HOW’S YA HOUSE?

Quote of the Day

“Your work towards a realistic goal cannot be a ‘sometime thing’ you have to make it an ‘all the time thing’.” -Joe DeLamielleure

I was born on June 7th 1964.

The first place I lived was 665 10th street.

We lived there for 5 years.

I don’t remember much except for a very pretty girl that lived down the block towards 8th avenue. Let me clear that up, years later I saw her on 7th avenue and she was unbelievable!

In the Fall of 1969 we moved to Windsor Place and 9th avenue, on top of Bob’s Hardware Store. We moved from a 3 family home to an apartment.  I lived there for the next 25 years of my life.

I’ll admit, I was jealous of my buddies who lived on streets like Howard Place, Windsor Place, Sherman Street and even down on Seeley Street.

Shoot, I was jealous of my cousins that lived at 29 Fuller Place.

When I’d go over their cribs I’d stand in awe of how they had a backyard, a driveway, a stoop and of course a basement.

I lived on the third floor in a railroad, 3 bedroom apartment.

You’d have to walk around a bunch of plastic garbage cans in front of the doorway that Morty Hyman had on display.

Once past the cans I would walk through 2 unlocked doors. Yes, I said unlocked.

Making my way up 2 flights of stairs was always a burden, especially if I was carrying groceries for mom. It really sucked when she would call up to me from the street with a load of laundry that she had just done across the street.

Schlepping the laundry bag up the stairs sucked too.

Inside our apartment we had one small bathroom, a small living room, a small kitchen and 3 small bedrooms.

It wasn’t the dumps, we got by and as a kid, I never really thought about how much it sucked sharing a bedroom with my brother.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention our firescape where we spent many hot nights chillin out listening to the radio.

I’m asking you today, not including your home where you grew up, if you could live anywhere in the neighborhood, where would it be?

My choice of living would be on Prospect Park Southwest between the circle and 10th avenue. My boy Edmund Gallahue lived in one of those sweet spots.

So let’s hear it, tell us where you’d love to live if you could afford any spot in the neighborhood. A street? A certain house? Maybe you’d like one of those apartments on the avenue?

Respectfully,

Steve

Hoops135@hotmail.com

BUTTERFLIES ARE FREE TO FLY…

Last night I was talking to a wonderful friend.

I haven’t known this person for very long but I see them often.

We chat for a few minutes almost on a daily basis; last night our conversation was close to 20 minutes.

The subject?

Her younger brother.

The correlation…he is a spitting image of yours truly.

What do you mean, you ask…?

Let’s just say at a very early age, the guy quit his basketball team.

Seems like at an early age this young man had a hard time committing to things.

He went through his teens and 20′s not fulfilling his obligations.

I looked at my friend and said, “Holy shit, that sounds like the old me…”

But…there’s hope for him.

It takes some people a little longer for that light to come on.

We all fuck up in life, no one is squeaky clean.

We all make poor choices one time or another.

Whether it was love, sports, or even family, I made some bad choices as a teenager.

I quit the Holy Name basketball team a few times (thanks to Danny Pisselli for accepting me back with open arms). I quit the varsity team at John Jay. And of course I quit high school at 16.

The first love of my life, Maureen Horan was the greatest thing that ever happened to me at 15. I fucked that up too by not trying to make it work; I kept walking away when things got tough. I couldn’t commit.

Ironworking was the same way, if I didn’t like a boss or a co-worker, I quit the job. My Grandfather and Uncle Tim made me pay big time by sitting in the shape-up hall at Local 40 for months.

“Never quit a job” was the secret code of being an ironworker. Matter of fact, that’s a law in life that no one should break.

It wasn’t until my early 30′s when that behavior changed.

Now I’m proud to say I finish things, commit to my word and never, ever quit on anything.

I pass along this valuable life lesson too.

Just recently my daughter played on a Lacrosse team, she wasn’t very happy with it and wanted to quit mid way through the season. There was no way my wife and I were letting her walk away until the season was complete.

It’s a lesson she learned and will thank us later on in life.

Don’t quit, stick with things…it’ll all work out!

