Kids of New York

Family, Street Culture, and Violence

Anthony Colon

Copyright © 2023 Anthony Colon

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-88793-721-2 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-88793-730-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 (1981–84)

Chapter 3 (1985–91)

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Introduction

I wrote this book out of dire necessity. A story that needed to be told of a young boy who grew up in the perils of the ghetto. Thrust into a life of poverty and despair. A very young child who lived day-to-day without a glimpse of where he would end up. Like many other young kids who've grown up in very rough patches as well, I, that same boy, dedicate this book to all of you. There are countless stories in the ghettos of America, which sadly include many tragedies but also many victories as well. From the darkness, one can see the light. From the many pitfalls that one may endure, one must stand up, dust oneself off, and keep moving forward. For life is the struggle, the strife, and the true understanding of oneself.

I'm not a prolific writer, scholar, or Pulitzer-prized author. As a matter of fact, this is my first attempt at writing a book—my memoir so to speak. I'm just someone who was there at the wrong place at the wrong time. I've witnessed some atrocities that no child should ever bear witness to, or any adult for that matter. I grew up in New York City in the 1970s and 1980s, throughout the most devastating and rampant years of drug abuse in the Big Apple.

Unfortunately, drugs were plentiful on the city streets. Drugs could basically be purchased openly on any street corner. Illegal drugs like heroin, cocaine, marijuana, angel dust, LSD, and sadly, the shadow of death itself, crack, were plenty available. Crack took its hold on the city and surrounding suburban communities. It was a drug like no other the world had seen before. Crackheads ravaged the city with crime. If you felt the city was bad before, it got much worse during the crack years. Murders skyrocketed. NYC became the murder capital of the good ole USA.

Like most normal kids, I played outside, watched Saturday morning cartoons, and was raised in a very religious household with ethics, morals, and respectful family values. Somewhere along the line, something went wrong, very wrong! This is my story—just one of the millions of stories in the naked city.

South Bronx…ruins

New York Post, daily news clips

Chapter 1

1. Early Years in the South Bronx

I was born in Jacobi Hospital in the South Bronx on May 12,1970. The neighborhood was a valley of death, misery, and misfortune. Drugs, gangs, crime, and despair were present in everyday life. The South Bronx was the mecca of human deprivation in America. This was my birthplace. My father and mother both migrated from Puerto Rico. They met in the city and began a romance that produced the author of this narrative. They were young and in love. Poor and lacking in a formal education, they struggled to make ends meet. Most people living in this neighborhood were going through the same hardships. My parents broke up when I was very young. My father had some issues to resolve. He had a drinking problem. My father died soon after at the tender age of eighteen.

Later on, Mom met and married my stepfather, Antonio. He raised me as one of his own with his firstborn son, Edward. We were raised as brothers in a tight-knit family. To this day, I love them both dearly. We moved to Springfield, Massachusetts, seeking a better quality of life, and it was, well at least for a while.

Oftentimes, I was sent to stay with my grandmother in the Bronx. The years were 1973–1976. My grandmother lived on Westchester Avenue. She lived in a basement apartment. It was dark, dingy, with rodents, and roach infested. Most buildings in the South Bronx at that time were run down by slumlords. Nevertheless, I really enjoyed playing in the lobby and yard of the building. I constantly watched the loud airplanes fly overhead and made buzzing sounds with my mouth as they passed by. I also made train sounds as well after riding the subway, which I called the Le Le.

Grandma often bought me acappurias. Acappurias were a Puerto Rican delicacy made of plantains filled with meat. They were absolutely delicious. She also bought me limbes. Limbes are multiflavored ices such as guayaba, coconut, pineapple, etc. We also drank piraguas, which were slushy drinks. I loved spending time with Grandma. She was awesome. We walked through the Hunts Point area, going in and out of mom-and-pop stores. We went grocery shopping at the local supermarket. Occasionally, we'd get slices and a soda at the local pizzeria. A slice was only fifty cents. Grandma loved pizza. Sadly, she ate pizza the night she passed away.

