Michael P. Kusen 9/28/09 3,994 words
The Big Walk
(or The Apple And The Dime
Story)
by
M. P. Kusen
Introduction
We lived in Maspeth in Queens one of the
boroughs of New York City. Maspeth
is the name of a tribe of Indians who originally lived on the land. The local bank in Maspeth uses the
profile of an Indian’s face, like the one on a nickel coin, as its emblem in
honor of those Indians. We
lived up on the plateau in Maspeth, me Ken and Jeff along with a bunch of other
kids on 64 Street. There were the
twins Eddie and Artie, Annie, Janice, Lenny, Nat, Eva, Barbara, Peter the
Farlow girls and a few others tagalongs.
Our block had a great hill for sleigh riding down in the winter. And at the very top where it leveled
off and intersected with 53 Drive you could look out towards the west and see
in the far distance the Empire State Building in the middle of the Manhattan
skyline. Maspeth was a great place
to grow up in when we were kids in the 1950’s it had many vacant lots of trees
and bushes that made miniature forests where we played imaginative games as
pirates, cowboys, Indians, Robin Hood or Peter Pan and we built huts out of
branches with thick leaves that we wove together. But this story isn’t about playing in the lots or sledding
down the hill or the other kids on the block – it’s about one summer morning in
1957 when Jeff and Ken and I decided to take a walk that turned into an
adventure….
“My
dad told me that Grand Ave goes right down to the Williamsburg Bridge.” I said
looking up at Jeff as we stood on the sidewalk across the street from his
house.
“Yeah,
so.” Jeff said.
“Well
you wanna find out?”
“Find
out what?”
“How
long it takes to get there”
“To
the bridge? Are you kidding?”
“No
– its straight down Grand Ave – we can’t get lost.”
And
that’s how our adventure started.
We began walking down the hill towards Grand Ave. Half way down the
hill Ken spotted us from across the road as he was coming out of his drive
way. He called out, “Hey you guys,
wait up – where’re you going? Jeff
and I looked at each other and we both smirked knowing that we didn’t want to
tell Ken where we were headed.
Sometimes you can do that with someone that you know real well – you can
just look at each other and know what each other is thinking.
“We’re
going to the Grand Avenue.” Jeff said.
“For
what?” Ken said as he crossed the road and came up to us.
“For
a walk to see what’s doing on the avenue.” I said.
So
the three of us Ken at ten, Jeff at eleven and me at nine years of age set off
towards Grand Ave. When we got to
Grand Avenue we made a right and continued walking as we browsed in the store
windows. Every few block Ken would
ask us where we were headed or why didn’t we go another way. But Jeff and I just keep our little
secret and made talk about other things as we walked along. After a while we had left the store
section of Grand Avenue and were moving towards the factory area. “Why are we walking down here?” Ken
blurted out. “There’s nothing down here.”
But
we just keep walking along occasionally picking up a bottle cap here and there
or a bent twig of a walking stick and lightly whipped each other as we grabbed
it from one another. We walked
passed the tall factory lofts on the lower end of Grand Avenue and under the
railroad trestle at Rust Street.
Rust Street was named because it was originally built on discarded rusty
old iron rail from the nearby railroad that ran through the factory area. Ken was getting more and more anxious
about where we were going as we approached the penny bridge. The penny bridge was a short narrow
bridge that goes over a tributary of Newtown Creek – years ago you had to pay a
penny toll to cross it – it was also part of the irregular Brooklyn/Queens
borderline.
“I’m
not going any further.” Ken protested.
“I’m not going over that bridge – that’s Brooklyn.”
“Ok
– you want to know where we’re going?” I said.
“Yeah,
that would be nice.”
“To
the Williamsburg Bridge.”
Jeff
just shrugged and smiled watching Ken get excited.
“Are
you crazy? Are you both crazy?”
“No,”
I countered, “It’s straight ahead – straight down there.” I pointed towards the
penny bridge.
