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AJAX PARK |
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It was truly a day to remember, made special by the faces and the memories. It was about family and teammates, old adversaries and new friends. A time when the little kids of yesterday stood on equal footing with their childhood heroes. If we - each of us - ever wondered who we really were, the sum total of the pieces came together that day. We had come through to the other side - through the Vietnam War of the 1960's, and the crack wars on the streets. We had survived the madness that surrounded us, firmly rooted in the belief that hard work wins, no matter what the game. We all came back to Ajax Park, but not all of us could be seen. Some came back in spirit only - Legs, Inch, Wayne Butler, Doug Perry, Cheryl Beauford, John Bradshaw, Robbie Peterson, Charlie McBride, and several more were missed, but not forgotten. We stood there on hallowed ground, Ajax Park, where the seeds of our manhood had been planted. Ajax Park and the basketball courts. Ajax Park - a name I once mentioned in a conversation half-way around the world, and some stranger from New Jersey knew where I meant. Ajax Park was as much an identity as it was a location.
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Coming Home by Richard Kenyada
We called it Ajax Park, but we never knew why. It’s real name was Charles Drew Memorial Park, dedicated in memory of Dr. Charles R. Drew, an African American. The storage of blood in plasma form has saved untold lives since Drew brought the process forward in the thirties, and he created the model for blood and plasma storage that is used by the Red Cross even today. Ajax Park was THE place for outdoor sports activity in Jamaica. It included two professional scale baseball diamonds. In the late 1950’s, the soon-to-be National League team (the Metropolitans, or Mets) held their tryout games at Ajax where semi-pros played every weekend. Along side of one field, Ajax included 4 full basketball courts, and six handball courts. My family moved to Queens from the Bed-Stuy section of Brooklyn in 1955 to a new house directly across the street from Ajax Park. And Ajax Park soon after became the center of my universe. At 12 years old, I met my first girlfriend at Ajax. Diane Havens was new to the neighborhood. She lived on 139th Street, off 115th Avenue. I met her on the handball courts. The girl could play some handball. I gathered enough confidence to ask her out on a first date. I took her to the Park Theater on Rockaway Boulevard. The price of admission was 25-cents. The movie was “The Giant Behemoth;” scary, but it brought us closer. At some point during the walk home, Diane held my hand. I was 12 and it meant the world to me. But, alas, it was not meant to be. Diane later ended up being Chinky’s girlfriend. He was older, and played handball better than me. I spent most of my adolescence on the basketball courts of Ajax. Summer, Winter, Fall and Spring, but especially in the summer. Summers at Ajax were always special. There’d be bid whist on the picnic table, checkers, Nok-Hockey tournaments… We’d play handball, too, but mostly it was about basketball. In the early 1960’s, Ajax basketball was an addiction. Everyone who lived within a mile was drawn to the park. The names come rushing back to me now. Martin & Melvin Tribble, Tito, Legs, Inch, Joe Scott Pope and Little Pope, Chinky, Robin and Raymond LaBorde with little brother Nicky, Larry Holland, Carmon Johnston, Tyrone Morman, Robert Peterson, Joe Campbell, Alfonso Farnell, Charlie Mac… And then there was the supporting cast like Terry, the ice cream man. He probably retired on the Italian Ice money he earned from me alone. My most memorable moment at Ajax was on Friday, November 22, 1963. John Adams HS had mid-term exams, and a few of us – Joe Scott, Roger and I - who had already taken our tests earlier in the week, decided to go to Ajax to play some ball. Earlier that morning, the Park Attendant had raised the flag up the flag pole, but it was strange to see him lowering the flag at midday. So after a game, we walked over to him and asked about the lowering of the flag to half-mast. He clearly had tears in his eyes when he told us that President Kennedy had just been shot and the President was dead. We all ran home, confused and afraid. For the rest of the weekend, Ajax was like a ghost town, as we all stayed home glued to our black and white TV sets. Ajax Park provided a backdrop and a cocoon of protection for many of us. Everything we needed was provided in the park. We had family at home, but we also had family in the Park. And we needed the support of both. Every year, the “kids” I grew up with at Ajax, get together for a day of hanging out in the park. I’ve always resisted the urge to go back, perhaps because we were all so different than we are now, 35 or 40 years later. As my airplane touched down at LaGuardia Airport, I was jarred back into present day, wondering if anyone would remember me after all these years. MR. KENYADA'S NEIGHBORHOOD | THE DRUM - OUR FORUM
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Who
said that you can’t go home? Thomas Wolf wrote the enduring American
classic, “You Can’t Go Home Again.” And on July 21st as my
passenger jet made its landing approach over New York City, I thought
about Wolf’s title and its irony in that he died after writing the book,
at the relatively young age of 37. When I was 37, already absent from New
York for six years, I had no intention of returning home. But now, over
two decades later, I was on my way to a reunion of my neighborhood pals at
Ajax Park in Jamaica, Queens.