We were just kids hanging out in front of the building, the way we did almost every day. Nobody was causing trouble. We were talking, joking around, just killing time on the block.
Out of nowhere, an unmarked car pulled up. A couple of plainclothes officers jumped out and started running toward us. Instinct kicked in and most of the guys scattered. That was just how things worked back then—if a car rolled up fast, you ran first and asked questions later.
I stayed put. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I didn’t see the point in running. I figured they were after someone else.
Next thing I knew, one of the officers grabbed me and told me to get against the wall. They held onto a couple of us while the rest of the crew disappeared around the corner. I got a quick pat-down, the usual questions about what I had on me. I said nothing, because there was nothing to say.
After a moment, they let me go. One of them gave me a shove and a warning about staying out of trouble, like I’d already done something. I remember feeling annoyed and embarrassed. Everyone on the block saw it, and in my mind I kept thinking, “Next time? I didn’t even do anything this time.”
Once the car pulled off, my friends slowly came back. As soon as they saw me, they rushed over, shoved me against the wall, and started joking around, imitating the officers. They were cracking up, and even though I was still irritated, I couldn’t help but laugh too.
Moments like that stick with you. When people talk about what they think growing up in the Bronx was like, I think back to scenes like this. Life on those blocks had its own rules, its own rhythm, and its own stories.
Yeah they use to take us to the docs on 161st and brat the shit out of us. Then we walked back laughing cause nobody got really hurt bad!!!!