Evening Star Newspaper, September 20, 1936, Page 78

THIS WEEK WE GREW UP TOGETHER — WE WERE MEMBERS OF THE SAME GANG JOHNNY Zknr 1 PRISON — But Johnny's pal stayed home. A frank, dramatic story by a boy from the city slums who was headed for crime and prison. It's a vivid example of how any community can nip gangsterism in the bud by MACK OHNNY was sent to prison last week. He had his picture taken for the news- papers standing between two husky guards. He had been caught breaking into a drug store, and his bad record stood against him. The judge sent Johnny away for a couple of years. When he comes back he will be a tougher guy. I knew Johnny well. We grew up in the same section of the East Side. We used to huddle together over a corner bonfire in the winter, and dive into the dirty East River when the summer sun parched the streets. We used to spend hours on street corners, shoot- ing dice. We would plan little robberies, and swipe fruit from the grocery store. In those slums on the lower East Side of New York City there are many fellows like Johnny. Pushcarts line the sidewalks, and little shops face the pushcarts — saloons, pool- rooms, candy stores with back rooms and gangs of young fellows playing blackjack. Dozens of races live together in crowded, dirty old tenements. That was where Johnny and I lived. I knew him a long time. Johnny and I, Jack, Joel, Anthony and red-haired Ralph were a gang. ‘We were all about ten years old. You couldn’t call us “little boys,” even if we were under- nourished and scrawny — we were burdened and hardened far beyond our years. And you couldn’t exactly call our activities “‘play.” We used to steal things, break windows and play . The janitor left Johnny alone. WILLIAMS hookey from school, and swear and smoke. We were just average East Side boys, and those were the things to which we were accustomed. We belonged to the streets. Even if we were lucky enough to have parents, they did not have time to watch over us. There was no room for us in our three-room cold-water flats. We had no grassy yards to play in, either. My yard was full »f clothes lines and garbage cans. Ifwe ever went there to pitch pennies or fight among ourselves, the janitor would swear and say he'd break our necks if he ever caught us. He caught Johnny once, and Johnny picked up a stick with a nail at the end. Sometimes we would go around to the more popular East Side restaurants, where uptown visitors would fre- quently dine. The rich people would see us standing by the door, crowding around to look inside. They would laugh, and throw us pen- nies. We thought they were suckers. We be- gan to wait for them, and expect to get money. Each block had such a gang as this, and we all did about the same things. We never thought of ourselves as chums or pals — we Copyright, 1936, United Newspapers Magazine Corporation HENRY WAS CAUGHT BY A POLICEMAN AND TAKEN AWAY quxhnSodkar were just in the same gang. We gave the police many headaches. We all looked up to the gang leaders. If they began smoking at the age of 12 or 13, so did we. If they grew interested in going further than the ordinary pushcart pil- fering, so did we. They thought cops were big, cruel bulls — so did we. I held my teachers in contempt — but there was nothing I wouldn’ do for Johnny. » Our heroes were the flashy corner gangsters who we knew were race touts and gamblers. They always seemed to be well dressed, but they never had any jobs. When we were al- lowed to run their errands, we felt great. Anthony’s brother was a glittering, flashy fellow. Everybody knew he was a gangster, and his mother always looked as though she wanted to cry. He didn't live at home, but Anthony wished he would, because he always gave him nickels and dimes. He was a pool- room guy, admired by all the girls. We wanted to be poolroom guys too. Anthony’s brother was our hero. Once we told him we had stolen an expensive stamp al- bum from a store on Nassau Street. He laughed and said: “Don’t get caught!” It was inspiring praise. Crime is probably a terrible word, but it meant nothing to us. Each of us had been in trouble with the police, had a relative who was in trouble with the police, or knew some- body who was in jail. Sometimes one of the older boys would be arrested and sent to prison. We wouldn't see him for a few months; then, he would be back on the same corner, out of a job and tougher than ever. That is how we grew up, in the littered streets of a big city slum. We disliked the ° police. Once, a man was beaten and killed. When a crowd gathered, one little boy began to say: ‘“‘Mama, I saw somebody hit this man."” His mother slapped his face and dragged him away. We did not see him for a couple of days. We never played basketball or baseball, be- cause nobody ever taught such sports to us. Many times Johnny and I would ‘“‘go on the hook.”” That is, for days at a stretch we did not go to school. Johnny was always very brave. When some strange gang would come around looking for a fight, he was always the first to start it. It was he who first got the idea of making periodic raids on the fruit push- carts. He even got a reputation, and his mother used to cry. One day Johnny was given a chance to “hang out” with the big guys in the corner (Continved on poge 13) lllysirations by C. R. Chickering