I grew up at the end of University Avenue in the Bronx. Some people prefer to call it "lower Westchester.'' Our Church was St. Nicholas of Tolentine, and that was where I started school.
I don’t remember much about my early years, except that my mother, Virginia Walsh, had tuberculosis. When she went off to Saranac Lake Sanitarium, I was about five years old when I was sent to live with Aunt May in New Jersey. She was at the time married to Fred Stuart. His children from a previous marriage -- Doug, Don and Missy -- were in college, and then there was Joan, who was in high school. We lived on Red Road in Teaneck. It was a big house, and I had my own room.
Every night at the end of dinner, we all listened to a very popular radio show called "Amos and Andy,'' which was a comedy about two African-Americans. Every weekend, Aunt Loretta would come to visit and, most weekends, my father.
Back then, it seemed like I was always getting into trouble One Sunday, I was outside, playing with matches and I started a fire that I couldn’t put out. I ran home, where the family was gathering for cocktails before the family Sunday lunch. That was the usual gathering for most families in those days. While I was seated with my ginger ale, the doorbell rung and it was two boy scouts. They came to tell Uncle Fred how they put out a fire. Uncle Fred was head of the scouts in Bergen County. I thought scouts were supposed to be upstanding and not so big-mouth. It wasn’t long before I was found out.
Then there was the day we were fooling around the cars, and I fell through the canvas roof of a Ford convertible. We loved that car because it had a rumble seat in the back.
Cuts and Bruises
There was a family with several children who lived behind us. We were playing cowboys and Indians and one of them rapped me on the head. This required a trip to the doctor and a few stitches in my head. I’m sure Aunt May did not need this, since the Stuart boys were much older by the time she joined the family.
Yes, I was a pain in the ass. There was the time I experimented with a boy-scout knife and damn near cut off my right leg. That was a really bloody mess. It was back to the doctor and more stitches, I still have a wonderful scar on my right leg.
After several more scrapes, my mother eventually got well and returned home from Saranac. She came home on a Sunday with my father to Aunt May’s. I was washed, polished and brushed. I was told to be on my best behavior. I ended going for a ride on the handlebars of the bike of the kid next door. The car with my mother rode by, but she did not see me hanging perilously on the handlebars in traffic. The rest of the car passengers did and mentioned it to me later.
We then moved to 100 Mosholu Parkway. Shortly after that, Aunt Marge and Uncle Arthur moved into the building. I went to the parish school, which was called St Brendan’s. I did all right in school, but I did not become an altar boy.
I roller-skated, rode a bicycle and played the usual sports like football and baseball, but not hockey. I was sought-after not because of my athletic skills, but I had a baseball mitt, roller skates and a football. My sporting skills were noticed early on.
Nearby, there was an old reservoir that became a great playground. We could rent bikes there, and there was a large track to run around. We also played at some of the fields that were at the end of Mosholu Parkway. There was a viaduct at the end under the Third Avenue L trains. We used to climb underneath it like monkey bars. It was not one of my smartest moments. I had some others later on so I will give you the choice to read on.
Aunt Marge
In 1937, my mother died, and it was just Dad and me. Aunt Marge looked after me as well as going down on the subway daily to take care of Grandmother Walsh and then take care of Uncle Arthur.
I had my share of Jewish friends and learned most of what I know about them during that period. I also picked up all of my Jewish lingo at that time. I also had a few Italian friends from Villa Avenue, which was just behind the apartment. There was an empty lot where the old Italian men played bocce ball.
One summer, someone had a vision of the Virgin Mary, and the entire summer there were crowds that I watched from our roof. I never saw the Virgin Mary, and it played havoc with the bocce ball.
Ken Sheehan, my best friend at that time, lived in the apartment house. Later on, he married Sally’s best friend from the Our Lady of Lourdes, a summer camp for girls in the Catskills. Ken and I used to sit on the fire escape and use it as our private office. We also had a telephone we made from twine and tin cans.
First job
My first job was late in grammar school. I had a job delivering The Bronx Home News. It had a front page set up like the Wall Street Journal does today. The problem was on payday. I would get tips for returning my neighbors' empty bottles. What little money I had, I would either buy baseball cards with gum or comic books. It would drive my father crazy. I wish I saved the baseball cards considering what they go for now.
I was able to get working papers, even though I wasn't 16. These were the days when stock certificates were manually transferred, and I worked two summers at W.E. Hutton.
By now, it was time to go to high school. I took the exams for Xavier and Cardinal Spellman High School in the Bronx. I was accepted to both.