Was Anyone Called By Their Given Name?
The Bronx 1943
Sholem Aleichem, in his humorous stories of the shtetl made us aware that a given name came with a title e.g. Tevyeh the Milkman, The Butcher Lazer Wolff, The Tailor Muttle Chemzoil , Yisroel the Shammas, or Berel the Redhead.
This was probably engraved into the DNA we received from our immigrant parents. None of the boys in our neighborhood were called by their given names. The Fink (Milty), Trenchfeet, (Jerry), Flippy (Stanley), Seven (Herman), Ironpot (Muttle), Peb (Walter), Dud (Danny), Pebblebee (Walter), The Baker, (Herman), Richard (UTS for UpTurned Shoes), Resinhead (Dave), Fodder-wing (Julie), Sol (Bighead) .
At a stickball game on Seabury Pl, Milty swung at the pink Spalding, He missed, and his stick went flying through the adjacent grocery store’s window. The owner called the police and a conversation ensued. There was no repercussion. A few days later, three of the boys asked Milty to be a fourth hand for pinochle on Gum’s (the janitor), stoop. His reply,
“Are you kidding? I can’t play cards. I got a criminal record!” Thus, Milty became The Fink.
The Creep (how did he get this name?), an all-around ace as an athlete placed Jerry at third base in a game of Off the Curb. The Creep was playing shortstop. After a number of balls bounced past Jerry, the Creep yelled,
“I put the kid on toid base and he stands dere like he got trench feet.” Jerry was no longer Jerry, he was Trenchfeet.
Stanley had ears nearly the size of Dumbo’s. Had he been a few pounds lighter, by flipping his ears he would have defied the law of gravity. As a result, Stanley became Flippy.
In the candy store, Herman Siegal overheard the boys complaining about the lack of jobs for teenagers.”No money, no candy,” they told Refugee Jack, the candy store owner. Herman, upon hearing this pompously announced , “I get seven cents a day and I could do anything I want with it. With these words, Herman was Seven.
Muttle barged into the candy store with hair resembling a monk’s disc on his pate. Lenny (Boon) greeted him with,
“What did Willie the Barber use to style your hair, an iron pot? Muttle was no longer Muttle, he was Ironpot.
Walter was called Peb. Why? I don’t know. He was christened Peb before I became part of the crowd.
Danny decided to make a firecracker. He used the cardboard tube given to carry heavy packages at a department store. He sealed one end with melted wax then filled it with match heads. He sealed the remaining end with melted wax, and pierced a match through it. The event took place at the sewer lid opposite the candy store. Danny lit a match.
“Keep back guys, you might get hurt!”
When the flame reached the match heads, his “firecracker” fizzled.
“It’s a dud! shouted Danny. From this failure, Danny became Dud.
Herman Litroff’s father owned the neighborhood bakery. So, he was The Baker.
When he wasn’t wearing sneakers, the toe box of Richie’s leather shoes pointed upwards as if gasping for air. Thus, Richie became UTS (UpTurnedShoes)
Dave’s hair was as kinky as steel wool. When the Big guys were playing stickball and their hands became sweaty, acting as resin, they dried their hands Dave’s hair. Thus, Dave became Resinhead.
Julie decided to raise pigeons on the roof of his tenement. He made sure they were fed and had ample room in their cage. At this time the movie, The Yearling came to the neighborhood. A young boy in the movie named Fodder-wing was devoted to the animals in his care. Thus, Julie was christened Fodder-wing.
Then there was Abe Chayet, pronounced Shayett. Since dog shit was all over the streets and sidewalks, we decided to call shit, Shayett. If we unfortunately stepped into the mess sometimes, to show the variety of our intellectual use of language, we also called it Abie, e.g. “I just stepped in Abie.”
One evening Pimple Ear (we never knew his given name) opened the door to the candy store.
“Give me a Cherry Coke and if anyone here calls me Pimple Ear I’ll call my father.”
He tried to join the boys in their cerebral discussion concerning a baseball hit onto home plate. Was it fair, or was it foul?
“It’s foul yelled Pimple Ear!”
“No it isn’t. Home plate is part of the field, Pimple Ear!”
“Call me Pimple Ear one more time and I’ll call my father!”
“Pimple Ear, Pimple Ear, Pimple Ear!”
Pimple Ear ran out of the candy store and up to his tenement on E.172 St. He was on his way to report to his father that he was called, Pimple Ear.
We stepped outside the candy store for round two.
His father, in his slippers, aided by the downward slope of the sidewalk came lumbering down E. 172 St. He was a tall, nearsighted, uncoordinated and an unattractive man. We fled towards Minford Pl. then north on Boston Rd. He was a testimonial to endurance long before the fitness craze barged into our lives. Maintaining his plodding pace for ten blocks was no challenge to him. In spite of his tenacity, he never caught us.
Pimple Ear joined many newcomers who came, had difficulty adjusting, and eventually left for a more favorable neighborhood.
Adapted from Seabury Place: A Bronx Memoir