One afternoon, Grandma and I took a subway ride into Brooklyn to visit my aunt Juanita. We boarded the 2 Train at Freeman Avenue station in the Bronx and then transferred to the J train at the Delancey Street station in Manhattan. We rode over the Williamsburg Bridge into Brooklyn. I gazed at all the buildings as we crossed the mighty East River. I distinctly remember the Ortiz funeral sign as we came off the bridge into the borough of Brooklyn. We exited the train at the Flushing Avenue stop a few minutes later. We then proceeded to walk to the housing projects on Humboldt Avenue. My aunt and her kids lived there. I played outside with my cousins Michelle, Raymond, and Debbie until nightfall. We played double Dutch, jacks, hopscotch, and a variety of other street games. After dinner, we watched the Wizard of Oz on TV. It was my first time seeing this movie. I was truly mesmerized and captivated by the film. A true Hollywood classic.

During the day, back in the Bronx, I watched cartoons such as Mr. Magoo, Abbott and Costello, The Flintstones, The Fantastic Four, Spiderman, etc. Grandma made me farina. It was a spanish-flavored oatmeal. She also made arroz con leche, which was milk with rice, and an herbal drink called mavi. I loved this special time with Grandma. Grandma was very religious and prayed while wearing a headpiece. She always had her Bible by her bedside. She was very affectionate and loving, but at times when I was very rowdy and naughty, she would punish me. She would crack me with her thick sandals or had me kneel on rice and pray to God for forgiveness. Incate, she said, which meant kneel and pray. In the afternoons, I went outside and played with cap guns, army men, big wheels, go-karts, cap rockets, parachute men, wooden airplanes, and Tonka trucks.

I stayed up late at night and watched TV. I watched Chiller and Fright Night. My uncle Paul, a.k.a. Indio, also lived with Grandma. My uncle Paul had many trophies for boxing and track. He also had some strange items around the house, including a stuffed leopard head with gleaming eyes and protruding fangs, which he kept on a bookshelf. Every time I watched scary movies, I would glance over my shoulder and see this hideous creature staring back at me. It was frightening. Also at night, during the witching hour, the critters came out to play. Remember, this was the South Bronx in the 1970s. Buildings were in disrepair and decaying due to the slumlords who didn't give a damn about their tenants. It was a very scary time for me. The bugs and vermin played at night—yup, giant roaches, water bugs, centipedes, millipedes, and other scary critters. The mice also joined the party.

Man! I was always ready with a broom or sandals. I was mortified. When I turned on the kitchen light, the roaches scattered. There were thousands. They were on the floor, walls, and cupboards. I was appalled and disgusted. Grandma had Roach Motels everywhere, but they didn't work too well. She also used chinese chalk, which never worked. The roaches' antennae stuck up like radar while scavenging for food. Those nasty, disgusting little runts. Yuck, I couldn't stand them. The bathroom was even worse. It was the valley of death. That was where the water bugs hung out. I turned on the hot water and tried to kill as many as possible. Taking a shower was a nightmare. Eventually, even though the heat was unbearable in the summer nights of the 1970s, I'd get sleepy and crash. I always fell asleep on Grandma's bed. She always kept her dentures in a drinking glass on the nightstand alongside her Coke bottle glasses. I always drifted off to the sound of the box fan in the window and the sound of the voices permeating from the streets. Yup!

2. The Big Move to Springfield, 1973

My earliest childhood recollection was moving to Springfield, Massachusetts, on a cold Christmas night in 1973. I fondly remember the Christmas lights glittering in the windows of all the houses we drove past on our journey to our new home. I was three years old, a very young child, but those images are forever etched in my memory.

We moved to a building on Main Street in the downtown area of Springfield. We lived on the third floor. My mom bathed me in the sink. I loved that. Mom played games with me and fed me. She tickled me and hugged me constantly. She was a very loving and caring mother. Dad and Edward lived with us as well. We were together for the first time as a family. However, Grandma and my uncle Paul still lived in New York. From time to time, I spent time with them back in the Bronx.

The Springfield years were very important in shaping my early thinking and behavior. It was the opposite of the Bronx, which was very crowded, loud, and crime-ridden. There was no hustle and bustle in a small town like Springfield. It was a slow and methodical place. The schools were very good, and teachers really helped and guided students. Nature was very prevalent in a small town like Springfield. It had lots of houses, trees, gardens, and lakes. The people were down-to-earth and were very plain and simple. Yet Springfield was a migrating point for many Puerto Ricans moving north from New York City.

We left the South Bronx because our building was condemned, and besides that, Mom wanted a better and more prosperous life for her family. Unfortunately, this was not going to be the case. Nope.