“You
should’a told me. You should’a
told me from the start.”
“Well
then maybe you wouldn’t have come – maybe you would have just called us crazy
and stayed on the block? But now
you’re here so what are you gonna do now – quit, quit and go back home?
“You
should’a told me,” Ken repeated. Jeff
stood there with his arms folded grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“Well
you gonna quit or are you gonna go with us to the Williamsburg Bridge?” I said,
“I
don’t quit – if you can do it so can I” Ken said.
And
with that the three of us, like the three
musketeers, continued on our adventure as we walked towards the penny
bridge. “I don’t quit,” Ken said
one more time to make sure that we knew he was not a quitter, “But you’re still
crazy – both of you are crazy – and you should’a told me.”
After
crossing the penny bridge we passed through the factory area on the Brooklyn
side and continued on as factory lofts slowly diminished and stores,
restaurants, taverns and beauty parlors began to take their place. We were in Greenpoint Brooklyn
making our way towards Williamsburg and the famed Williamsburg Bridge. As we walked weaving and browsing we occasionally
looked up for reassurance to see the word GRAND boldly printed on corner street
signs. We hadn’t noticed it but
somewhere along the way Grand Ave had become Grand Street (it changes names in
the industrial western part of Maspeth).
When we passed Bushwick Avenue Jeff began to read aloud the street
signs: “ Hunboldt Avenue, Graham Avenue – hey look Manhattan Avenue – here in Brooklyn
– how about that we’re at Manhattan and Grand. And I feel grand, and life is grand.” It didn’t matter to us if it was Grand
Avenue or Grand Street. We knew we
were on a grand adventure – what mattered, all that mattered was that
everything was grand and the Williamsburg Bridge was straight ahead. I didn’t know exactly where the line
was between the neighborhoods of Greenpoint and Williamsburg. But somewhere as we paraded down
the sidewalk and passed people and looked in store windows we passed it and
continued on block after block until finally we reached a traffic plaza and
across the distance of the plaza was the Williamsburg Bridge.
“Wow,”
I said. There it was in front of
us across the winding lanes of cars whizzing by. We had to get closer and at least touch the foundation to
know that we really did it – that we were really here at the Williamsburg
Bridge. So we circled to the right
along the sidewalk bordering the plaza.
Until we finally were able to cross the traffic lanes and get right up
the where the great bridge touched the earth in Brooklyn. There we stood at the very foundation
of the bridge and we rubbed our hands along the old stone blocks that made up
the base support of the bridge. We
walked along the foundation wall towards the center of the bridge and then we
saw what we though was some secret roadway. It was wide enough for cars but there were no cars.
Jeff
read the sign above the entrance, “Pedestrians Only.”
“Pedestrians?”
I said, “what’s a pedestrian?”
Ken
laughed, “We’re pedestrians, you dope.
Pedestrian means not driving in a car – people who walk on the
sidewalk. And after walking here
we are the first class pedestrians.”
We stood there, the three of us, in
a brief silence staring at the entrance and the wide paved path that stretched
up going on and on seemingly forever into the heart of the bridge. The same though started buzzing in each
of our heads. We looked at each
other. I bit down on my lip. Jeff’s eyes twinkled and he started to
laugh. Ken threw open his arms and
said, “No – no, I’m not going over.”
Jeff spun on one heel as he continued laughing.
“Were
here,” I said, “it’s the middle of the day – we got plenty of time – we got to
go over.”
“I
told you, you guys are crazy, no, no, enough, now. Lets go home.”
“I
can’t – we can’t, we can’t quit now – think how great it must be up on the
bridge and we can tell everybody that we walked to Manhattan – Manhattan, man -
Manhattan.” Jeff looked up toward
the bridge and I knew he was thinking of the view up there and he wanted to see
it.
I turned and got up close to Ken
“Come on Kenny, your not gonn’a quit now?” I said.
