The Sunday Memory Drawer - My First Night in Brooklyn

For a great deal of my youth, Brooklyn was the borough way "down there." Except for one car trip to Staten Island, it was the New York borough I had spent the least amount of time in. For my family, the Bronx was a breeze. Most of our relatives still lived there. Queens was the home of the Mets. Enough said. And Manhattan was the place you headed for those special occasions of fun. Radio City Music Hall. The circus. My eye doctor on E. 68th Street.

Brooklyn presented way too advanced a car trip for my dad. It easily felt into one of his major prohibitive decrees often discussed here.

"It's too far."

"It's too crowded."

"It's too hot/cold."

Done. Brooklyn might as well have been on the planet Uranus. Admittedly, it was no loss. My family had no ties there. And, frankly, it wasn't until I got to Fordham University before I even met somebody from the far-off borough.

And it was because of one of those new alliances that my very first trip to Brooklyn came about.

To go on a date.

Let me backtrack just a bit.

This guy was one of the first friends I made at WFUV. He was an oddity to me. From Brooklyn and, even more amazingly, always seemed to have a girlfriend. Usually, they were about two or three years younger and still in high school, but they were girlfriends nonetheless. I remember one even was still wearing braces. That was definitely a stretch for me, since I myself had been retainer-free since I was fourteen. But, who was I to quibble? He had a girlfriend and most of the rest of us didn't.

One of his later year models, who happened to be a high school senior, took a particular shine to a couple of us, especially me and my college roommate. She didn't understand why any of us were not busying ourselves with the opposite sex. I didn't understand either. At a Christmas party in our dorm apartment, she vowed to change our status for the new year.

You see, she had "some friends."

Frankly, we didn't do much in-depth analysis on her New Year's resolution. She liked us and allegedly had a stable full of available women down in Brooklyn. Three of us signed on immediately. We were told to hang tight. Perhaps, she needed to go into a laboratory to scientifically match each of us up with our ideal and maybe even lifelong mates.

The long awaited evening was scheduled for a Friday night in January. To make things smooth for all involved, we'd all go out together with our friend and his matchmaking honey. Four couples out on the town. Oddly enough, it coincided with a weekend that I was due to travel home. So, I had to alert one of the parental units as to this change in plans. I slipped in the news to my father.

"I'm going to Brooklyn on Friday night."

Dad turned on his usual robotic response.

"Brooklyn? What the hell are you going there for?"

Well...

Dad continued with his regular litany.

"It's too far."

"It's too crowded."

"It's supposed to snow." Dad was adapting his "it's too hot/cold" excuse.

I had to come clean.

"I've got a date."

That shut him up. My father was obviously fine with this development.

But he was right about one thing. It did snow. Like a son of a bitch. Not even the specter of a hot date could get us the way down to Brooklyn in that kind of weather. We made plans to reschedule.

But, my roommate decided to go off the original playbook. Without us knowing it, he went ahead and made plans for his own blind date. All by themselves. That was a daring move. And, luckily for me and my other single chum, one that presented us with some much needed information.

My roommate returned to our dorm apartment after his big meeting with Miss Catholic High School Senior. I asked him how it went. He was nonplussed.

"It was okay."

And???

"It was okay."

I heard you the first time. I decided to press a little softer for the details. I inquired as to what they talked about.

"Nothing. All she really wanted to talk about was her senior prom."

Oh.

Oh?

OH!

DING DING DING DING DING DING DING.

Like a great Sherlock Holmes, all the clues started to make sense as they were laid out side-by-side. The winter timing. Ideal to make the necessary bonds just in time for a May formal and a carriage ride through Central Park. I hadn't gone to my own senior prom in high school, mainly because it was nothing but twenty Black couples going to the Apollo Theater. I certainly wasn't going to one when I was three years older. And in Brooklyn, of all places.

We immediately scheduled an emergency meeting to figure out how to extricate ourselves from this revolting predicament. My roommate had obviously already fallen on his sword. But my other pal and I were still in the soup. Our big dates were scheduled for the following week. We had decided to double date. How could we possibly come down with debilitating cases of the flu in seven days??

At the end of the day and the week, we were still fine. And opting to be complete gentlemen. We would go ahead with our first and likely last dates.

As we crossed into the borough of Brooklyn, I felt no great accomplishment in finally setting foot there. Realistically, I hoped to myself that this virgin voyage would not be my last. It was bad enough we were entering into an always fearsome prospect of a blind date. But, obviously, this was one created with a hidden agenda. Me and a tuxedo. With some still faceless chick wearing a corsage and holding onto my left arm for dear life.

To this very day, I cannot recall anything about my date for the evening. Her name. What she looked like. How I felt when I first set eyes on her.

What I can remember is that every word she said seemed to come out of her nose.

My date was Penny Marshall. Well, a reasonable facsimile.

"Ya so funny, Len. Heh heh heh heh heh heh."

I hated Brooklyn with every fiber of my being.

Luckily, we all went to a movie, which automatically and fabulously cut down on prime dialogue time. But, of course, there was the requisite diner afterwards.

"I'll have the tuna fish. Whacha having, Len? Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh."

I love making people laugh, but this was ridiculous. I would have probably gotten the same giggles if I said her mother had just been hit by a bus on Flatbush Avenue.

My buddy's date was no better. And he was doing his best to upend his senior prom prospects as well. By resorting to the most inappropriate humor possible. At the time, Art Linkletter's daughter had just jumped to her death from a Los Angeles apartment high rise. Hardly a joking matter. You would think.

"Art Linkletter's daughter just played the Game of Life and lost."

Even I cringed.

At the end of the night, I stood at the front door with this chick for either ten minutes or maybe ten hours. It was excruciating. There was no mention of a senior prom, but I had a sense that she knew that I knew. And, together, we both knew that this whole deal was completely off the table.

I never saw her again.

My friend with the girlfriend wound up going to that senior prom several months later. I never asked if any of these three girls wound up getting dates. I didn't really care. I was done dating in that borough.

I would, however, be back to Brooklyn at some other isolated moments in my life. Two funerals. A wedding. A bunch of house parties. Two Brooklyn Cyclone games.

But, the rest of my NY dating life would be confined to the Bronx, Manhattan, Queens, and Westchester. With some stories that may be still told here.

And others that definitely will not.

Dinner last night: Reuben sandwich at Cafe Montana.