BOO!

         Stoops are good! No, they are better than good… and they are important.

         You probably know this already since you're reading about them. There’s also an excellent chance that you grew up with a stoop or are fairly familiar with them. Say it out loud: STOOPS ARE GOOD. Again and LOUDER!

         Growing up, I took stoops for granted. They were there and they did their thing but I took them for granted along with toilets and electricity. Only after I became a homeowner did I truly begin to learn about the intricacies of plumbing and electrical facilities and by this time stoops, like I grew up with, were no longer that active in my life.

         My late in life re-consideration of stoops is a result of seeing how people in my neighborhood interact. They need a stoop. Watching them started me thinking about the stoop in front of my apartment house when I was a kid and what it meant to all of us. I just kept thinking and figured I’d capture it in bits and pieces.

         First, let me get to the conclusion: the stoop was a territorial and social mecca for the immediate community and it parts, and was pretty essential for community communications, actions and relationships. It also served as a “safe harbor” for children, a social center for adults, and an observation and command post for the overseeing of kids. Before you challenge me for the studies, documented observations, and my credentials that allow me to make this bold conclusion let me say “I don’t have ‘em but read further and you’ll see I’m pretty right.”

         The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition, states that a stoop is a chiefly Northeastern, USA, expression for “A small porch, platform, or staircase leading to the entrance of a house or building.” The derivation of the word is the Dutch word stoep which meant a front verandah. Remember that the original settlers of our Brooklyn were from the Netherlands and their language was Dutch. The word stoop is one of the few items of Dutch vocabulary that have survived to todays Brooklyn.

         At 403 Ave. “C” there were 20 apartments. In the block of apartment houses there were 72 total apartments. Each of the four apartment houses had its own stoop and the majority of the congregants at each of the stoops were occupants of that apartment house. There could be travelers between the stoops or even neighbors and others stopping by but the stoop group seemed to be defined territorially.

         I note that adults, most usually the women, had an historic and first-right-of-refusal on the stoop area. If as kids we congregated at the stoop and the adults arrived, we were expected to leave. If we lingered too long we might be chased away as being too noisy with our sometimes transistor radios playing that loud, meshuga, Rock ‘n’ Roll music or too distracting and disrupting.

         As kids, we always conceded the stoop to the adults when they began to arrive. There was never any consideration on their part that we may be in the final innings of the seventh game of the World Series – stoop-ball version.

         At my apartment house’s stoop, most the congregants tended to gather after their evening meal and stay until 9. Based on the weather and the time of sunset, the group would stay later or break up earlier. Most of the members of each stoop group were women who brought aluminum folding chairs from their apartments. The stoop group was actually a collection of sub-groups based on shared factors including age of children, geographic ancestry, marital status, age, medical conditions, and personal likes and dislikes derived from real or imagined bonds or offences.

         Sometimes the women would move their chairs between sub-group to pass on new revelations (rumors) or to literally “change the subject”. Stoopers could visit one of the other stoops on the block but they rarely went elsewhere or took their chair with them. A chair left empty was not to be used by anyone visiting without an invitation to do so. A visited chair would have to be vacated as soon as its owner returned.
Men at a stoop were usually a husband of one of the stoopers or just stopping by for a short visit. “Tom-catting” males were not generally tolerated, even if a resident of the apartment house.

         Young girls were allowed on the periphery of the group as were married young women. Unattached young women usually chose to wonder the area or to not be a stooper where they lived. I’m sure you can understand why.

         There was both a hierarchy and an etiquette connected to the stoop. Regulars may have a particular place for their chair and to sit and there may be some structure to who directs the conversation. The etiquette was simple… know your place, don’t impose yourself, don’t block the entrance, don’t litter, and mind the tone, subjects, and relationships of the stoop group and sub-groups.

         A key point of stoop etiquette was the use of an individuals name in both greetings and conversations. Older people were always addressed as Mister or Misses. Younger adult stoopers may use first or given names with peers, but all children (teenagers and below) were to use more formal salutations in addressing any adults. It is recorded that in some parts of Brooklyn there was greater use of given names but this practice had not made it to our stoops yet. The use of personal names enhanced the familiarity and sense of community.

         During the day-time the stoop was the domain of the block's kids. Younger children were told to play “by the stoop” and not to wander. Often a mom or older sibling would oversee the children and be responsible for them. The stoop was a “safe harbor” for the children while they were out playing.

