Frizz’s challenge this week is the letter H. H for home, which was the objective not only of brave Ulysses, but also of every man who gets on base (spring training has already started so get ready for more baseball references). In fact the following H piece that I submitted to Frizz features my beloved stickball field (the field of dreams) of my home town.
My Home in the Bronx
By Bumba on December 22, 2010 | Edit
My home in the Bronx sat at the bottom of quiet street – alongside the trestle of the IRT Bronx Park East station. It was Sagamore Street, a short but wide block that ran from Unionport Road and the border of Bronx Park at the top of the hill down one block, then under the train station, and then one block more until it ended at White Plains Road. I always see the neighborhood as a forgotten little pocket.
Together with three apartment buildings on Unionport Rd., an old farmhouse, a large empty lot of weeds behind the apartment buildings, a couple of stores up the block under the trestle, and a newsstand, we formed a self-sufficient neighborhood. It was large enough that the people down at the farthest building, 1980, formed their own group – although both groups mixed freely. Today it looks a bit different. They’ve built on the lots, torn down the farmhouse – as well as the one in the back, old Mrs. Yates’ place – and built small houses, which extend into the open area behind the park.
It’s still recognizable though. The park is still there, although the terrain has shifted a bit over the years. The three apartment buildings still stand, as well as does my house, 662 Sagamore St. – still alongside the trestle and sided now by five little houses instead of two. The street is still wide, and remains ready to host a stickball game. But it looks like they’re not playing much; the plate and bases aren’t marked like before – by chalk and by etchings from sharp rocks.
It’s much quieter now.
What it used to be was the greatest place on earth. For me at least. Those stickball games on the long summer nights, those endless days of playing ball, wasting time, sitting on the benches, being on the block. It was eden. The memory of that neighborhood, my block, still burns with so soft a flame in my heart.
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An Occasional Story 
What a great picture you painted. It brought back memories of the Bronx just after World War II. My aunt lived in Parkchester. I would spend a few weeks of each summer with her. The tall buildings with statuary high on each corner and over the doors, the green park areas with benches for the old people and playgrounds for the young, the walk to Unionport road for Chinese at the Toysun restaurant, taking the bus up Castle Hill Avenue to the swim club. It was all magic for a kid from a small village in upstate NY.
Then poor Parkchester took a turn for the worse in the 1960’s. Crime, filth, lock the doors at 6 PM and don’t venture outside. But private ownership seems to have brought it back to its former glory. My last visit was in 2006 and I know I will never lay eyes on Parkchester again.
I lived about a mile from Parkchester. As kids we would walk there, or take the #13 bus (which also took me to my Junior High School 127. It was a clean, proper place owned by Metropolitan Life. Home to Macy’s and the Loews-American movie theatre which I’m sure was multi-plexed and probably turned into a sports club or something by now. Thanks for the comment – which has me reeling in some more memories.
Beautiful post. How wonderful that you had such a nice start in life.
Yes, I am really grateful for a wonderful childhood. I wrote a post right after this one called the stickball games which expresses that sentiment exactly.Yeah, I started out pretty good, then went down from there!