STREET GAMES

Manhattan 1950

Pitching pennies against the building wall on the flat across from Morningside Drive Danny McCaffrey spit out his chewing gum and put his hands in his pockets. He had lost 30 cents in 20 minutes. He was broke. After saving the pennies for days he felt deflated. Now Carlos was the all-time winner. But Danny knew he faced a big decision. He had been holding back his lucky penny for weeks and he saw its luck was solid…mostly. So, was he going to throw his last coin, a 1943 steel war penny into the contest? He knew he could trade it for maybe 10 copper heads but throwing a light gray war penny would be spectacular; it would break with a bang his failure and snap his losing streak.

Carlos being the big winner was ok. He was Danny’s best friend. They did Camp Mc- Clellan - a fresh air camp- together and slept in the same lean to. They rode the IRT to Times Square movies and Grants Hamburgs for hotdogs. Kids saw them as a pair. Danny wanted to win. And winning with the war penny would be super.

Still, he wanted to ensure Carlos’ come back from yesterday’s beatdown. Winning the war penny plus 30 cents in his pocket would do just that. In everyone’s eyes Carlos would be the man “wepa” they’d yell.. It could make Carlos square and, for the moment he’d become street famous. Shame and humiliation would evaporate.

Yesterday Carlos had been kicked in the balls by a black street gang down on 123rd Street. This was in front of the old fort where he couldn’t escape and everyone was watching. They wanted his money, maybe his Spanish Dancer top too, and of course to inflict humiliation. But it wasn’t pennies they were after. Quarters were the goal. And dollars, if he had been dumb enough to carry them, would of course mean they’d be after him tomorrow.

So Danny took the leap and threw the war penny half for himself and half for Carlos. “Let God decide,” the sisters would say. And so, with Jesus in his thoughts, Danny watched it land, in a tumble, and it settled not a matchbook cover’s thickness from the wall…a probable winner. Danny had mixed feelings. He didn’t care if somehow he lost to Carlos. But still he wanted back his war penny.

Now it was Carlos’ turn. He did a pirouette for luck and threw the copper. Danny could see it flipping end over end through the air.. It bounced short but- wouldn’t you know it- it spun down against the crack, sideways, leaning at a good angle up against the wall…a “leaner”. No one could beat that. A steeper angled leaner would fall over. So losing was impossible. It was just done. The street consensus was “ Madre De Dios”. Devine intervention.

Danny closed his eyes and offered it all up to Jesus…Sister Allen’s influence. Sister Allen was always “influencing” them.

His eyes still closed, still in prayer, Danny’s mind flipped back to when Sister Allen had been helping him wash up after art class. That was two grades ago.

“Do it for Jesus,” she had said. “Do it carefully….nothing done for Jesus is ever wasted.” Danny had done his best.

“Sometimes when you have offered up everything God will let you talk to him.” Sister Allen’s eyes sparkled. “Give first and then listen.” She leaned forward. “God loves you,” she said. “He’s very close…” closer than the light in your eyes; brighter than the gleam of the nearest star.”

Danny experienced the warmth, snugness, and security of his mother hugging him. His mind was empty but his feelings were really there in the moment.

“Remember it always,” Sister Allen Said. That few seconds held. It hummed. Suddenly in the middle of this pocket, Danny realized they were praying.

“So,” Sister Allen said finally; let’s go look at your picture”.

Danny paused this memory; his mind switched back to the current street reality.

So he had lost; big deal. Besides Carlos was “el hombre grande”. He was happy and headed down to the 122 Bodega.

Danny felt funny without Carlos. He had passed through the door with good expectation but just stood around staring. He only felt like family when Carlos was with him.

Carlos had shown Danny all about Spanish Dancer tops and how they jumped up and down on the street when you string-zipped them down. Some were painted with women wearing skirts….dancing. In front of the crowd at Corpus Christi Catholic School, it made Danny somebody. Carlos also pointed out the shelf where you could get pink spaldeen balls and how you could persuade the owner to give you a few sticks of pilones candy. The owner called Carlos “Mi Tigre”.

But now, this time alone, suddenly one of those black guys from the gang that had kicked Carlos in the balls was walking toward him. He saw the black bandana pulled tight and Danny knew. They were from Grant Housing. Consequence time was coming. No fucking with these guys. He froze watching the kid’s strange look…Then It came to him. This guy actually knew him.

“What the fuck you lookin at?” The black guy said.

Wow, Danny thought. His mind stuttered. “Nothing,” he told him. “Don’t make me fuck you up,” Dwight said.

Danny broke eye contact, looked down, and walked away.

Now He remembered. Dwight…from the fresh air camp, Camp McClellan. Yeah.

Danny was beginning to figure it out now. They had been friends then; sewer fishing together he remembered, up by the mess hall. That was after lunch one day. Dwight had lightly punched him in the arm. “Show me the fishing man,” he said, and smiled.

And so Danny had shown Dwight how to do it.. They had pulled a steak knife out of the deep drain. Sure…He remembered it all now: the huge wad of bubblegum, the string attached to the gum so they could dangle it down. The broom handle to fit through the grate so you could reach down and push the gum hard against the knife. And Then carefully… you pulled it up….like fishing. It worked swell, most of the time.

They hung out slapping hands. New friends; and, Danny thought, a black guy.

