The 1950s was a time of violence. There was a pecking order, and I was at the bottom. Small, younger kids like me were the perfect target. My side of town was populated by bullies; older boys who took a particular delight in teasing and intimidating kids they perceived as helpless. These guys weren't "The Fonz;" they were mean and they didn't hesitate to show it. They'd insult you and call you names or try to steal your bike. A quick shove or punch in the arm to get you to fight back so they could really tear into you. I was punched in the nose so many times that I had chronic nosebleeds for a time as I got older. The more I got hit in the nose the angrier I got deep inside my soul. The rage inside me grew, but there wasn't much you could do about it except ride fast or bring Whee-Zee along whenever possible. I tended to avoid kids who liked to rough-house a lot.
As these boys got older they took their violence out of Woodbury Heights, picking fights with other towns. They took a certain sick pride talking about how they "beat up the niggers" in Jericho, a small black community next to ours.
Once I gained a small victory over one of them. One of the Goss brothers, two siblings from Park Ave. who had especially evil reputations, tried to get my Rixe bike away from me. I was sitting on the bank of the lake minding my own business when he approached me.
"I think I'll take that bike of yours for a ride," he demanded.
By this time I had had enough, and I knew if I gave in to him I'd probably never see my bike again.
"Leave my bike alone."
I could hear myself standing up to him, hardly believing it was happening.
Goss brushed me aside and went to grab my Rixe.
"I said you can't have it!" I protested, and proceeded to grab his wrist.
Goss grabbed both my wrists and began to twirl me around, preparing to let me fly into the waters of the lake.
Something crystallized in my brain. It happened quickly, a lightning reflex. I grabbed hold of his forearms and wouldn't let go, so the more he spun the more he lost his balance from the weight of my body hanging on.
One more turn and suddenly Goss is in the lake and I'm flying the other way, landing on the ground! Seconds later I'm on my bike tearing up Walnut Ave., leaving the cursing Goss behind.
My heart never pounded so fast. My brain reeled.
I had a satisfied laugh. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
My eyes were peeled for him after that, and he never got the chance to catch me again.
Good thing he didn't punch me in the nose.
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