         As pre-teens and teenagers, we always tended to congregate at the stoop where the fewest of us lived (or at the corner where the mailbox was). Since we were local kids, essentially being raised by the local community, it was important to be in earshot of a parent’s call from a window but far enough away to be not easily watched and tattled on. The evening stoopers, even if just passing by from shopping, could be counted on to be squealers. As Brooklyn kids we had no privacy.

         The stoop was a congregation point while we decided what to do. In the winter time we would gather in the vestibule but it was still a stoop environment to us.

         In our neighborhood, but a block away, was an entirely different variant of stooper who had taken stooping in an almost entirely different direction. The people in the apartment houses on Ocean Parkway seldom used the entranceway to their apartment houses as a classic stoop. These people were able to use the benches on the Parkway as their stoop.

         Each of the benches seemed to be reserved for a particular Ocean Parkway stoop group. If an outsider was sitting on a stoop group bench when the regulars began to arrive, they were simply ignored. The regulars would just act as if the outsiders weren’t there. Pretty soon the outsiders would be surrounded and excluded from the conversations. The space they had once controlled would be violated and it didn’t take long for the outsiders to realize their mistake and move on. The process wasn’t overtly hostile but similar to what might be called benign neglect or shunning.

         As you can see the Ocean Parkway stoopers were as territorial as any people gathered by a physical stoop. It demonstrates that you didn’t need a stoop to be a stooper but it probably helped.

         Taking this discussion one step further, the Flatbush Reformed Dutch Church at Flatbush and Church Avenues was a stoop for Erasmus Hall High School students. The Church was not at the school but was in the immediate proximity of it. It provided a territorial and social mecca for the students, there were a number of sub-groups, and was pretty essential for community communications, actions and relationships. Just about all of the characteristics described earlier can be applied to the area at the front of the Church as a stoop except for the toleration of “tom-catting” males. What makes it complete is that the word stoop is derived from the Dutch and in this instance the physical stoop is at the front of the Reformed Dutch Church.

         One final thought for the age of the world-wide web… chat rooms, message boards, bulletin boards, and web sites provide virtual stoop facilities for the initiated. The difficulty is that quite often visitors do not adhere to the etiquette rules of the facility and throw it into chaos. While I’m an adherent to the right of free speech and the inferred right for individuals to politic to advance their beliefs, I believe that the WWW facilities must be moderated for the benefit of all the stoopers. Of some folks, no matter what their age, we can say “Doesn’t Play Well With Others”.

         In the American Heritage® Dictionary definition above, a reference is made to the stoop being a Northeastern entity. Let me say that this is false. The stoop is a Northeastern urban entity. You do not see stooping in suburban or rural America. I concede that you may see a variant around a housing development park or community pool but it is not the same.

         Stoops were important in the lives of ordinary Brooklynites. They were a point of community and communications. They facilitated gossiping, tattling, surveying, judging, sharing, politicking, theatrics, and simply watching the kids, the community, and the world within a structure of norms and etiquette.

         Stoops are good... AND IMPORTANT..


[end] © Copyright by Ken Thompson – 2002-04.

         “Got ‘em here, right here; tunafurters. Guaranteed good for Friday’s. Eat ‘em like a hot dog. … Got ‘em here.”

         I couldn’t believe it. Here is this guy, standing on the corner of Willoughby and Lewis Avenues, right where Williamsburg, Bed-Sty, and Bushwick came together, trying to sell tunafurters to kids at my school, St. John’s Prep., a Catholic High School; on a Friday no less. He wasn’t selling many but he was selling some. Mostly what he was selling were the large pretzels and sodas.

         The tunafurters smelled just like hot dogs and they looked like ‘em too; particularly when he put mustard and some onions on ‘em. I didn’t buy one. I wanted to but I didn’t.

         I hung around for a little while just waiting to see what might happen. Nothing of consequence did, though there was a lot of talk, so I headed over to the Myrtle Ave Station to catch the subway home.

         On the following Monday, and throughout the week, the hallways and cafeteria talk centered on the issue of tunafurters. We were young men taught to be skeptical of things that seemed to be too good to be true. The issue was addressed with an approach similar to arguing apologetics and dogma.