A few days later there was this kid, Johnny, a Camp McClellan regular, who for sure had it in for Danny. It just happened. A half-mile camp race and Danny had come in first but Johnny was second. Apparently that meant a lot to Johnny. He stole Danny’s sock full of change out of his lean-to and then put dog shit in his underwear drawer for good measure. Christ Johnny was big and had a reputation. So… Danny then told Dwight about it.

After dinner, there was dessert, chocolate pudding, but Danny left it for a moment to take a piss. Coming back Danny saw Johnny with the pudding in front of himself relishing it. Well, there was no stopping this himself. Danny would just get fucked up if he tried. But then he knew Dwight had been watching

Outside Dwight pushed Johnny up against the wall behind the trash bin. He wedged his forearm across his throat, to cut off his air and punched him in the stomach.

“You know what this is about mother fucker….get it….no more fucking pudding.”

He punched Johnny again in the stomach but this time harder. Then he kicked him in the shins a couple until he fell to the ground.

“There better not be a next time,” he said. “Or you’re going to find out about things being chocolate and harder”.

There are incidents you don’t forget…for or against you.

After camp, Danny saw Dwight a couple of times in the neighborhood. He must have come up from 125th Street. But it wasn’t the same. There was tension between Dwight and the Spanish kids. Someone said Dwight had moved into The Grant Housing Projects (reform school for families Carlos said). After a while, he just stopped coming.

Aunt Molly said the newspapers were afraid of race.” They only have it connected to status,” she told him. “Status that causes mayhem”.

Their building super Walter was black. He carried the garbage in a giant bag up and down the stairs with always a smile. He had helped Danny up off the landing when he was four and was crying from falling down the stairs. And then again when he was nine that Puerto Rican gang was chasing him. Walter had held the door open for him and then gone out on the stoop with a broom handle swinging it wildly and threatening them. Christ, they might have stabbed him.

Danny now wondered about Dwight after seeing him down at The 122 Bodega. Did Dwight recognize him? Did he remember how they had done sewer fishing together at Camp?

McClellan?. Did he remember about the stolen pudding and what had happened? Danny was pretty sure he did.. But if Dwight did…. Hell…now even that didn’t matter.

Danny cleared his mind and brought himself back into the moment

He had walked on up to Morningside Drive -it was getting dark now- and was standing against the railing of the sandbox taking in the view of Harlem. He threw his cigarette butt into the sandbox. Unbelievable the stuff that was in there. Everyone said they were full of used rubbers. No one was checking. But the view was spectacular.

He remembered when he and Carlos and a few other kids had gathered 17 Christmas trees together. Danny remembered they had taken them out of the gutter last January on a cold and snows coming night. They had been dried up and shedding needles and waiting for the City Sanitation workers to come and get them. It was just getting dark when they put the last one into the sandbox. Eager to start they considered the pile. Danny himself had lit it up. First, he shot in a fair amount of lighter fluid and paused to let it soak in. The fire started down in one corner but then came up incredibly. The limbs and needles were so dry the fire popped and sparks floated up into the dark sky. It was red and white with a little blue and then mostly white and yellow as it billowed. Twenty, thirty feet into the air it flared.

Standing that close to the flame Danny felt the streaming violence of the flames whipping each other. A touch of fear traced his stomach. But soon that deadening numbness faded; it disintegrated. This heat and fury pleased him. He didn’t step back because you never stepped back. Instinct. But now he wouldn’t have anyway.

And so here he was…just watching.

Danny knew you could see the flames all across Harlem out to the East River. This sandbox was at the top of several park hills and a fifty-foot-high stone wall; it was way up, basically a lookout point above the larger stretches of upper east side Harlem.

From 145th Street down to Central Park, from each Harlem apartment window and alley, it was visible. He could just see every black kid turning around in awe and looking up. On their way home or only standing there in the darkness of night, they would all be seeing this beautiful towering inferno. It was like a new giant volcano rising. He knew they would appreciate it.

Danny loved the flames licking at the sky and the mystery of their fight against the blackness. It was mystical. Deep inside though suddenly, a pang of sadness hit him. A hollow of loneliness engulfed him.. He felt a growing fear like someone had died, a friend maybe. But only now he was actually realizing it. He fought it off - blocking out the who, especially the who. … He refused to see into the depth of it. The weight, like an old cobblestone held above his head he balanced until it faded.

Running now he had to punch out before the NYPD and the Fire Department showed up. God though the blaze was overwhelming. He couldn’t get over the height and the power of it… the majesty. Hey look up here it said. Someone’s up here. Check this out. Look… A Morningside Heights Roman candle. Hey, it’s the New Year Harlem, yeah, - savor the feeling.

Looking back Danny still felt the heat; it was calming. It hugged him. The flickering flames are now shown as a dance, a light in his own open eyes, as bright as the memory of a distant but still visible star.

Tom Revitt grew up in the Morningside Heights Neighborhood of Manhattan in the 1950s. He attended Catholic School there. He has published poems and short stories in the anthology "Smitten" published by The Quillkeepers Press and a poem "Staging Area" in the veteran's magazine The Deadly Writers Patrol. He also had a short story "Twin Sisters" published in 2022 in The Adelaide Literary Magazine.. Tom Revitt is currently working on a short story anthology about growing up in 1950s Manhattan.