Respectfully,

Steve

Hoops135@hotmail.com

GO BIG BLUE

Congratulations to the New York Giants for their road playoff win yesterday over the Green Bay Packers. It’s the second time in 4 years the Giants have won in Lambeau during the post-season.

In our neighborhood we had both Jets and Giants fans. I think Patty Byrnes was a Dallas Cowboys fan and I do believe there were a few Green Bay Packers scattered around the area. As a kid, I never really had a favorite NFL team like most kids. But how could you not enjoy watching the Giants every Sunday?

When I think of the Giants football team guys like Lawrence Taylor, Bill Parcells, Phil Simms and Joe Farrell all come to mind.

What! You don’t know Joe Farrell?

Joe was better known as ‘Fonz’,  a huge Giants fan from the neighborhood.

He was also my basketball and baseball coach when I was in the 6th grade.

I will always recall him talking about the G-Men with anyone that would listen.

There was also a group of guys from Farrell’s that were big Giants fans; they had a bunch of regulars that would go to the games both home and away.

Congratulations to the Giants and all their fans from the neighborhood.

Good luck in San Francisco next week against the 49ers.

Respectfully,

Steve

Hoops135@hotmail.com

HITCHIN’ A RIDE

Do people still hitchhike?

How about picking up hitchhikers on the side of the road?

When I was a kid, I’d hitchhike while I was visiting my cousins up in Greenwood Lake.

My cousin Lenny and I would want to head into town during the day. No one in the house would give us a lift.

We’d walk about a mile to the main road, begin the process by walking backwards then stick out the thumb.

At times it would seem like many cars and trucks would just pass us by.  Some would beep at us. Every now and then someone would feel sorry for us and pick us up.

We were so close to the road it was amazing that I never got hit by a speeding vehicle.

Here’s a cool song from back in the day…

BROOKLYN’S IN DA HOUSE

Thanks to my main man Frank Lakat for this video clip.

CHILDHOOD LIVING

My daughter is 13 and in the 7th grade. The social life at the middle school is beginning to heat up.

The thought of this inevitable experience brought me back to 1977.

I was in the 6th grade the first time I kissed a girl…12 years old!

7 Minutes in Heaven was a popular game we played. In a nutshell, you paired off with a person of the opposite sex, took it to an exclusive area where no one else could see you and you kissed for 7 minutes. Actually, making out was more like it.

The first time I played I was paired up with a gorgeous girl who was 13.

Things happened so fast.

It was Friday night, around 9:30. On weekends you stayed out a little later than normal.

One minute a bunch of us were standing on the corner of Fuller Place and Windsor Place just bullshitting; next thing I knew I was sitting face to face with a pretty girl down the concrete basement stairs at 15 Fuller Place.

I don’t even know how we paired off?

Out of nowhere, I heard a voice shout out, “GO!”

Go?

Go where?

I was scared shit.

Without a heads up or warning she put her arms around my skinny neck and pulled me close.

No one had ever pulled me like that. Her scent was intoxicating. The only perfume I had ever whiffed was my mom’s. I’d only been this close with a girl when my sister and I would play King of the Mountain on our bunk bed.

I wondered if this grammar school beauty did the same with the other boys?

She was clearly the aggressor, I was timid.

With her lips pressed against mine next thing I know she’s slipping her tongue in my mouth.

It felt weird.

What was supposed to be 7 minutes felt like 7 hours.

The rest of the night I was on cloud 9.

A week later we played the kissing game again. This time the 13 year-old beauty was paired up with another boy. After each 7 minute segment I would hope I’d get another chance with her, but this one night it wasn’t happening. I was beginning to think she wanted no part of me.

Was I a bad kisser?

Did she complain about me to the other girls?

At 12 years-old, on a scale of 1-10 my self-esteem was a minus-3.

All the boys in the neighborhood liked this particular girl; it was the first year Holy Name had gone co-ed but she wasn’t in my class, she was in the other 6^th grade class.  I would see her at recess in the schoolyard standing around with her friends. I’d also see her at lunchtime and in the morning when we lined up to go inside school. One day she was in the schoolyard watching us play basketball. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

She was a major distraction.

After we finished playing ball in the yard and it was time to go home for dinner a friend told me she liked me and wanted to kiss me again.

My palms became clammy and I had a knot in my stomach all day.

