"No little kids around here got $16 in the bank"

When my family was still living at 275 57th Street, in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, one of the ways
I used to pass a hot summer day was to watch the older kids play stickball.

We moved away from this neighborhood when I was 9 years old, so I was never really old enough to participate in these games. The players were mostly teenage kids of various ethnic backgrounds. Guys with names like "Junior", "Julio", "Henry" and "Paulie". These guys seriously resembled characters out of West Side Story and all wore 'wife beater' undershirts as their unofficial stickball uniforms. I wouldn't have been surprised to find out they were carrying switchblades in their back pockets as well.

Home plate was one sewer cover, first base could have been the front fender of a '55 Chevy, second base was the 'next' sewer cover and third base might have been the rear left tire of a Buick. The foul lines were the sidewalks on each side of the street. The bat was a broomstick which may, or may not, have had electrical tape wrapped around one end (as shown above/right) and the ball was (naturally) a Spaldeen (see also The Boundaries of Street Sports).

In the 50s through 70s stickball was a big game in New York City, particularly in Brooklyn. Sometimes some big leaguers would come out incognito and join the fun, getting back to their roots. Willie Mays was one of those who occasionally turned up to play stickball when he was with the NY Giants, before the Giants left for San Francisco in 1958.

It's not as big as it once was, but there's still a faithful few Brooklynites who still play the game regularly.

As long as I can remember, my mom was one who always stressed the importance of saving money. I must have been 7 or 8 when I received a sum of money for some event (birthday, Christmas, Easter? Who knows?) My mom took me up to Manufacturer's Hanover Trust Bank and we opened up an account with 16 whole dollars. I was very proud to have $16 in the bank. I felt "like Rockafella."

One summer day, one of my little-kid friends and I were watching the older kids play stickball. It was between innings, and nothing really exciting had happened in the last inning of the game to talk about. I figured I would take this opportunity to break the silence by casually mentioning the fact that I, J.P. Morgan himself, had recently made a deposit of the amazing sum of $16.00 into the bank.

My friend's bitter and forceful reply was, "No little kids around here got $16 in the bank".

I was crushed. I don't know why, but it seemed terribly important that he believe that I had a bank account. But the more I pressed the point the stronger he professed his disbelief. Eventually he walked away shaking his head and I don't remember him ever speaking to me again.

I never realized it until recently, but he was probably right. We lived in a very poor neighborhood. It's unlikely that any of the friends I had on that block had bank accounts. But in the past I never really thought about the neighborhood as being poor.

Funny how it takes a long time for some things to register.