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George Carroll

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  Way Back When
by George Carroll
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Rated "PG" by the Author.

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Recent poems by George Carroll
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           >> View all 1,008

Pick up sticks was a game I played

Way back when the sun was born.

Stick ball kept the cops busy

When complaints came in.


Soft ball and baseball

With no umps to rule the game.

Fist fights were not uncommon

In the South Bronx where I lived.


There were race tensions

Between the Irish and Italians

And it got pretty nasty,

A broken head or two.


Then we grew up

And started dating girls.

Lots of dances we went to-

A walk to the park afterwards.


Remember a fight that broke out

In our Friday night TV fights.

Two guys who hated each other

Were stopped when the cops saw the crowd.


A few weeks later we learned

That one of the fellows was shot dead.

It was about two in the morning

When the bar tender and him were killed.


Seems they were the only two

In the bar at the time.

Bartender was an innocent victim,

So there would be no witnesses.


Vengence and hatred reared its head-

No one was ever found guilty.

Many of us knew, but couldn't prove it,

Who the killer really was.


It was around this time my wife and kids

Moved to Levittown, Long Island N.Y.

Used to stop back and see the gang,

But those visits were few and then none.


Just a glimpse of the good old days-

There is so much more left untold.

But they were happy occasions,

Not all but mostly as I remember.




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Reviewed by Felix Perry 9/29/2012
It is ironic for when we think of our youth it is often of the best of it, but when reminded we do recall some of the horrors...bullying was something you solved on your own, gang fights were often just to make a rep, not much drugs but wine came cheap, smoking was cool, parents could beat kids for least infraction, blind eyes were turned to incest and abuse and on and on..
Reviewed by Vivian Dawson 9/28/2012
Not much has changed *George*
still the good, but the bad
and the ugly everwhere...

Lady Vivian
Reviewed by T Jett (Reader) 9/27/2012
I feel so fortunate that in Hawaii, at least in my neighborhood, all the neighbors were like relatives. We never addressed anyone by Mr or Mrs so and so but as aunty or uncle. We all felt safe. Such great memories ... Wonderfully written, George.
Reviewed by Budd Nelson 9/27/2012
we all have these types of memories George to bad the guilty got away
Reviewed by Ronald Hull 9/27/2012
I think we all lived in rough territory in those days. Somehow memory makes them pleasant. There are places I would still like to visit although there is no one there to talk to. And I would like to reconnect with some childhood friends.

Like Bob Hope always said, “thanks for the memories.”

Reviewed by D. Vegas 9/27/2012
My neighborhood has changed since I moved away.
Sometimes it is too bad that nothing stays the

Reviewed by Paul Judges 9/27/2012
Fine memories, George, well expressed.
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton 9/27/2012
Nostalgia rears it ugly head in this poem, George.
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