John L. Vs. Chick, Fight by Indian's Hill [Part III Donkeyland; Cayuga Street Gang; 1963]

I didn’t know John L. all that much, not until 1964 anyway, I was all of sixteen years old, when we got into a fight. It kind of was provoked, night of us wanted to fight; John was a bit drunk, and we were in what the neighborhood called, ‘the turn around,’ which was next to my grandfather’s house where we lived, an empty lot, kind of, space between the park, and our garage, and the kid’s cars would turn around here to go back up the street.

That is where John L. was this one summer evening in 1963, and where I was, it was perhaps 9:30 PM, a dark 9:30 PM, and Larry (a relative of John’s) was egging him and me on to fight; there also was Ace (also known as the Big Bopper: Jerry S. was his real name, I had dated his sister once, she went to the same High School I did ((Washington High), and was a twin); anyhow, here we were, about seven of us, and Larry was egging John on to fight me, telling him he couldn’t lose (and when I heard that whisper: Larry to John, I made a decision there and then); I liked Larry, but he was much older than I, and we didn’t hang out together then, we were only distant friends.

“Come on let’s fight,” said John to me, looking at Larry for confidence and assurance. And I looked about, and heard everyone push for the fight to start, so I ran into the weeds, and out into the baseball field, Indian’s Hill behind me, and John ran after me, and then I stopped, and John froze somewhat: he didn’t expect me to stop and face him right on, know what to do was on his mind: so he went to throw a punch, and he missed, and I grabbed him and threw him on the ground, and started to punch away, punch his lights out, and he said: “Stop, stop, please, I give up!” And I let him up, and he said, “You got to go back there and tell them all I won, if not, Larry and the guys will beat the shit out of you.”

And so I agreed with that, knowing now they were related and that to keep peace: so we walked back, and they all stood looking at John and I, we didn’t act like two fellows just finishing a fight, a voice said: ’…who won?’ and I said, “John got me on the ground and I gave up, and so I guess he won.” My pride was hurt, but I survived the neighborhood, and in the long run, that is what mattered. But John and I turned out to be best of friends in time, and there are a few more stories to that. We even traveled to California together in 1967.