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Growing up in Chicago’s Alleys.

Ted Rashkow

    Chicago was a great city to grow up in the 1930’s and 40’s. Money was scarce, even though things were cheap. Mothers stayed home, fathers worked hard, long hours, but glad to have a job. The parks, the playground, and the alleys were the entertainment of the youth. It was the alleys where games were played, “kick the can,” “color with purple”, rubber ball “pinners”, and even baseball, right up against the garages built in back of the apartment buildings. Many times all the kids would travel through the alleys to get places. The alleys held a certain fascination. Alleys were a hub of Chicago’s business. Milk trucks were always delivering to the apartment. The milkmen would carry the milk up three Stories up the back porch. Ice trucks did the same. Old clothes guys hollering “ENY OLE CLUTHES FA ZALE!” People walked their dogs in the alley, garbage was picked up in the alley, and kids played there all the time.
    Kenny always knew that he was stronger than most kids his own age. Playing football with the guys and wrestling at the YMCA since 5th grade was when Kenny realized that this aspect had changed his whole outlook on life. Not that Kenny was mean; no, not at all, he was a friendly, rather gentle boy. He loved his friends and they looked up to him. Going through his young life he would occasionally come across these tough kids known as bullies. Every neighborhood had them. Sometimes Kenny would see a bully pick on a kid on the street or in the playground, or even in the school bathroom. It bothered Kenny. It bothered him a lot.
    It was in the sixth grade, as they all walked home after school, when they were confronted by an older 8th grade boy, Wally, who intimidated younger and weaker kids, began picking on Kenny’s friend Danny Corman. Wally came from behind and pushed Danny who dropped his schoolbooks.
    “Leave him alone, Wally! Leave Danny alone”, Kenny shouted.
    “What are you going to do about it, big shot!” Wally retorted.
    “You’re a lousy bully, I said get away from Danny or...”
    “Or what? How about I pick on you, Kenny.” Wally went for Kenny and took a swing at him. His fist grazed Kenny’s cheek. Kenny quickly swung back at Wally from his hip, connecting right on the mouth. Down went Wally on the sidewalk, blood spurting from his lip.
    “Get him, Kenny”, he heard other kids forming a crowd yell.
    Now Kenny hovered over Wally, who was face-up lying on the ground and had a look of fear and pain. “You better leave Danny alone or I’ll give you the same thing. You hear me Wally.” Kenny bent over closer to Wally’s face, his fists clenched menacingly.
    “My brother will get you for this, Kenny. Wait till I tell him.”
    “I don’t give a darn about your brother. I’m telling you, Wally, I don’t want to see or hear about you picking on anybody. Anybody, you hear me”! Kenny seemed to get bolder as he spoke. He felt in charge. He watched Wally get up slowly and walk away holding his mouth.
    Lenny suddenly felt proud of his victory and saw tears run down Wally’s blushed cheeks.
    “Atta boy, Kenny!”, someone screamed from the throng of kids watching. They broke into applause. Kenny put his arm around his pal Danny. “You okay?”
    “Yeah, sure. He sure had it coming. Good going, Kenny. Man oh man, did you smack him, wow!
    “That’s the first time I ever hit a guy.”
     “Well, Kenny,” Danny laughed, “you hit him like a boxing champ. Boy did Wally go down hard.” Suddenly, Danny’s face hardened, “You know pal, you better be careful, you know his bro Lenny. He’s tough ya know.”
    Wally’s brother was on the high school basketball team. He had a tough reputation, but Kenny knew he was never a bully. In fact, he played touch football with Lenny in the park. Kenny was picked by the older guys many times because he played so well.
    “Don’t worry, Danny,” he grinned. “I’ll be careful, but I know I got you to back me up, right?”
    “Yeah, right,” Danny hit his buddy gently on the arm. “Come on, let’s get home for lunch. I’m ONGRY!”
    Sunday mornings were always busy in the Alleys of Chicago. The newspaper boys hollering “YOO PAVOO” telling people to buy their Sunday papers. The paper cost a dime and the boys made around a penny a sale. In those days, pennies, if one had several, could buy anything. Bread cost 7 cents a loaf. A coke was a nickel. You could ride the streetcar for 3 cents if you were under 13.
    When Kenny turned 13, he had to pay 7 cents to ride the red streetcar. If you lived in a big city, you had to learn to be “street wise”! Kenny would wait for a big crowd and would get on the rear platform first. He would then pretend to look for his money in his pocket until finally the conductor would tell Kenny to step aside and would pull the chain which gave the signal to the motorman in the front, the one who actually drove the street car. After taking care of all the passengers the conductor called Kenny over. Kenny handed him 3 cents.
    “How old are you, kid?”
    “Thir...teen, I mean 12”, Kenny stammered on purpose.
    “You owe me seven cents, kid.”
    “I ain’t got 7 cents,” Kenny replied. Meantime the streetcar had gone several blocks. “Okay kid, you either got 7 cents or get off the street car.” Kenny gladly got off, as he was almost halfway there to his destination. If it was a nice day, he walked; if cold, then he would wait for another streetcar. There was always another one with a different conductor.
    Sunday was a great day. Kenny would go to the park and find a choose-up game. Even the older guys chose Kenny as he was good in sports. Summer was baseball. 16 softball. Fall it was touch football. Sometimes it was “tackle” with no equipment. Kenny, even though the youngest, could hold his own.
    Wally’s brother Lenny spotted him and waved him over. Kenny’s heart skipped a beat. He went over not knowing what to expect.
    “Hi kid,” Lenny said nonchalantly, “wanna play.”
    “Sure”, Kenny answered relieved. He could handle Wally, but not his brother... Lenny could beat the crap out of him. His rolled up sleeves revealed strong biceps.
    “Okay, you’re on my side. Hey kid, I heard you beat the hell out of my brother.”
    Kenny’s jaw stiffened.
    “Don’t worry kid, Wally is a shithead, he probably deserved it.” Lenny laughed and threw the football to Kenny.
    Kenny felt relieved. He waved Lenny to go out for a pass. It was a beautiful, spacious park. It had everything: baseball fields, tennis courts, and a football stadium for the nearby high school.
    As they played Kenny noticed the Catholic guys would cross themselves before every play. In fact the guys on both sides did the same. Kenny always wondered whose side Jesus was on.
    Saturday was the best day to grow up in Chicago. It was the day Kenny got 15 cents from his dad. With that huge amount he could go to the movie for ten cents and buy candy. Of course he would save money with the old streetcar trick. Sometimes, like today, he would go alone and stay over to see the double feature twice. “Gunga Din” was his favorite movie of all time. This time, during the middle of the movie, a grown man sat down right next to him and began talking.
    “Hi there, kid. You come here a lot?” Kenny felt uncomfortable. The alleys of Chicago taught him to be suspicious. Suddenly the man took Kenny’s finger and began gently stroking it. This alerted him immediately that something was not kosher. Kenny excused himself and left. Later on in life, Kenny realized this guy was unsafe, even though at the time he didn’t realize why. Growing up in the alleys of Chicago certainly helped. Kenny never got the playground or the alleys out of his system. It assisted him all through his life.

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