8 “Dynamite!”. Song: “Annie’s Song” Photos: Our Neighborhood Kids.

One day my big brother was arguing with our mother because he wanted to go out to play in the neighborhood without me tagging along. Our mother told him, “absolutely not”, and reminded him to stay with me our there at all times because I had just been hit hard in the head from behind, purposefully, with a large, heavy, red medicine ball, by the biggest kid in the above photo (I heard that he died at age 41). My big brother had borrowed my brand new air rifle without asking me, and secretly put it outside the front door without telling me, and the second our mother walked out of the room, he bolted out the door, and ran full speed down our hill with it. I received my air rifle from my dad’s “friend”who had suddenly started showing up for visits at our house with awesome gifts just for me for some reason I had no clue about. All I knew is that he was also the one who came out, and talked “drunk happy” with me where I had to wait all night remaining in my dad’s car which was parked in a dirt lot at my dad’s golf club’s satellite “recreation” room in CT, and explained that he was going to get me a special drink which he said was called a “Wing Dingy”, then came back out with it, and talked me into drinking the whole glass (story page 4, “A trip to our country club”).

My big brother promptly defied his mother, and ran full-speed down to the bottom of our street, and disappeared around the corner where he must have known that some of the kids in the families who were building the whole neighborhood, were hanging around together, on that weekend day.

My brother may have thought that since he now had “his” new air rifle at his side that he would fit right in with any of them (even the ones who were older than he was). I knew there was no way that I could catch up because I still couldn’t even walk comfortably without my stitches hurting, and tearing loose again. My new tighter stitches took even longer to heal, and I wasn’t about to risk going through a third stitching ordeal. So, instead of limping down the street as fast as possible to catch up with my brother, I went across the street, and down through the back yards for a shortcut behind the houses, and I discovered a beautiful woodsy area, where I could walk down on a trimmed path of thickly layered pine needles. On the way through the neighbor’s back yard woods, I passed a birdbath where I saw a large beautiful blue bird drinking, and bathing. It was just a few yards away from me, but instead of flying away, it just ignored me when it saw me struggling to walk past in a hurry. The bluebird was so enjoying the water in the bird bath, that as it bathed and drank, it actually started singing right in front of me, and seemingly just for me! What was incredible to me, was that as I stopped right in front of it, and listened, it was as if it was actually sing-speaking (in a bird-like way of course), but only a few feet away looking directly at me. And, the performance seemed obviously so full of meaning, expression, and intelligence that I have never forgotten the experience. It was as though he, or she, had a whole long story to relate to me about life(?), and it entailed a non-stop full few moments with a lot to describe to me, as though it was completely confident that I totally understood, as I listened attentively to everything it said. Was he a middle child bird that just needed some extra attention? I had no clue.

When I emerged from the backyard woods nearby the bottom of our street (which eventually wrapped around to link our neighborhood together upon completion), I discovered that I had arrived to where my brother had joined a circle of older kids, some of which looked like they may have actually either lived in one of two well built tree forts really high, deep in the woods, or on the ‘lam” around somewhere while they built houses. As I approached, the circle tightened into huddle formation, and I noticed that the neighbor who had whacked me from behind with the only ball that wasn’t used in a recent neighborhood dodge ball game (the medicine ball), was standing in that circle with a big Bowie knife strapped to his leg. Was having my cool brand new shiny air rifle what made the group so receptive to my brother?

Our neighborhood was one big continuous construction site (which was common during the post WW2 time). I had heard that someone’s kid had a key, or knew how to get into the shed which had all of the dynamite for blasting out holes to build all the new houses, and even as young as I was, I knew how dangerous it was during the week when construction down there was so often in full swing. I remember hearing the very loud warning horns alerting the whole neighborhood when there were dynamite blasts, and no one believed that sort of thing would ever happen on a weekend. And, it never did. Well… almost never did…Until that day.

I inched my way nearer my big brother where they were all engaged in their “private” discussion of some sort, and I innocently asked my brother if I could play, too. My brother quickly answered by announcing, “Okay, if you want to play with us, you will have to go stand over there by that ditch, first”, while pointing toward a drop-off in the grass where there was a huge recently blasted out hole in the ground obviously for another foundation for a house to be built with a basement. He led me over to the brim of that large deep hole, and grabbed my ankles, and planted my feet less than a foot away from that ledge saying, “If you stay right here, and don’t move a muscle, then you can play with us, and you’ll even get a surprise”. I thought that would be great, especially because I was, indeed, really lucky to be getting all these cool surprise gifts lately, but I I couldn’t understand why he was so angry just because I was the one getting all of the latest coolest things from my dad’s friend, because I shared all my toys, and everything/anything I ever had with my brother, including my new air rifle. He simply walked away back toward that gang of guys.

I cautiously chose not to stay in that exact spot because it was too dangerously close to the edge. So, I moved a step away. (I had recently received a serious head injury the other time my brother grabbed my ankles, and told me to stay in the exact place in which he insisted on me staying). That time, it was in order for me to learn a golf “lesson” which he was “teaching” me. He immediately came back, and grabbed my ankles again, planting my feet where he wanted them again, and insisted that if I didn’t move from that spot, I’d get a big surprise, and then I could play in their games. I impulsively complied, but as he walked away, I took a step away again from the edge, and peeked through my fingers with my hands covering my eyes, just to be sure that I wasn’t going to be pushed down into that very deep ditch. Again, my brother came back because he saw that I had moved, and calmly reached down to casually plant my feet, while in a trusting brotherly like, convincing, way, explained all over again that all I had to do was to stay there standing still for a minute. How hard could that be?

