THE STOOL PIGEON AND THE INDIAN LAKE (standard:non fiction, 3554 words)
Author: THE BIG EYE	Added: Dec 31 2004	Views/Reads: 3119/2061	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
the true story takes place in the Bronx, in the early 1930's. four friends (as in STAND BY ME -like in the movie but without a body)set out on an adventure. the connection with 'stool pigeon?' read the story.

THE STOOL PIGEON AND THE INDIAN LAKE 1933 

by Irving Bronsky 

It never occurred to me that Norman would chicken out and become a stool
pigeon.  He was aggressive, a good athlete, a gambler,  (for baseball 
cards and streetcar transfers), a veteran explorer of our neighborhood 
and  Crotona Park. He was a very persuasive talker, a take-over guy and 
besides, he loved banana and mustard sandwiches. It was his idea that 
we organize a trip to the Floyd Bennett Airport.  When he squealed to 
his mother about our plans we labeled him...But that will come with 
this story. 

We were nine years old that bright, summer morning in 1933, when Norman
told us about an airport "just on the other side of Crotona Park."  
(When I was older, I learned that it was about thirty miles south of my 
home, on an island off the coast of southern Queens.)  There were five 
of us in the group and the other four had just finished playing "off 
the bench."  This game is played with a "Spaldeen," a pink, soft rubber 
ball which is thrown against the slatted wooden back of a concrete 
bench that stands on the park side of Fulton Avenue. 

Our neighborhood consisted of one 'block,' from 174thstreet to 175th ,
the park on one side; on the other was a row of ten, 5-story buildings, 
with four apartments on a floor. (The average family had 3-6 children.) 
 We were luckier than most 'blocks' that had 5 story tenements on both 
sides. 

"Off the bench:" There are two players to a side and on the fielding
team one player stands in the street and the other on the opposite 
sidewalk. (In the early 1930's there was hardly any motor traffic or 
parked cars on Fulton Ave.) You scored when the thrown ball rebounded 
off a slat and bounced in the gutter or on the opposite sidewalk.  One 
base for every bounce, four bounces, a home run. Since I was one of the 
worst players on the block I was not picked in the first choosing of 
sides. 

The game had been long and exciting and it finished in great style when
Norman hit a home run, an uncatchable smash which reached the building 
on the other side of the street and fell into the cellar. I cheered 
this magnificent shot and then announced that it was my turn to pick.  
I would choose the best player from the losing side to be my partner. 
Not to be. 

Norman announced in his super-confident voice that there would be no
more games since we would all go to Floyd Bennett Airport.  "I know it 
is just on the other side of the park.   We can walk there."  I was 
angry for not getting my pick and I argued loudly with him but as 
usual, his decision was final; there would be no more "off the bench" 
that morning.  . 

There were four of us sitting on the bench and Norman stood facing us.
His spiel was seductive and easily led us to agree to going to the 
airport. I suggested that we take along sandwiches.  This idea was 
happily and immediately accepted. We agreed to take sandwiches from 
home, telling our mothers that we wanted to have a picnic lunch in the 
park. The five of us dispersed homeward to prepare for this great 
adventure: Norman, Tevie, (Herby), Lobo, (Natie), Putzie, (Paulie), and 
myself, Itchy, (Irving.) I had never questioned the fact that Norman 
was the only one without a nickname 

Flinging open the door of my house,  I rushed into the kitchen, finding
my mother busy preparing lunch.  I breathlessly told her about our idea 
of having a picnic in the park and she bought it without any questions. 
 I told her that Tevie, Lobo, Putzie and Norman were my picnic 
companions and they were bringing sandwiches, and I wanted to bring 
them too.  Momma sliced four thick slabs of seeded rye bread and 
heavily spread butter on them.  She made two jumbo sandwiches filling 
them with a "feinkuchen," (omelet.)  She put them in a brown paper bag 
and handing it to me she said, "Don't go too far in the park." 

There were four of us waiting by the bench for Norman. He was late. We
were eager to get going and as time went by I volunteered to go to his 
home to find out when he was coming. I ran up the double set of steps 
of the courtyard of Norman's building, (the only building on the block 


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