         At issue were some of the following:

• If you ate a tunafurter and it was actually a hot dog would you go to hell or would the vendor?
• If you ate a tunafurter but you thought it was a hot dog but it was actually a tunafuter would you go to hell?
• If you told another student that a tunafurter was actually made of tuna and the student ate but it was a hot dog would he go to hell or would you? Or both?
• If you took money out of the Church poor-box, cause you were starving to death and you spent the money on a tunafurter that might be hot dog would you go to hell for robbery, for eating meat on Friday, for both, or for neither?
• If the vendor sold two for the price of one and you bought them and gave one to a starving person would you go to hell?
• Why would God allow a tunafurter to look like and smell like a hot dog if it wasn’t really a hot dog?
• Why is the vendor allowed to sell tunafurters that are actually hot dogs and not struck down dead for doing so?
• How is it possible for science to make such a major breakthrough as having tuna taste like hot dog when the cafeteria’s egg salad always seemed green and to taste of onion?

         There definitely were a lot of issues and impacts. Oh, the things young men had to consider in life.

         Some guys went as far as to discuss this with teachers but all did it from a purely hypothetical perspective.

         On Thursday a message from the Headmaster was read at all classes. It said, “It has come to our attention that significant time and effort is being spent in discussions regarding a vendor selling what appears to be hot dogs but are being presented as tunafurters. It would be prudent for you to avoid the possibility to be enticed to do something you would not normally do. We expect to be able to resolve the issue shortly.”

         That seemed pretty good but there was the question of what the word “resolve” meant in the context of the announcement. Ditto for the word “issue”.

         When Friday came around there was a high degree of anticipation and excitement about resolving the Tunafurter Issue. In all honesty it was not up there with the day class rings were delivered but it sure was pretty high.

         When classes were let out for the day, a large crowd gathered around the tunafurter vendor but nobody was buying… maybe sodas and pretzels but no tunafurters. From the side of the crowd, near the direction of the school be could hear his voice, “Make way gentlemen, let’s move it, step aside please.”

         We heard it about three times till he was standing about three feet from the vendor. Father Felson towered over him and gave him the look that we had all become accustomed to. It screamed “I can’t believe this is happening. You’re gonna pay for this. How stupid can you be?”

         A solemn hush came over the crowd. The eyeball to eyeball standoff lasted thirty seconds and then Father Felson spoke, “I’ll take a tunafurter if they’re not made with meat.” Without a hesitation the vendor turned, grabbed a long fork, flipped open a stainless steel canister and speared a tunafurter. With his other hand he grabbed a bun and in a single split-second movement encased the tunafurter in the bun and the bun in a small napkin.

         Over his shoulder he asked “You wan’ mus’ard, ‘kraut, or onions?” With a look of grand annoyance Father Felson answered definitively “No!”

         The vendor turned with the bun and tunafurter in his left hand but with his right hand, palm up, and a little further out said, “You gotta pay first.”

         The grand annoyance look showed up again as he dug into his pants pocket for some change. The tension mounted still.

         After the exchange of coins for tunafurter, Father Felson looked at it and took a good bite, not a high school boy bite but not a grammar school girl bite either. After about three chews he knew all he needed to know. He put the napkin to his mouth and pushed the partly chewed segments into it.

         He turned to the crowd and announced to all within earshot, “Gentlemen, this is a fraud. The tunafurters are actually meat and you are being tempted into sin. I don’t want to see any of you eating these on Friday. I’m not sure you should ever eat these.” He paused to let it sink in. “Gentlemen, have a good weekend and travel safely.”

         He turned to the vendor, leaned forward and down to him and in a tone of absolute authority told the vendor in a voice that almost everyone could hear, “You have lied to these boys and to me. I never want to see you here again. If I do, I will not hesitate to call the Police and I will press charges to the full extent possible. Do you understand me?”

         The vendor sheepishly kept his head down and replied, “I hear you. I’m leavin’. I won’t be back.” He started to push his cart and the crowd parted to make room. As he headed off toward Myrtle Avenue and then probably to Broadway, he could hear him faintly, “Got ‘em here, right here; tunafurters. Guaranteed good for Fridays. Eat ‘em like a hot dog. … Got ‘em here.”

         So ended the Tunafurter Incident. It didn’t make it into any of the local papers but it did stay in the minds of all who were there. When the yearbook crew wanted to include a picture of a hot-dog cart and vendor as a remembrance they were told that it wasn’t worthy and no one would probably remember it happening.



[end] © Copyright by Ken Thompson – 2002-04.