He walked away, repeatedly promising out loud that no one was going to push me down into that ditch. (Since I couldn’t fathom that he’d have anything to do with making me fall that far down, I believed him). And, I stayed there thinking about all the nice surprises I had been receiving lately. I grew up being taught that one’s word meant everything. I stood there for a few more seconds, and then I heard him yell from quite a distance away, “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”(“Fire in the hole” would have been more appropriate!)

Just as I opened my eyes an explosion went off somewhere in the deep ditch below me. The blast shook me violently while I was standing less than a foot away from the edge of that large, deep, blasted out hole for the foundation of another neighborhood house, and it startled me so much that I couldn’t move, feel, or hear a thing. I was “shell-shocked”. While I stood there dumbfounded, it was obviously my brother who walked over, because I saw the end of the barrel of my air rifle appear right next to my ear. (My brother was showing everyone that I wasn’t flinching from him blowing it off in my ear!) I didn’t flinch because I couldn’t hear it, and when I turned around, I saw them all laughing their heads off silly at me.

Back then, there were much harder packed and more powerful “cherry bombs” and “M-80‘s” fireworks, whereas today, only the kinds that are a fraction of the power are available. There were also the much larger “apple bombs”. I learned about apple bombs on one of my longer solo bike rides well beyond Playland when I ventured clear into rural Westchester County, and stopped to talk with a kid who I saw playing near the road in the grass. There were several holes that he was jumping in and out of, and disappearing in. I rode my bike over through the grass in his huge side yard. The holes were the size of army “fox holes” and he had a couple of snow saucers over two of them. I sat in one of the two which you could block the sun out with, and/or hide under the snow saucers, and when I asked if he dug them out, he told me that all the holes were made by the blast of “apple bombs” which he said were just like “cherry bombs”, but the size of apples. Also, back then, the type of knives called a stiletto which had a blade which popped straight out, or the types of knives with a blade which “sliced” out sideways, both with just the touch of a button were pretty common.

I’ll probably never know what those big kids from my little neighborhood blew off in the deep ditch next to me that day. However, as a result, I still have permanent hearing loss in one ear, and ringing in both ears, which, back then, confused my teachers into thinking that I had a poor attention span. My ringing has plagued me into my adult life, and is still a constant bother. Despite that setback, I developed an ear for music playing mostly piano, and guitar, and learned how to play by ear entirely on my own (story on page one).

I was still standing there dumfounded, and gradually regained my sense of reality as I emerged from my state of shock. When I realized that I was only numb, and that I wasn’t actually seriously in pain hurting so much, I gave them all a stupefied look which made the seriousness of the situation look actually funnier, which made them laugh all the more. What was important to me, then, was that I was playing with the big kids. This made everybody seem to like me, and me being humorous about it turned a negative into a positive. The group quickly dispersed, and even my and my brother disappeared. I started walking toward home alone.

However, while I was walking home, this kid that I called “the ring leader”, snuck up from behind me and held his Bowie knife to my throat saying that he will cut me if I even “moved a muscle”. Just days earlier, while my best friend and I were playing “boat” on a large tree in the woods nearby behind where they were building all new houses, I saw where e, and these older boys were doing some things with, and to, some of the other smaller children in the neighborhood, and I knew that he had seen me looking through the trees to realize what he was doing. From where we were up high in a tree, he couldn’t get through to catch us, or he may have run after me right then. He likely did this to anyone he could catch. In any case, a day later when I was walking in the street past his house, he talked me in to going inside with him, and he showed me while In his room, his Bowie knife, He unsheathed his knife, sharpened it, and pointed it at me telling me that he keeps it just as sharp as a razor. I left fearing for my life. That was just the way things worked in our neighborhood.

Then, on my way home after everyone had dispersed, with my ears still ringing, I was walking past his house again on my way home, when he snuck up from behind me and, holding his big razor-sharp Bowie knife right to my throat threatened to cut me unless I held perfectly still, and didn’t move a muscle. Then, while I was scared senseless, and didn’t move, he dipped his knife into a thick brown paper lunch bag full of fresh dog-doo, and he smeared it up and down my bare legs until both of my legs were completely covered. He proudly proclaimed that it was “just like spreading icing on a cake”. The second that I could, while still petrified, I bolted, and ran up our street towards home, but he ran right after me chasing me up to the top. My house was locked, so I ran around, and up the hill in our back yard. He caught up to me half way up our backyard hill, and tackled me right in the spot I’m standing in this photo.

He pinned me to the ground, and held both of my arms under his knees. There he used that Bowie knife to make a cut in his OWN finger. He said that he was going make us “blood brothers”! He took my index finger and held it still, cut it with his razor sharp Bowie knife, and pressed our two bleeding fingers together. As he did this, he said that we were officially blood brothers, and he explained that it meant that I could never snitch, or I would DIE… which I interpreted as, I could never say anything about the things that I saw him doing in the woods, or ever say a word about it – or I would die. And, it worked! I never said a word about what I saw going on with him and his friends in the woods, nor did I ever even get a chance to say anything about what else happened to me in our neighborhood, country club, or school.

He was the one in the top left of the group photo of some of our neighborhood kids (photo taken in our back yard). In the photo, I’m showing a recent bloody lower lip injury. Maybe because I was the smallest, I needed to try to show that I was tough, and fearless. I really wasn’t, but I survived.

My brother had some tough things happen to him in and around our house during our 8 years growing up there, too. Like, by the time that the tree right outside my bedroom window in the photo below had grown full, for some reason while he was outside on his own, he tried shimmying up that tree when it housed a beehive that he thought was just a part of the tree.

When he grabbed onto the huge hanging beehive, he pulled it off, and fell landing right on top of it! I only knew about it after he ran inside screaming, and after our mother helped him get all of his clothes off except his socks and sneakers, he was still being stung because there were even bees inside both his sneakers, and his socks.