Gunfight at the Knights of Columbus Hall In Brooklyn
My Everlasting Memory
B. A. Cumberlidge and Timothy Key writing prompt asking to recount a day that became an everlasting memory. Here is one of mine.
I was sixteen years old at the time of this incident. It’s my way of saying, please forgive the young, for they do very stupid things.
Brooklyn is a city of streets, laid out carefully in grid patterns throughout the city. It makes it easier to not get lost when everything is numbered and lettered. Especially when you’re being chased and running for your life. But I get ahead of myself.
The night began with a phone call. It was my friend Gerry, asking if I could help him and his band set up at the Knights of Columbus Hall on 86th Street, for a party they were throwing for kids my age. His band was called, The Glass Onion. It was 1969, I believe that says it all. They were mostly a Beatles cover band with a little Cream and Doors songs thrown in. Gerry on the drums, Eddie on the bass, and what’s-his-name on guitar. Pretty good band, all things considered.
Again, this was 1969 and objective and subjective reality frequently swapped dominion and what seemed super fantastic in the throes of the evening, sounded absolutely horrible the next morning. Needless to say, this was one of those evenings.
The band was set up and ready to go by 8:00 pm. The hall was not exactly the Staple Center. Maybe 300 people could squeeze inside, if each half, alternated breathing in and out. Everyone was in a good mood, enhanced by some choice weed brought in for the occasion and by the frequent trips to the utility closet where a selection of “goods” was on sale for reasonable prices.
The band opened with Light my Fire, by the Doors. Gerry, was not Jim Morrison, but he did a decent job of capturing Morrison’s cocky attitude.
Oh, did I mention, that by the time the song started, Eddie had managed to piss off several different people? Old, Eddie, sure was a character. Not really. He was a dick, but was tolerated because he owned a Porsche 356, which was pretty cool. And he was over eighteen, which meant that he could buy beer and liquor, which made him an important piece of our general partying plans.
The song went well as did the next few and people were out on the floor dancing and flailing and generally having a good time. There were adult monitors on the perimeter. Watching and instructing and amazingly missing every illegal act that was taking place within several feet of wherever they stood.
Perhaps this was a sign of the times; kids my age being on a different plane of existence than the adults. Perhaps it was a metaphor as well. Adults and kids living in the same places at the same time and yet never truly seeing each other.
Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, as the band went through the first set of songs and then the second, the crowd became more animated, more vocal, more stoned and let’s say, more pliable to suggestion. It would have been a fun night overall, a memorable one as well, but for one thing — Eddie. During each break, somehow, someway, he managed to step on someone’s toe, make a pass at someone’s girl or generally piss off random guys throughout the hall.
Why he did this, was unknown. He wasn’t ruthless. He wasn’t overly tough; keep in mind this was Brooklyn in the late sixties and every corner had someone with a rep and Eddie wasn’t among the top ten on anyone’s list. But, with that said, he still managed to upset people by being himself. He should have come with a warning label around his neck that read: Please don’t give Eddie an excuse — but alas, this never happened.
So, back to that night.
By the time 11:30 pm rolled around, most of the crowd had left, as the Knights were busy herding everyone to the front doors. It was only after we noticed a few stragglers staying behind, doing nothing more than staring at us and nodding their heads, that we suspected something was wrong. Like they knew a big secret and we didn’t. We stared at one another for a few seconds, when a guy we knew came up to us with the news.
Apparently, a few of the friends of one of the guys that Eddie really pissed off, were waiting for us outside.
We all looked at Eddie. He grinned. We didn’t.
There were 7 or 8 of us and no, we didn’t feel like the Earps going against the Clantons at the OK Corral. We felt a little sick and uneasy and truthfully wanted to have Eddie go out on his own and take the brunt of whatever was coming. But he was one of us and shit, you just didn’t do stuff like that.
So, we sucked it up, and moved toward the front of the hall and out the door.
There were doubles doors at the entrance that opened onto a porch that went out in either direction, the old wrap-around type, with steps directly in front running about 40 feet to the curb.