“Don’t
start that crap? You know I’m not
a quitter little man.” Ken said as he got in my face. But the decision had already been made because as I backed
up from Ken – we both turned to see Jeff already a good way up the path into
the bridge, running at a good clip.
The challenge was on – who would be the first to the top of the
bridge. Ken and I dashed up the
path trying to catch up to Jeff who had the longest legs and was sure to
maintain his lead. Being smaller, I
trailed Ken at first but he slowed occasionally letting me catch up only to
pull ahead again on me. I wasn’t
sure if he was teasing me or cared enough not to abandon me. But when we did run side by side he
would look over at me and say, “You should’a told me – you dachshund you – you
and that giraffe.”
Jeff
was up at the top of the path looking out over the East River at Manhattan when
we finally caught up with him. My
words sputtered out as I tried to catch my breath, “Wow – this is great!” I
said looking out at the view. We
spent the next few minutes running from side to side to take in all the vistas of
Manhattan, Brooklyn, and distant Queens behind us.
Running
down on the other side of the bridge was a breeze. We changed our pace from giant skips to trots and galloping
leaps as we made our way to the bottom to set foot on Delancey Street in
Manhattan. We had done it – we had
walked into Manhattan it was midday the sun was shining brightly and it felt
like it was shinning just on us.
Orchard
Street was just a few blocks ahead and our adventure fever kicked in – we all
wanted to go and just walk up Orchard Street to see all the vendors with their
sidewalks and storefronts bursting with merchandise. We had all been to Orchard Street and it was just an
exciting place to be – like a carnival.
In a few minutes we were there walking north up Orchard Street,
zigzagging on the sidewalk and gutter in and around the river of pants, sock,
shoes, toys, bolts of material, knickknacks, on and on it went. We were like leaves floating on a
winding stream being carried by some magical energy beneath our feet. In a few blocks we reached East Houston
Street running east to west. It
was the downtown borderline. Were we stood and all the streets behind us to the
south were name streets. But once
you crossed East Huston Street, there was First Street and Second Street and so
on up to two hundred and something street. To the right were the Avenues A, B, C, D and once you got
past 14th Street the named and numbered avenues kicked in to formalize the
famous midtown Manhattan street grid.
It was all too irresistible East Huston Street stood like a giant
defiant border challenging us – like the Rubicon to Caesar or the Rio Grande to
John Wayne. We had to cross East Huston
– we had to put our feet on the giant Manhattan grid that lay on the other
side.
“First
Street,” Jeff said pointing across East Huston Street. That was the next goal – we all knew
it. There was no hesitation, not even from Ken. Now we were all crazy together. When the traffic light turned green we dashed off the curb
kicking away the bottom of Manhattan and we sprinted across three lanes,
skipped over the center meridian and crossed the north side three lanes to
arrive at the corner insect of First Street and First Avenue. We weren’t just in Manhattan – we were
in Manhattan proper. We plopped
down on the curb and congratulated each other with quick flashes of what we had
seen and heard on our great journey today. After a few minutes resting on the curb we were undecided as
exactly what to do but we had a new sense of confidence. After Grand Ave, and the penny bridge
and Greenpoint and Williamsburg and the Williamsburg Bridge and Delancy Street
and Orchard Street and Huston Street – there were no barriers that we could not
navigate. We figured that maybe we
had a little more time left to explore Manhattan before we should turn around
and start home. With our spirits
serendipitously emboldened by we began to walk up First Avenue with as caviler
an attitude as any Three Musketeers can
have.
It
didn’t take long to reach Fourteenth Street – we were at the top of our game
with our adrenal pumps working overtime.
“How about the Empire State Building” I said. Both Jeff and Ken stopped and stared at me. “You can see it from our block. Wouldn’t it be great to get to it? Then we could point to it and tell
everybody in Maspeth that we walked to it. Wouldn’t that be great?”
