There must have been lots of things to do on the McCord School playground, but the only thing I remember ever doing was playing baseball (or maybe it was softball). When the teachers would take us outside, a group of us would run to the far end of the playground to claim the best spot for playing ball. Teams would be chosen, and whether you were chosen first, or last (as I often was), everyone played and everybody had a good time. I spent many hours there.
I was there on November 22, 1963, when we were called in early to be told that President Kennedy had been shot. Looking back, I wonder if the teachers were afraid that nuclear war might be starting.
There’s another day on the playground that stands out in my memory. Besides having the best place for playing ball, the far end of the playground also had the entrance to a dirt alley that ran behind the houses on Fifth Avenue. When we arrived one day to play ball, there was a body lying in the alley.
I don’t believe any of us had ever seen a dead body. None of us knew what to do or say, so we just stood in a circle around the body, looking down at it. It seems like we stood there a long time, but it probably wasn’t long. Suddenly the “dead man” stirred and pushed himself slowly to his feet. He looked blankly around at us through bloodshot eyes, then ambled off down the alley.
I don’t believe we told the teachers. We played ball as usual, but I thought about the “dead man” a lot. In my sheltered world, it was probably the first glimpse I had into the dysfunctional lives some families live. It helped me realize how blessed I was.