“Really?” I asked back in a shy manner.

Why would she want to kiss me I thought to myself?

A few nights later we were standing around bullshitting when someone yelled out, “Let’s play seven minutes.”

I was like, “Damn!”

Here was my chance to kiss her again. There was no website on ‘How to Kiss a Girl’. No one at home to tell me how to kiss. It was all ‘trail by error’.

We went to a different spot this time; sitting on the curb in-between two parked cars on Fuller Place. I had blue jeans, she wore white pants.  I picked up a popsicle stick and tossed it into the street. I noticed she moved forward and pressed her lips against mine.

She didn’t waste anytime.

I kept my eyes open and stared at her while her eyes were closed and her tongue was trying to jar my lips open.  I opened my mouth and we ran our tongues all around each other’s mouth.

She was an incredible kisser.

My knees were weak.

Sure enough she took her arms and placed them around my neck and pulled me close once again.

I felt so good with her.  I didn’t want the seven minutes to end.

By the way, who was keeping time when we played?

After we broke our kiss she smiled at me and said, “You’re a good kisser.”

I looked down to the ground and blushed.  She lifted my chin and laughed.  “Nothing to be ashamed of, just tellin’ the truth.”

I walked home later that night thinking to myself  “I’m a good kisser.”

At around Midnight, while in bed staring up at the ceiling I couldn’t sleep. I kept repeating her words.

“What did you say?” my mom asked ass he walked past my bed.

“Nothing,” I answered.

Respectfully,

Steve

Hoops135@hotmail.com

DESIRE AND DETERMINATION

The one unbreakable staple of our neighborhood was the outstanding people; always there for each other.

As kids, we didn’t realize how much help was available to us (at least I didn’t know).

Whether it was a coach at Holy Name, a teacher, a friend, a store owner up on the Avenue or even a neighbor; if you looked hard enough, there was help. Speaking of help, did they have ‘Self-Help’ books back in the day?

Matter of fact, sometimes I don’t think we fully realize how much we can help others. If only I knew back then, what I know now. Mamma mia!

I recently came across something on Facebook that inspired me to step up to the plate.

Often times you hear about a local fundraiser or someone putting on an event for some sort of inspiring situation.

With the many readers of the blog, I felt like I could raise awareness on an all-important cause and let people know about a special,upcoming event.

6th Annual Fundraiser

Valentine’s Day Dinner/Dance

For Briann’s Angels

All proceeds to: Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF)

Please join Karen Burke-Abruzzese and Friends for a night of dinner, drinks and dancing. Listen to the sounds of DJ Joey Pira.

Saturday, February 11,2012

Sheperd’s Hall at Holy Name Church

245 Prospect Park West

7:00 PM to Midnight.

$60.00 donation for admission per person.

Contact Karen at: kabruzzese@nyc.rr.com

You can also stop in Farrell’s to see Hooley or Rhythm and Booze on 10th avenue and Prospect avenue to see Jamie.

RSVP by January 30.

Click here for the JDRF Website. 

In speaking with Karen, she told me that the night always turns into a neighborhood reunion.

So come on out and have a good time with friends from the neighborhood but most important, you’re helping a great cause.

If you can’t make it out to the event, help us spread the word…because if you’re from the neighborhood, it’s what we do!

Respectfully,

Steve

Hoops135@hotmail.com

EXTRA-EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT

Besides drinking coffee in the morning, I love reading the newspaper.

Been doing it since I was about 10 years old (not the coffee part, started that in my late teens)

Whether it was the New York Post, New York Daily News, Newsday or the New York Times, I bought it, read it and learned from it.

Rae and Otto’s was usually the place I bought my paper.

Not only did I enjoy reading the paper I also worked at a newstand and once delivered newspapers for both the News and Post. The job for the News sucked, we had to wake up way too early. As for the Post, it was an afternoon addition so I’d deliver  it around 4PM.

Speaking of newsstands, it is so easy to pick up a paper in the city; newsstands are like Starbucks, they’re everywhere. One time I was running late to work in the city. I didn’t have time to grab a paper at Rae’s. With my destination being forty-doo-op and 6th, I hopped off the Manhattan-bound ‘F’ train at Jay Street-Boro Hall as it waited for the ‘A’ to pull in the station across the platform. With enough time,  I quickly got up from my seat and hit the newsstand on the middle of the platform and grabbed my Post.