“Oh,
yeah great,” Jeff said, “How far is it?”
“Thirty-Sixth
Street,” Ken said, “I’m pretty sure – yeah it’s Thirty-Sixth Street”
“That’s
about twenty blocks from here,” Jeff said sliding his hands into his back
pockets.
“Twenty-Two
blocks,” Ken corrected.
“Twenty-Two
blocks, that’s nothing,” I said.
Jeff
took his hands out of his pockets and put his open right hand near my face, “We
got’a go back …” Ken looked around
stretching his neck but not saying anything.
I
looked back and forth at my partners,
“But look how close we are – twenty blocks.”
“Twenty-two,”
Ken corrected.
“But
think how great it would be to get to the Empire State Building. – It would be
great, really great.” I said.
“Let’s
do it.” Ken called out. “You two
started this crazy thing but I’m in it
now! – and I want to go to the Empire State Building before I quit.”
Jeff
looked at the two of us with the eye of an older brother. “If we do the Empire State Building – that’s
it – if we get there it’s turn around time – cause it’s starting to get a
little late, ya know.”
“Let’s
go,” Ken said leading the way up First Avenue towards Fifteenth Street. “But you guys should’a told me. You should’a told me at the start.”
When
we reached Thirty-Sixth Street we looked at the canyons of building around us
but there was no Empire State Building.
Jeff asked a passer-by and found out that we had to walk six blocks west
to 5th Ave and then down two to 34th Street. Jeff put his hand on Ken’s shoulder and
said, “It’s not 36th Street, it’s 34th Street and we have
to go over to 5th Avenue.”
“Ok,
ok, I was a little off – but close.”
“Com
on, let’s get go’in,” I said.
Off
we went, the musketeers were off
again – walking west on 36th Street over to 5th Ave.
A block away from the Empire State
Building we stretched our necks looking up at it as we approached. Once inside we strolled around the
lobby admiring the art deco designs especially the elevator doors. We had no money to take the elevator up
to the observation deck – but believe it or not – we didn’t care we were there
on the ground floor and it was great just to be there. This was the final glory of our great
adventure. And now it was time to
go home. As we made our way
through the revolving doors on 5th Avenue a though spun around in my
brain – maybe we could go home by another route – a shorter route.
“Hey,”
I said as we hit the sidewalk.
“What if we go home over the 59th Street Bridge? Isn’t that closer?”
“The
59th Street Bridge? Jeff said wondering.
Ken
interjected, “Yeah, it’s closer and it drops you on to Queens Blvd. We could take that straight up to
Woodside and then over to Maspeth.”
Jeff
didn’t say a word for a minute but looked up north and then down south along 5th
Ave. “All I know is it’s get’in
late… we got to make up our minds how to get home.”
After a we bounced a few more ideas
around we headed east along 34th Street planning to turn north on 2nd
Avenue because we knew that would lead to the foot of the 59th
Street Bridge. About forty minutes
later we were there and began hiking up the walking path of the 59th
Street Bridge. We were a bit tired
but still full of confidence – we couldn’t wait to get home and tell everybody
what we had done. But as we were chattering
over each other’s words and taking in the view near the apex of the bridge – the
walking path suddenly ended. It
was blockaded with plywood and cement barriers. We were in the middle of this
giant bridge spanning the East River and could go no further. We looked out onto the roadway where
the cars were whizzing along. We
all though the same thing – it would be too dangerous to climb over the
barriers and walk on the roadway.
We had to go back and we needed a new plan. As we walked all the way back to our starting point in Manhattan
we hassled each other about our predicament – blaming and accusing in gruff
tones and crude language. The sun
was lowering itself in the western sky there was a slight chill in the air and Ken
was hungry. When we got to the
street we went to the East River’s edge and looked out longingly at our home
borough of Queens on the other side of the river. Low rolling white cap waves moved in the river as we inhaled
the faint moist air.