3. Bruce Lee's Death, 1973

Bruce Lee died on July 20, 1973. I was too young to remember the day that Bruce Lee passed away, but I recall hearing all types of fascinating stories about his death throughout the 1970s, like the time he fought a hundred men and beat them all but fell to the old master's death touch or how he was poisoned by the Chinese mafia or how he trained so much and so hard that it caused him to have a brain tumor. The tales were endless. But one thing was certain: Bruce Lee made his mark on the world and transformed the lives of millions around the globe. People from all walks of life started learning martial arts due to his undeniable talent and inspiration. Bruce Lee, the master. Yup.

4. Julissa and Maribel, 1974

Shortly after arriving to Springfield, my dad decided to bring his two daughters from another relationship into our home. (At that time, it was only Mom, Dad, Edward, and me.) Dad felt guilty that they were so far away. They both lived in Stamford, Connecticut. He tried his best to be a good father. My two stepsisters' names were Julissa, a.k.a. Ichy, and Maribel. We were the Puerto Rican version of the Brady Bunch.

In the beginning, everything was great. I was very happy to have sisters and, of course, a brother. We all played together, watched TV together, ate dinner together, had family outings together. Heck, we did everything together. Mom took a beautiful family picture of the four of us siblings. I still have a copy of this picture till this day.

I loved my new family, but Mom was feeling overworked and overwhelmed. She was young and inexperienced. She wasn't used to taking care of four very young and needy children. It was wreaking havoc on her nerves. Also, the fact that my siblings were from my dad's previous marriage, Mom really cared and loved them, but she was very jealous of my dad. She was finding it very hard to control her emotions. Many arguments erupted between because of the situation.

Dad made the difficult decision to have his daughters return and stay with his aunt and uncle in Stamford, Connecticut. Permanently. I didn't understand why they were gone. I was very upset. Where are my sisters? I cried. We traveled across state lines ever so often to visit them, but I always felt a sense of deep sadness every time we came back home without them. Eventually, they moved to Puerto Rico. My sisters were gone forever, but I still had something to look forward to though: my brother Edward. Yup!

5. Street Fight Mom, 1974

My earliest memory of my parents involved a street altercation would go as far back as 1974. We lived in a housing community back then. My parents were very much in love, but there was one major problem: Mom was extremely jealous. Not good. Not good at all. My parents had some friends over for dinner one night. One of the friends, a young female, made a pass at my dad. Mom found out. The shit hit the fan.

One afternoon, shortly after the incident, Edward and I were playing outside in the backyard. The female who precariously made a pass at my dad had the audacity to pass by our house and whisper some derogatory comments under her breath. She wore one of those head wraps like Anita from the West Side Story. Mom was livid and asked Edward, What did she say? My brother replied, "Mom, she called you a cabrona!" This was a major insult for Puerto Ricans. It implied that your spouse or lover was sleeping around behind your back. It also signified that you had horns and that your so-called loving partner was deceptive and sticking it to you.

I'll never forget what happened next. Mom flew into a rage. She quickly threw Vaseline on her face and then tied her hair up in a knot, tightened her jeans, and set off to meet Mrs. Flirtatious. Mom followed the woman into the laundry room. My brother and I waited in the backyard for a few minutes. Dad was in the house, totally unaware of what was happening. Suddenly, the young lady stormed out of the laundry room with a large gaping wide hole in her head. Blood was gushing out. She was bleeding profusely from her wound as she screamed at the top of her lungs. The lady ran off with my mother in hot pursuit. Mom returned to the yard a few seconds later with blood all over her hands. Mom, in all her rage, had slammed the woman's head into the corner of a washing machine. I started crying, and my brother freaked out.

The lady came back with a knife to confront Mom. By that time, Mom was talking to Dad. As the young lady approached with a knife in her hand, Mom, in self-defense, picked up one of those green caterpillar buggy toys to use as a weapon. Mom swung the toy at the lady as she lunged with the knife. Dad quickly intervened and calmed both women down.

Soon after, the woman's husband came over to our house and spoke with Dad. They spoke for a while, very calmly and gentlemanly you might say. The opposite of the women. They both shook hands at the end of the conversation, and the woman's husband left. Later that evening, there was a loud thunderstorm. The rain was pouring like cats and dogs. We heard a loud thump at the door. My dad looked through the peephole. My brother and I peeked through the window. It was the fuzz, better known as the police. To my dismay, Dad pulled out his .45 caliber handgun and yelled at us to go upstairs. He didn't have to tell us twice. No sirree! We both scattered like bats out of hell and dived under our beds like a scene out of Scooby Doo. We took a quick glance outside from the upstairs window and saw cops everywhere with their guns drawn. Holy moly! I thought. The thunderstorms were very violent and nerve-racking. It was the perfect setting for the drama that was unfolding before us.

