Neighborhood Bully - The Rise

When I first moved into our new neighborhood in "the country" (Marine Park, Brooklyn) I was 9 years old. The block we moved onto (Kimball Street, between Avenue S and Fillmore Avenue, 3 blocks off Flatbush Avenue) had a good number of kids, around my own age, to play with. Even as the new kid, it was apparent early on that there was a definite pecking order with my new friends.

Billy D and Peter C were the 'older kids' - 13 and already in high school. We didn't see much of them on the block. Eddie, Billy, Big Chris and Jimmy C were closer to my age but were indisputably 'the big kids' at 11 years old. I was in the middle at 9. Bobby and Robbie were 8 years old, then ya had your Little Chris, Glenn, Anthony B1 and Anthony B2, who were 7. I could never figure out how old Ralphie was but I think he was 7 or 8 and was Anthony B1's brother.

Jimmy C - one of the 11-year-olds, had lost his dad a year or two before I moved into the neighborhood. It must have been a horrible thing. When I found out, I felt so bad for him. I couldn't imagine what it would be like for your father to die. Jimmy had two older sisters and, now, a widowed, working mom. She was a very nice woman, but apparently Jimmy's dad had been the one who was in charge of discipline in the family, because from the day his father died, Jimmy never received any. His mother and sisters doted over him and never did anything to correct any of the screwy things he did. "Mommy, I know I'm the only one here, but I swear I didn't knock over the antique grandfather's clock. It fell down all by itself." "I know, Honey. You're such a good boy." Jimmy got away with murder.

In addition to the one thing he needed that he didn't get, Jimmy had everything else he didn't need, including every friggin' toy in the universe. Every GI Joe set, every piece of sports equipment, a set of encyclopedias, books, every game you'd ever heard of, air guns & army surplus gear for playing army... He even had a pool in his backyard - which we used to blow up battleships in, with firecrackers, after setting them on fire - much to his mother's chagrin. But she never said a word. Jimmy had it all - almost.

In personality and physical appearance, Jimmy actually reminds me a great deal of Eric Cartman from South Park - pictured above/right - but not quite as cute. He was never any good at the sports he had the equipment for because he wasn't a physically fit kid. Plain and simple, what he was, was a mean and nasty kid. He physically pushed around all the younger kids in the neighborhood, but most of the damage he inflicted was mental. He was so intimidating that you wanted him as a friend just so he wouldn't make you the butt of his jokes. Here's a couple of examples:

Sitting on his stoop one day, when he was 12 or 13 and I was 10 or 11, Jimmy asked each of the kids what their ethnic backgrounds was. The big kids' backgrounds; Eddie, Billy and Big Chris, and mine, was basically the same as Jimmy's - Irish. Little Chris was Italian and German. The Anthonys and Ralphie were Italian and Jewish, Glenn was German. Jimmy got up and went into his house, returning shortly with a few paperback books called Race Riots. These were books filled with seriously hurtful ethnic humor for all occasions. The ones he brought back were especially for Germans, Jews and Italians... Tons of Nazi jokes and other gems like, "How do Italians have picnics? They gather around the sewer with straws." "What's the object of a Jewish football game? To get the quarter back." "Why do Jews have big noses? Because the air is free." There was one that insinuated that Italian women were pigs. Little Chris had had it 'up-to-here' with this and asked, "My mother's Italian. Are you calling her a pig?" I told you he had guts for a 8 or 9 year-old kid. Jimmy's reply was, "Take it anyway you want," or something equally as clever. Little Chris stood up and, fists clenched for a moment, considered doing something physical, but, to his credit, thought better of it. He simply said "f' you" and went home. Jimmy got away with all this, and more, because, if you got on his bad side he'd turn his wrath against you and you would be humiliated.

I could tell you many more stories, some much worse than the above, but here's one more example. This was the turning point for me.

One afternoon I was sitting on Jimmy's stoop with him, when he saw Glenn coming out of his driveway on his bike. Glenn was about 8 at the time. Jimmy said to me, "Watch this," and proceeded to where Glenn was going to pass by on the sidewalk. Jimmy started yelling, "Hey Glenn. What do you think your doing riding on the sidewalk in front of my house?" and began waving his arms threateningly. Glenn, who at 8 was only allowed to ride his bike on the sidewalk, immediately veered his bike between two parked cars out into the street to avoid Jimmy. He was hit by a car 1 second later. Right in front of Jimmy and me.

Jimmy looked at me and shrugged.

Glenn ended up with a plate in his head and spent 6 months wearing a football helmet.

To be continued...