James S. Carr
Bio
Just a writer from the hood telling my memories of my teenage years.
Stories (19/0)
I’m Hit!
I can't remember the exact year but I believe it was the winter of '93, but it was freezing out and Philadelphia had ice storms for about two to three weeks. Black ice was everywhere. White ice, too. All the ices. The roads and pavements were sheets of slippery sludge and frozen ground. The street had been salted so they were passable but most of the pavements were like skating rinks still.
By James S. Carr3 years ago in Criminal
Eclipsed
August 21, 2017. A partial solar eclipse, a part of the sun seeming to have disappeared only to leave a black void. August 24, 2017. Another soul gone too soon. This one a freak motorcycle accident. Steve, the barber, who was just getting excited about recovery, excited for his daily meetings, attending and being a positive member of his small group and a way to ply his trade and make money; his motorcycle. Quick, easy and cheap transportation. The final piece had just been procured. He bought a new battery and he was ambulatory at long last. He didn't have a license but he did need to work. It was late August and everyone wanted their hair cut or colored.
By James S. Carr3 years ago in Psyche
People in my life
I hung around the Hagert playground area with the WTO boys. Pat was a Lot boy but he was one of those dudes everyone liked and respected and we hung out often, playing sports, finding trouble, whatever. He was a funny and fun person to be around.
By James S. Carr3 years ago in Humans
People in my life
I considered Chris Stierle a brother to me (I don't think that I did but I apologize if I spelled his name wrong, but in my defense, when he was called out to graduate from Carroll High School, the principal mispronounced his name, to which we all teased him about, relentlessly. He always gave as much as he got, though, teasing wise). He was one of my best friends. He had such an infectious and genuine laugh. Anything he found funny was followed immediately with that trademark smile and raucous, high pitched, mirthful laughter of his. I have so many fond memories of him but the one that stands out the most was just a ten second interval between him, myself and Johnny Mc.
By James S. Carr3 years ago in Humans
People in my life
Pat Otto came into my life at a time that we had a core group of friends but were open to anybody who attempted to hang out with us. I was fortunate enough to have my older brother in that neighborhood before I enetered it, because a few people knew who I was. Strangers were tested and hazed. That part of the neighborhood possessed a certain kind of mentality. Pat was related to the Kirby family, a family name that had a huge presence in that part of town. In our earliest days, we were very hard on each other and newcomers. A lot of kids made the choice to leave us alone. Pat was hanging out with us one day and we met. He was respectful and friendly, neither of which he had to be, seeing that at three or four of his cousins were on hand if there was trouble. In the rare times that we did fight amongst ourselves, the loser took it with grace and the victor gained street cred. Most times if you were at least willing to fight back, the loser gains street cred as well, for taking it for what it was; a momentary conflict. Pat took part in some of that , but that will come later, I promise.
By James S. Carr3 years ago in Humans
People in my life
I first met Kevin Trost in 1990 at the old arcade/pool hall on Trenton ave off of Dauphin street in the Kensington section of Philadelphia, PA. We were both all of 14 years old and we started out not really too fond of one another. When I entered that arcade, with my best friend at the time, John Donnelly, (you can read his story another time. John was my childhood best friend and we grew apart following that trip to the arcade), I joined a gang of sorts. We had a name, WTO, and it had a few meanings, but my favorite always will be “We’re The Ones”. There were anywhere between 25 and 100 members at varying times. We weren’t organized or anything like that, calling yourself and your friends a gang is something poor people did. It gave a sense of family outside of your blood family. I can remember a time when we used to skip school at my house and I wouldn’t let him in because I didn’t like him at the time. I considered him a rival. He kissed almost all the girls that I liked and I didn’t think he was a better looking person than I was. Add puberty and rejection to low self esteem and I never had a chance, so it was a childish jealousy. I learned that not only was my initial reaction to him so far off and that Trost, as we all called him, was an awesome person. He had his peculiarities, like we all do, but he was loads of fun.
By James S. Carr4 years ago in Humans