A Day At the Races
The Bronx 1937
It was 11:00 AM on Sunday. A posse of three-wheelers were spinning around Mrs. Baretz’s candy store 0n Boston Road.
Milty was in the lead. Jack, Bernie and I followed. Eight-year-olds were pedaling to the stoop of the New House where Mr. Ross and Mr. Weiner were engrossed in conversation. Milty had the chutzpah to drive between the two men. The rest of us didn’t follow, it wasn’t right.
Mr. Ross, a pal to us kids put a halt to his conversation and to our pedaling.
“I have a nickel for the first one who goes around the block and returns here at the stoop. Line up and wait until I say go.”
We pushed our tricycles alongside one another.
“Go!” shouted Mr. Ross.
We were shoulder to shoulder as we pedaled past Nick the Shoemaker’s store, then by Fabian the Barber. Jack led us by the grocery at the end of the block, then we made made a right turn up East 172 St. Our legs were challenged by the hill which crested at Oriole’s candy store. Jack had a small lead. He kept this lead down the hill on Boston Road. We passed the laundromat which Mom would never use.
“Feh. Who knows who put their shmutz in there?”
We whizzed by the entrance to an auto supply store displaying a tall, cardboard Fisk tire sign showing a little boy holding a candle.
My third place was not going to earn me that nickel. I got off my tricycle, placed my high top, brown and tan sneaker onto the rear footstand, gripped the handlebars, and gave a powerful push that brought me scooting down the hill. I passed Jack and the boys with ease. But, when I became aware of the unfair advantage I had, I realized that this was not the right thing to do. Should I have remained on my seat and pedaled from the seat like the rest of the boys? Should I allow the boys pass me? I slowed down as I passed Crotona Felt Sporting Goods store, and then came to a halt. The boys flew by me at the turn by Mrs. Baretz’s candy store. Let them go. I know I’d feel guilty if I pushed on to win. When the boys made the right turn onto Seabury Pl., the race was over. We gathered at the stoop to discuss our strategy.
Mr. Ross gave Jack a shiny nickel.
Marty was confused.
“You were ahead of us Danny. Why did you stop?”
I didn’t reply. I knew he wouldn’t understand.
A nickel was a small fortune those days, but by pushing the tricycle down the Boston Road hill from the footstand, rather than pedaling like the others gave me the upper hand.
Relieved, I carried my tricycle up my stoop to apartment 1 and placed it into a closet.
The shiny nickel was a great temptation, but winning it the ethical way was the honest thing to do.For More stories about Seabury Place read Seabury Place: A Bronx Memoir