We played stickball games outside Beekman's candy store, as young teenagers, almost every day of the week, from spring until the first snowflake fell. A line drive off Beekman's store window brought him flying out the front door, white apron strings trailing behind him. A broomstick might fly from a batter's hands and rocket toward Beekman's front windows. Unofficial records and fading memories indicate that although Mr. Beekman may have lost his breath on several occasions during our stickball games, he never lost a window. In this engaging memoir, author Marty Toohey paints a vibrant portrait of growing up in the Bronx during the 1930s and 40s. In the Bronx's cultural melting pot, Toohey and his friends delighted in the simple pleasures of life. Toohey shares his memories of roasting stolen potatoes or "mickies" in an empty lot on 167th Street, of the milkman's horse tapping an early morning cadence on the cobblestones of Fulton Avenue, and of hiding from the nuns at St. Augustine's Church, known as the "Cathedral of the Bronx." Brimming with the simple charm of the past, Bronx Boy is rich with details, transporting its readers into a forgotten time of innocence.
Marty Toohey was born in the Bronx at a time when few neighbors had jobs, tenants had their furniture removed to the sidewalk, and not every kid could afford penny candy. Tooheys first memoir, Bronx Boy, chronicles those early years. In this, his second book, he narrates the many adventures of his adult life. With a penchant for storytelling, Toohey writes about his time in the navy when the USS Pawcatuck pitched over in an Atlantic storm and the sailors were thrown headfirst through the ships galley as meals flew from trays. He describes a four-hour interview with Bill Ziff that changed his life, as well as playing golf in Bermuda and getting a near hole-in-one on Pebble Beach. He recalls his close call during a vasectomy; traveling as a foreign correspondent; and trying to avoid being shot while driving through Watts, California, during the race riots in 1965. Finally, he recounts his downfall as publisher and his bumpy ride back up. A varied collection of personal and often humorous stories documenting his life and career, Bronx Man tells the tales of Marty Toohey, who feels like hes the luckiest man alive.
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We played stickball games outside Beekman's candy store, as young teenagers, almost every day of the week, from spring until the first snowflake fell. A line drive off Beekman's store window brought him flying out the front door, white apron strings trailing behind him. A broomstick might fly from a batter's hands and rocket toward Beekman's front windows. Unofficial records and fading memories indicate that although Mr. Beekman may have lost his breath on several occasions during our stickball games, he never lost a window. In this engaging memoir, author Marty Toohey paints a vibrant portrait of growing up in the Bronx during the 1930s and 40s. In the Bronx's cultural melting pot, Toohey and his friends delighted in the simple pleasures of life. Toohey shares his memories of roasting stolen potatoes or "mickies" in an empty lot on 167th Street, of the milkman's horse tapping an early morning cadence on the cobblestones of Fulton Avenue, and of hiding from the nuns at St. Augustine's Church, known as the "Cathedral of the Bronx." Brimming with the simple charm of the past, Bronx Boy is rich with details, transporting its readers into a forgotten time of innocence.
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