Well, the Intel we got about a “few friends waiting” was a little off. There were no less than 75 people lining the porch and walkway and the only way to get to the street, was to walk past everyone of them. The scene was right out of a Hollywood western. One that didn’t end well for the heroes.
Once again, I wanted to push Eddie down the steps and while they tore him to shreds, we would make our escape. But that wasn’t meant to be and slowly, but deliberately, we made our way to the curb.
There were no taunts. No cursing. Nothing but intense staring. And I was beginning to hope, perhaps childishly, that this was all they really intended. Shaming us into realizing that we, as Eddie’s friends, should not have allowed him to take liberties with the ladies, the boys or anything else.
We made it to the curb and moved stage right. Hoping to turn the corner on 14th Avenue without incident. Which we did, so far, so good.
But this was like that Hollywood movie remember, and the suspense was maintained right up until someone shouted: “Get them” or words to that effect. I seem to recall a few F-bombs thrown in there as well.
That’s when all the years of activity and playing ball in the streets, coalesced into the fight or flight urge that we all possess. We chose flight, given the odds against us.
We were tough. We were strong. We were faster and besides getting pelted with several soda bottles we made it safely to 80th Street without slowing down.
Eventually we stopped, turned and waited. They weren’t following. Perhaps it was all about conditioning and we were just in better shape. Or perhaps, fucking Eddie, just wasn’t worth it. We all began to breathe. And laugh, as the excessive adrenaline began to burn off and the heart rates began to drop down into normal range. We had come out of this unscathed. It was over.
Or so we thought.
As I mentioned above, every corner has someone who hangs out there who has a rep. And as we all know in order to get and maintain a rep; certain acts of intense violence or stupidity must be done on a regular basis.
I’d like to say that we all learned from this incident. Put the weed and other assorted chemicals behind us and turned a new leaf. Well, that leaf wouldn’t be turned for a few years yet, but it did happen.
As it turned out, to our everlasting chagrin, the person in question was the older brother of one of the escapees from the Knights of Columbus.
He pulled up in a Chevy, saw a little blood on one of us. A small cut from a bottle that grazed a head and looked at his younger brother, his eyes asking: What the fuck did you get into?
Here we were, a bunch of guys, relieved at having gotten away from a great moment of insanity and what do we get? Another moment, driving up in a 1962 Chevy.
Bobby (not his real name) was having none of this running away shit. We had to set things straight. We thought we already had, by getting away and being able to laugh about it. Not the case.
We piled into the car and started driving around looking for the guys.
I thought, there were over 75 of them, how many are we planning to take out?
The Gods were with us during our escape and they did not desert us as we drove around and around Dyker Heights looking for the bad guys. We never found them.
An hour or so later, we were dumped out of the car and told to fuck off. We all looked at each other; a little stunned. A little happy that it was over and not saying very much.
I’d like to say that we all learned from this incident. Put the weed and other assorted chemicals behind us and turned a new leaf. Well, that leaf wouldn’t be turned for a few years yet, but it did happen.
Eventually, age, experience and wisdom finally came together, for some of us.
Eddie lingered with us for another year or so and then disappeared. Hopefully to another country where he found his outlook in life more appreciated.
Gerry and what’s-his-name, broke up the Glass Onion without there ever being a tour.
Funnily enough the incident was never brought up again. No residual anger. No stalking late at night. The whole affair faded and went to the place where all failed attempts at mayhem go. May they rest in peace.
But I remembered it. The bottles whizzing by my head. The mob chasing us, like we had just stolen the last three chickens from the farm. The intense moment of insanity that dissipated just as quickly as it was brought into being.
Man is certainly a strange beast.
We don’t always get to make very stupid mistakes and laugh about them. I did. I’ll always be thankful for that.
Joe Luca is writer and editor for ILLUMINATION and a published author and writer of children’s stories, short fiction, non-fiction articles, screenplays and poetry. Publications include Child’s Life, Children’s Playmate and others. There are some other articles below — have a read. And thank you for stopping by.