Worked out great, had exact change too. Made it back on the ‘F’ before the doors closed.

“Watch the closing doors please…ding-dong“

Remember the newsstand in the train station at 4th avenue and 9th street? If you switched up for the ‘R’ train, you could always grab a paper from there. But I know, I know, you’re thinking, ’Red, the newsstand at 4th avenue was outside the turnstile, if you exited, you had to pay your fare again’.

Not so fast my friend.

I’d knock on the window of the token booth to ask the guy if I could get a paper, he or she was always cool with it.

At one point in my life it was a dream of mine to own a newsstand; especially after working at one in Penn Station for a couple of years back in the early 90′s. Free papers, magazines and candy.

When I read a newspaper I always flip it over  to the Sports section and make my way to the front.

Every story in the sports section is dissected like an Ironworker looking over a blueprint.

On a Monday morning last Spring while reading the Post in a coffee shop on Park Avenue I counted 10 different stories on the Red Sox-Yankees game that was played the previous day.

Over the years I have read outstanding writers like Peter Vecsey, Harvey Araton, Phil Pepe, Dick Young, Bill Travers, Jimmy Breslin, the Hamill brothers and Jim Dwyer. These guys were some of my favorite scribes and have become huge inspirations for this rookie writer.

I can’t forget about the Sporting News; another one of my favorite papers. Every sport covered on a weekly basis.

My love for writing comes from my addiction to newspapers. I was never a big book reader growing up but that all changed in my 20′s.

It saddens me to hear about so many newspaper people losing their jobs due to the Internet becoming the major source for information. In Michigan, the newspapers seem to be getting thinner and thinner each day.

I also enjoy visiting different cities around the country and picking up their newspapers; always a ton of info to absorb.

In a time where the Internet has been the major source for news, reading a newspaper on on-line does the trick for me but there will never be anything like holding the actual newspaper in my hands despite getting a ton of ink on my fingers.

Respectfully,

Steve

Hoops135@hotmail.com

NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS

I know, I know, every year at this time the same old crap.

First off, Happy New Year to all.

2011 is in the rearview mirror and it’s time to move forward into 2012.

How often do you hear people talk about their New Year’s resolutions?

So I figured, ‘why not’?

Well here it is, my resolutions for 2012:

1-Be a better husband.

2-Be a better father.

3-Be a better coach.

4-Write much more than last year and finish my 2 book projects.

5-Exercise more.

6-Read more books.

7-Eat healthy.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Respectfully,

Steve

Hoops135@hotmail.com

AT THE SPEED OF SOUND

Do you remember back in the day listening to music when hanging out with friends?

Music was a big part of my life growing up in the 70′s and 80′s.

Despite having a low self-esteem, whenever my favorite songs came on the radio, I felt a whole lot better.

Music powerfully influenced the emotions in my body. I’d play the air guitar or think I was Charlie Watts with the sticks.

Whether it was on the street corner, in the schoolyard, in Laura Cox’s apartment, Prospect Park, or better yet, with the one you loved; the sounds put us in a good mood.

My man Donato Barrucco of 16th street between 8th and 9th avenues was the first guy from my group of friends to own a ‘boom box’.

Donato had a job at United Meat Market delivering meats. He was promoted to working behind the counter where he sliced baloney. (How come when you walked in the butcher there was always saw dust on the floor?)

We listened to everything from rock-n-roll to disco. Most of my buddies were into rock bands like The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, The Who and of course The Beatles.

I remember one night Donato didn’t have any ‘D’ batteries so we plugged his box into the street lamp-post courtesy of Con Edison of course.

Whenever your favorite song came on the radio or cassette, you asked Donato if you could hold the radio.

When ‘Brown Sugar’ by the Stones came on, John Cain and I went nuts. Cain was Jagger, I was Keith Richard. Know matter how many times I heard that song, I could never understand what Mick was saying; especially the beginning.

But there was nothing like sitting on the couch with that special person in your life at the time and listening to music.

One of my favorites from back in the day by Paul McCartney and Wings.

Respectfully,

Steve

Hoops135@hotmail.com