Moments later, we came down, and the police were inside. My mom was giving a statement and showing off some of her battle scars from the fight. My dad was also talking with the police. Things had calmed down. Where's Dad's gun? I wondered. He must have hidden it. Anyway, everything turned out well. Thank goodness! Yup.

6. The First Fire, 1975

In 1975, our family moved to a small four-floor building in a rundown area of town. My parents held down good jobs but still didn't make enough money to buy a house, so they had to make do with the earnings they made at the time. It was a high-crime area with many thefts and burglaries. There were two abandoned lots on the premises, one on each side of the building.

My brother Edward and I played daily in these lots, which were filled with worn-out rubber car tires, cardboard boxes, stinky mattresses, abandoned cars, run-down furniture, and broken-down appliances including old refrigerators. The old fridges had doors with latches on the outside. These old refrigerators were a death trap. If you went inside the fridge and the door latch locked behind you, you eventually suffocated. There were many cases in the 1970s of kids turning up dead several days later inside the old appliances. We played inside these death chambers several times but were fortunate enough to come out unscathed. Luckily for us.

During these early years, my dad bought an old projector camera for family fun and entertainment. The type with the reel-to-reel tapes. He played old films on it. I loved when he played cartoons. My favorite was Woody Woodpecker. The camera was supercool. Our family had many good times with it. My brother and I loved playing with our toys. We had race car tracks (Tyco), army men, cowboys and Indians, Batman and Robin action figures, plastic machine guns (SWAT), slingshots, bow and arrows, Evel Knievel plastic motorcycles, Star Trek action figures (Captain Kirk and Spock), Godzilla figures, Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars, boardgames, etc.

We got along really well, but at times, he didn't feel like playing, so I learned to improvise and played alone. Ha ha, with my imaginary friend. I had a very creative and vivid imagination. My brother, Edwin, was three years older than me. He really enjoyed watching TV shows like The Munsters, The Addams Family, The Six Million Dollar Man, The Incredible Hulk, Get Smart, The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, Starsky & Hutch, Baretta, etc.

The apartment we lived in was freezing in the winter. It was run-down. We tried staying warm by using electrical space heaters. They were cheap, flimsy, and poorly made—a safety hazard and definitely a fire risk. You had to be very careful when using them, making sure they were not too close to the beds, so that in turn, the blankets wouldn't ignite. We also used the gas stove as a heater. These methods of heating up the home were very dangerous. One night in the dead of winter as we all were sleeping, a large commotion woke us up.

People in the building were yelling out loud. I could hear glass shattering. It was very dark. We tried flipping on the light switch, but nothing happened. The lights had gone out. What the hell is going on! I thought in a panic. Then all of a sudden, you could feel the heat and smell the smoke in the apartment. My dad yelled, "Everybody out! Fuego, fuego, fuego, fire!" The fire alarm was not working, so we had to make our way through the dark hallways.

I saw a flicker of light. The lights are back on! I shouted. As I looked up, I saw the flames shoot down the stairs from the fourth floor. The sensation of heat was tremendous. The odor of burning wood, furniture, and everything else under the sun was quite frightening. I heard the sound of crackling flames and electrical wires shooting sparks, which was very terrifying. In a rush, we hurriedly tried making our way out of the burning building. We ran for our lives as fast as we could.

As we exited the tenements, we did our best to avoid the debris that was raining down over our heads. We didn't have coats, clothes, or shoes on. We were all in pajamas. The street was full of people and fire trucks. All the families watched in shock as their building burned down. Ambulances attended to the injured. The Red Cross was present as well and helped the homeless families with clothing and shelter. It was freezing cold outside, and warm blankets were given out to all the victims of the fire. Watching our home go down in a ball of fire was heartbreaking. Yup.

7. Bruce Lee Bully, 1975

My first encounter with a bully was in 1975. The bully's name was George. We used to ride the yellow school bus together. Bruce Lee fever was rampant back then. The Green Hornet show played constantly on television. Bruce Lee's movies—Enter the Dragon, Chinese Connection, The Big Boss, and Return of the Dragon—played in the theaters. Bruce Lee's movies lit everyone's fire.