Brooklyn De Mi Corazon

I grew up in East New York, Brooklyn. On Euclid Avenue to be exact. A predominately Black and Puerto Rican neighborhood. Most people would say this was a poor neighborhood. I called it home. We had all the classic elements you associate with poor neighborhoods. Our own street gang, garbage, rodent infested empty lots, drugs and of course, minorities. There was violence. Sirens of some sort always audible. The smell of garbage was foul on occasion. (like when it wasn't picked up by the city for weeks). Our Houses all looked the same, big dilapidated apartment buildings with "stoops". Stoops were groovy, it's where we sat to watch the world go by. It was a crazy neighborhood but everyone watched out for each other. Even the Latin Kings (who were nothing like the gang of Spanky and Alfalfa fame) never pillaged or disrespected a neighbor. There was a twisted sense of honor even among our street gang. We were all in the same boat, and you always look after your own. Poor, hard working, just trying to get by, that's how it was on our block.

There were a couple eccentric people on our block. A Puerto Rican lady who weighed about 500 lbs lived across the street from me. She never spoke. I never heard her say one solitary word. She smiled and gestured and that was enough to get her message across. Then there was Lucky. Lucky lived in the apartment building next door. He was in his 30's. Lived with his brother and sister-in-law and their 9 kids. Lucky was an alcoholic. I don't recall ever seeing him sober, not ever. He had been in the military at some point and had been discharged due to a "mental illness". Lucky was black, tall, skinny and walked with a certain stride unique to him. Sort of a cool, meandering stride. He walked around singing the same song, every single day. "Ride, I use to jump my horse and ride, I had a six gun at my side, I was so handsome, women cried, and I got shot and never died". It was a Sonny and Cher song, and that's the only verse he ever sang.

Lucky helped everyone who asked. He was often seen holding court, mediating between 2 kids who were fighting. He played handball, stick ball and he was my favorite "double dutch" partner. We kicked ass jumping rope. Lucky spent countless hours expounding the virtues of a drug free life. ("Do as I say not as I do" to an incalculable degree) When he wasn't playing with us, (us, being all the kids on the block) he was watching for us. He sat on his stoop and waited for all of us to walk home from school so he could ask about our day and about homework. He made us laugh and we called him our friend. (crazy to think that our parents trusted this drunk to hang with us, given the air of our current planet that would never happen today.) He was kind, thoughtful, funny and silly, all while being drunk.

I was on my way home from school one afternoon when I noticed the not so unusual array of police cars and an ambulance on our block. The only thing that made this sight different from any other day was the screaming and crying of familiar voices. As I walked past the yellow tape and glanced over, it was Lucky. He was dead. Shot by a man who thought Lucky was having an affair with his wife. (the wife had just moved to our block the night before). Lucky didn't know her.

I don't recall hearing that Sonny and Cher song again, until today. I was scanning for a radio station and there it was. "Ride, I use to jump my horse and ride, I had a six gun at my side, I was so handsome, women cried, and I got shot and never died". Same first verse. In Puerto Rico, in the year 2007, what were the odds of that? Funny and strange how somethings just take you back. Right back to Brooklyn.