Park Bench Photo

Image | Posted on by | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments


Today is September 11, 2016.

The first thing that comes to mind is the awful tragedy 15 years ago.

It’s a day this country will never forget.

Captain Vincent Brunton of Truck Company Ladder 105, one of the best from our neighborhood died that day. He was a firefighter. “Vinny” as we all knew him, was on the job in the World Trade Center doing his job…saving people.

Vinny attended Holy Name grammar school and Bishop Ford High School. Was an excellent athlete too. I recall watching him run point guard in the schoolyard during the summer league; and loved his passion playing football for Farrell’s down at Farragut Road.

Denis Hamill, our guy from the neighborhood wrote this piece for the Daily News in 2001.

Three Brunton brothers from Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn – Tommy, 44, Michael 43, Vinny, 42 – among the very best this city ever makes, all converged that morning to the very worst horror the city had ever seen. By midafternoon, Tommy Brunton bumped into his brother Michael and they would learn Vinny was missing. Tommy knelt in the Ground Zero ash and wept.

One more; Came across another story – check it out.

“I could go into his office at 11:30 p.m. and ask him a fire question and he would lean back in his chair and tell me countless stories,” the letter from the firefighter, Will Hickey, said. “He would say the best way to learn is from your mistakes. ‘If you’re not making mistakes, you are not trying.’ “

Keep Vinny’s family in your thoughts today.


Posted in 9-11, Blog, Denis Hamill, Vincent Brunton | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments


Took this off Facebook. A friend posted:

So suicide is the number one silent killer of good people!

So if it’s a killer, it should be a big concern.

But it’s not!

September is Suicide Prevention month.

May I ask my family and friends wherever you might be, to kindly copy and paste this status for one hour to give a moment of support to all of those who have family problems, health struggles, job issues, worries of any kind and just needs to know that someone cares?

Do it for all of us, for nobody is immune. I hope to see this on the walls of all my family and friends just for moral support. I know some will!!! I did it for a friend and you can too.

Suicide is no joke. I don’t know why we keep it a secret? Last year at our high school we had two young ladies take their lives. What a tragedy. It happened just one month apart. A freshman and a senior. I know people who have had a family member take their life. You probably do too. We need to come together and help each other. I don’t even know where to start. Oh wait, here’s a good place to start; let’s start being nice to each other. And most of all, reach out to someone. Call a friend. E-mail, or even send them a text message.

You never know who you can help…


Posted in Container Diaries, Suicide, Windsor Terrace | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment




Posted in Blog | 11 Comments



Image | Posted on by | Tagged , , | Leave a comment


As a kid I loved Friday night.

When I was 15, I had a blast. Hard to choose; Friday or Saturday as my favorite day of the week?


Slept in.

Went to the schoolyard to play ball.

Ate pizza.

Played some more ball.

Afterwards we hung out on the corner of Windsor and Ninth watching all the people go by. We broke balls. You learned to take it. We broke more balls.

Went home for dinner. Fishcakes and beans.

Showered and went over to Prospect Park. It’s the place we met up. You just knew to go there. If you grew up in the neighborhood, as a teen, it’s where you hung out. Each generation. Parkside. Circle. In the park. The benches. Pick a spot. We spent time there.

At around seven o’clock picked up some booze. Walked back to the park. Always in a brown paper bag, trying to hide it. Little did we know, everyone knew what we had under our arms. LOL

Head over to the bleachers, take a seat and we’re off.

Drink and bullshit. Bullshit and drink.

Music on the radio, come on baby.

There must have been 20 of us. Sometimes more, sometimes less.

You were always welcomed if you were an outsider. If you came from another parish. If you came in peace.

Friends hanging out. Having fun. Not a care in the world. Teacher, leave them kids alone.

No idea what was ahead.

No clue as to what I wanted to do.

Oh wait, I wanted to be an Ironworker. Still had a couple of years to go though.

At around eight or nine you snuggled up with your lady.

Holding hands. Touching. Kissing.

Next you and your girl took a walk.

Either you went behind the bleachers or you walked out to the diamonds.Maybe you walked up to Quaker cemetery?

Time to make-out. Plant that kiss. I had no idea what to do. No one ever taught me how to kiss.

Maybe you chased each other around a little.  All in fun of course.

Pairing off with your girlfriend was my favorite time of the night. Always looked forward to it. I was in love. Puppy love.

Somewhere around eleven, it was time to go.

Saying good-bye to everyone and making that walk to her house.

Holding hands exiting the park. A little buzzed. Walking across ninth avenue, past Farrell’s; men looking at you. “There he goes…”

Hanging a right down Windsor Place.

At a snails pace I might add.

In front of the house, I hated kissing her good-night. I didn’t want her to go. Wanted to be with her all-night. Felt like I may never see her again.

Couldn’t wait for tomorrow…


Posted in Blog, Prospect Park | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment


When I was six my father left our family. I was the middle kid. My brother was ten, sister was three.

I had no idea where my father went. From time to time he would come around and crash on our couch.  He would come home real late, get up at the crack of dawn and vanish.

One day while sitting at the kitchen table eating a bologna sandwich with mustard,  I asked my mother, “where’s daddy?”

“He found a new family,” she answered.

Found a new family? I asked myself.

Little did I realize right around that time I would discover something that would take his place.

Me in the Yard

Posted in Blog | 1 Comment