Mickey Z

Cool Observer

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Saturday, August 19, 2006

I think I’m ready to write a memoir because…

(I’m back just in time for a Storytelling Saturday of sorts...)

...I’m old enough to remember penny candy that really cost a penny, the ringing bell of the knife-sharpening guy’s truck every Wednesday morning, Checker cabs, riding the subway for free on New Year’s Eve, and 42nd Street when it was “forty-deuce.”

...In my youth, homeless men (and they all seemed to be men) were called “bums,” nuns wore long habits, and giant theaters charged 75 cents for a triple feature. I owned the 45 single of the Beatles’ “I Wanna Hold Your Hand,” I paid $1.50 to see Aerosmith in Central Park, I delivered the Long Island Press, and paid 8 cents for the Daily News. I remember egg creams from the fountain, doctors making house calls, putting our garbage on a dumbwaiter, and banging on steam pipes to get more heat. Nehru jackets and bell bottoms were not retro when I was kid. We wore puka beads and POW bracelets. We listened to 8-track tapes, played with a spaldeen, and got at least ten joints out of a nickel bag. I marveled at the 1969 Mets, sat in Yankee Stadium for Mickey Mantle’s last home run, and watched Dr. J played for the New York Nets in the old ABA.

Life was just fine without microwave ovens, cell phones, beepers, fax machines, computers, irradiated food, cable TV…even color TV. I don’t remember having an air conditioner until I was at least 9 or 10. No HBO, HMO, SUV, MTV, VCR, DVD…not even a remote control. No palm pilots, one-hour photo shops, and smart bombs. Everything wasn’t a damn drive-thru. If you had a car, chances are it didn’t have AC, power steering, power brakes, power windows, power doors…and it definitely didn’t talk back to you. We played sports outside…not many gyms or health clubs in my old neighborhood (except for the YMCA). Positively no Stairmasters or aerobics classes to be found anywhere.

It’s kinda funny to live long enough to be one of those guys who says: “I remember when” and “when I was your age.”

As Bukowski sez: “I never met another man I’d rather be. And even if that’s a delusion, it’s a lucky one.”

I remember Reggie: