle was the center fielder in New York City. Add Willie Mays, another center fielder, and the Duke was a distant third, except in the eyes of my brother, Joe.

I have other fond memories of baseball in New York City. I was at Yankee Stadium with my friend, Timmy, and his sister, Kathy, when Roger Maris hit his 61st home run. Ten years later I watched the film clip for the first time. I smiled as Maris circled the bases, stepped out of the dugout and then waved to the crowd. The camera circled the stadium, showing the New Yorkers cheering, and zoomed in on two teenagers jumping up and down on their seats as Kathy sat quietly in her seat between us.

I was in New York City when the New York Mets won the World Series in 1969. I was on leave from the Philippines, saw my son for the first time, and took my wife to opening night on Broadway. Three Men In A Boat, I think the name of the play was. We got off the train from Peekskill at Grand Central when the last out was made, and New York City went wild. I mean wild.

Yes, I have seen New York at its finest. My father worked for New York's Finest. I, Old Stoneface, did not cry at my father's funeral in 1975. I, Old Stoneface, did not cry at my brother's funeral in 2000. Yes, I have seen New York at its most horrible time of late. I picture myself standing at parade rest, outside of the great doors of Time, and I, Old Stoneface, can't help but cry.

Jerry Morris,
New Yorker
09/21/2001

Peeping Toms

2007-07-10T16:11:00.000-04:00

Sooner or later, every neighborhood has its Peeping Tom. Idlewild had its Peeping Tom in the late 1950s. Sometimes, Peeping Toms never get caught: this one did.

Whenever one of the neighbors on 157th Street spotted the Peeping Tom, it seemed to take forever for the police to show up. When they did, the perp would be long gone. Finally, all the neighbors on the street got together and came up with a plan: Since my father was a cop, they would call him first the next time the Peeping Tom was spotted.

A few nights later, the phone rang. It was one of the neighbors: the Peeping Tom was hiding in the bushes, looking in the window of the house right across the street from us! It was the perfect opportunity for my father to nail the creep; however, my father wasn't home. He was at his favorite hangout, the local beer garden on the corner of Rockaway Blvd. and 158th Street. My mother called him up at the bar, passed on the message, and told my brother and I to stay away from the window. Fat chance!

We saw the Peeping Tom crouching in the bushes. A few minutes later, we saw our father staggering around the corner on his way to apprehend the Peeping Tom. My father was lucky: the Peeping Tom surrendered without a fight.

Thirty years later, when my wife, kids and I were renting a house in the Tampa Bay area, I found myself in a worse predicament than my father was!

At one o-clock in the morning, my teenage daughter woke us up, screaming, "There's a man outside my window!"

I jumped up out of bed, ran out the door, and tried to catch the Peeping Tom. I ran around the entire house, but didn't see him. It was then that I noticed my own predicament: all I had on was an undershirt!

The heck with the Peeping Tom! I was lucky to get back into my house, red-faced, bare-assed and all, without getting arrested for indecent exposure!

Stage Fright

2007-07-10T15:47:00.000-04:00

One of my earliest and most vivid memories was when I pretended to be Gabby Hayes.

When the western I was watching on the tv was over, I ran around the house looking for a stagecoach, so I could get away from the bad guys just like Gabby did in the movie.

I found the stagecoach upstairs, in the walk-in closet of my parents' bedroom; only I had to climb up to the top shelf to get there. Get there, I did; but I knocked a few boxes to the floor while climbing up.

Hiding in the far corner of the top shelf, I found my father's gun. I picked it up, and held it with both hands, while dangling my feet over the edge of the shelf.

The bad guys didn't have a chance now!

Just then, my mother stepped into the walk-in closet.

I pointed the gun at her and said, "I shoot you."

I never saw that gun again the entire time my father was on the New York City Police Force.

My Old House: It Is Still Standing

2007-07-07T22:22:00.001-04:00

With over half of the houses in the neighborhood gone, I am surprised that my old house is still standing. Google Satellite shows the house too far up the street; but 144-57 157th Street is located where the blue placemark is, two houses north of 145th Rd, near the middle of the street.

I don't know when exactly we moved into our house. My sister, Patty, was born in 1943, my brother, Joe, was born in 1945, and I was born in 1947. I know I was born in Brooklyn before we moved to Queens. My younger brother, Billy, was born in Queens in 1954. I have quite a few memories of my childhood before Billy was born, so I believe we moved into our house around 1950.

The house itself was two stories, with either two or three bedrooms upstairs, and an unfinished basement downstairs. Sometime in the 1950s, my parents hired our next door neighbor, Mr. Negron, a carpenter, to convert the basement into a recreation room/bedroom for Joey and me. Mr. Negron also built a huge shed in our backyard at the end of the property line. It was at least twenty feet long, twenty feet wide, and ten feet high, and had a door and a window. After looking at the satellite photo from Google, I can't tell if the shed is still there, but the house sure is. It was a house full of memories, some of which I will share in this blog.

The Old Neighborhood

2007-07-06T21:22:00.000-04:00

This blog is mostly about myself and my family; but will also be about my childhood friends,and the old neighborhood where we grew up. I haven't been back to the old neighborhood in forty years! My how it has changed.

The old neighborhood extended between Rockaway Blvd and Idlewild Airport, from 155th St. to 159th St. On each street lived at least one of my childhood friends: Carol Broadbent lived on 155th St. Joe Shearer and Dorothy Polovoy lived on 156th St. Timmy Phelan, Frankie Dallas, Jimmy and Ann McHale, Freddy Hueur, Stephen and Kenny Anson, Kevin and Leo Smith, and Tony Induisi lived on 157th Street. Helen and Stephanie McCaffrey, Linda Salvato, Tommy Conlin, Dennis Werner, Arlene Shimko, Rose Scomello, and Bruce Katt lived on 158th St. Eddie Wade, Frankie Alberghini and Susan Tullo lived on 159th St. I should mention Michael Dyer, Linda's boyfriend, as well. Although he lived on the other side of Rockaway Blvd., Ekim spent most of his time in our old neighborhood. As for me, I lived on 157th St..

The old neighborhood used to be nothing but houses on the streets and local businesses on each side of Rockaway Blvd. Today, half of the houses are gone, replaced by freight warehouses. Likewise, the Sunoco gas station at the corner of Rockaway Blvd and 157th St. is gone, as is the Carvel stand on the corner of Rockaway Blvd. and 158th. St.. On the other side of Rockaway Blvd, from left to right, stood Joe's Barber Shop, an A&P Supermarket, Idlewild Rest Bar & Grill, a delicatessen, a dry cleaning business, a cafe, and Sam Flug's candy store. I believe most of these businesses are no longer there.

Perhaps the biggest change is that the old ball field at 159th St. and Rockaway Blvd. is gone. I remember that the Idlewild Rest sponsored two youth baseball teams and a men's softball team. The youth teams were called the Idlewild Bombers and the Idlewild Jets. The sotfball team was called the Idlewild Bombers. Today, a five-story building is located where baseballs used to fly high into the sky, blasted from the mighty bats of Bombers and Jets It is the location of the regional headquarters of the Federal Aviation Administration