As I looked south, the Williamsburg
Bridge looked so far away that my chest felt heavy and while I wasn’t hungry my
stomach was queasy. Then Jeff who
was looking north said, “You know the Triboro Bridge looks closer.”
Ken
and I turned our heads north. Then
Ken said, “Yeah, but where the hell does that bring you down in Queens.”
“Who
cares,” Jeff said, “we’ll figure that out when we get back to Queens.” Jeff broke away from the rail and
started walking north along the river walk.
“Let’s
go,’ I said to Ken as we began to follow Jeff. “How far is it – do you know?”
“No, I know its’ in the hundreds
though.” Ken answered, “maybe a hundred-twenty something street?” We caught up to Jeff and continued on
together as the sun continued to move lower in the sky and long shadows were
cast our way from tall buildings to out left. After almost a mile and a half we reached Gracie Mansion at
89 Street. We took a minute or two
to marvel at being this close to the Mayor’s residence. But another disappointment was about to
confront us. As we continued on up
just a bit further we saw the deep hooked bend in the coast line that we would
have to walk if we continued to the Triborough Bridge. The irregular uptown Manhattan
coastline had played a cruel trick on us making the Triborough Bridge look
closer than it actually was – if you had to walk the distance. We all looked at each other as if we
could read each other’s thoughts.
And the big question was –
What to do, now?
Then
Ken blurted out, “I’m hungry, I’m
starving, I haven’t had anything to eat all day – today.”
“I
got fifteen cents,” I said as I pulled a nickel and a dime out of my pocket,
“You got anything, Jeff?”
“Nope”
“Ken?”
I asked
“No,
nothing – because I had no idea where I was going today.”
Jeff
let out a long breath and said. “Ok, what do we do now? You see it’s starting
to get dark now….
“We
got to call somebody – somebody at home,” I said.
“I
ain’t callin’ home – my dad will kill me.” Jeff said
I
looked a Ken but he nodded his head side to side, “Not me either.”
“Ok,
I’ll call let’s go find a phone booth.”
I said.
We
reversed course and then cut into right along 82nd Street towards 2nd
Avenue. After a few blocks we
found a fruit stand and Ken begged me to spend my nickel to buy an apple that
he just had to have. Ken got his apple
and I kept a rubbing the dime in my pocket to make sure it was there. In a few blocks in a drug store we
found a phone booth and I made the fateful call to my house. Jeff and Ken held the phone booth door
open and chimed in as I tried to explain to my dad as best as I could what had
happened today. Dad asked a
million rapid-fire questions in between my story but it ended with one question
and one directive. “Are you sure you’re all ok?” and “get yourselves back down to the foot of the 59th
Street Bridge and I’ll pick you all up with the car as soon as I call Jeff and Ken’s
parents and drive down there to get you.”
The
sun was falling behind the horizon as the weary Musketeers (Athos, Porthos, and
Aramis) walked down 2nd Ave. Through the seventies and the sixties we walked until
we landed at the 59th Street Bridige plaza. Our timing was perfect – in just a few
anxious silent moments we saw my dad’s old gray Chevy coming off the bridge. Dad waved his hand signaling to us to
get in position near the traffic light so he could stop to pick us up – D’Artagnan
had arrived to the rescue.
In
the nest few minutes my dad circled the block picked us up and we were on our
way across the bridge. I won’t go
into what happened when we got home but I will say that our great story was
told all around the neighborhood – it was the stuff that legends are made of
like Davey Crocket wrestling with a bear.
And we did stand at the top of our block and point out at the Empire
State Building and tell people about how we walked there.
Well
that’s about it – that’s all there is to tell about the big adventure. We never had another adventure like
that again. Except for the time
that Jeff lost me on the subway when we were coming home from the Museum of Natural
History and I met a lady in a bakery who drove me in her car to Queens
Boulevard and I had to walk home past the cemetery at night – but that’s
another story.
End
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