Memory Corner

1. The Incinerator 

I barely remember the Projects incinerators being used. By the 1960s, they were replaced by the Sanitation Department, you know, the Garbage Men. But these useless buildings had their purpose for those in need. If you pried the door open, it served as a hiding place to do your drugs or to make out with your lover on a makeshift bed. For kids, it was a castle to defend. We climbed on top and challenged the other kids to dethrone us. We usually played in the late evening, after dinner and TV. We'd watch our shows like Star Trek and Outer Limits, then our parents would take over the set to watch their shows. That's when we gathered by the castle. 

The projects were four-unit apartments that were placed around the Incinerator like four dominoes surrounding the cabin-like structure, which served as the trash disposal for the 16 families in the apartments. When the garbage Men started collecting the trash from the dumpsters that were placed next to each project, serving four units, four families. The incinerators were abandoned, ignored. Burning trash was no longer safe, the project managers said. Thus the concrete structures became our playground. 

Many parents scolded their kids for playing on the "unsafe" incinerators. We told them, They're unsafe only when the maintenance men lit them up. They don't do that anymore. They're old, cold chimney stacks. If the managers don't tear them down, then it's okay to play on them. If they weren't safe, they'd tear them down. This logic worked on our folks. They bought it, and we played castle in peace. 

One day, Reys, the high school football captain sat on the porch by the unit where he lived and watched us play. When we saw him, we all ran over to the football hero and asked what University he was going to. He said he had a few choices, and a few years to decide. One of the older boys, the Middle School kid, asked Reys to join us. He could be King of the Castle, and we'd try to dethrone him. He knew how the game was played, so he accepted. He leaped and grabbed the ledge of the incinerator roof. He pulled himself up in one try. It usually took us kids, even the older ones, at least three tries to climb on the roof. 

And the game began. Reys stood atop the roof, while several of us kids tried to climb the walls to reach up to pull the football star off the roof. It was his job to keep us from getting on the roof. He simply had to pry our fingers off the ledge of the roof or push the older boys off before they could hoist themselves up. Reys was winning quite easily for several minutes. We were dropping off the incinerators, landing on the grass, leaping back to our feet to try again. There was laughter and moans, until there was silence.

No one could remember what happened. The game just stopped. The police came. An ambulance. No one asked us kids any questions. Reys' mom told the police he fell off the incinerator. The medic told his mom that her son had injured his neck. The ambulance carried the football hero off. The police put their notepads away and drove off. Reys' mom was crying when she went back inside her unit. We didn't talk about it. We just went home. 

About three weeks later, his mom brought Reys home. He stayed inside for about a week. When he finally emerged from the unit, none of the kids wanted to engage with him. After some hemming and hawing, he approached me. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't remember anything about that night. But he didn't ask anything. He smiled and sat next to me. "The sky is blue today," he said. "I like the sky when it's blue." 

It took me a second to realize that his voice sounded more like a first grader's than a high schooler's. "How's the football team doing?" I asked. "I dunno," he tried to explain. "It's too far away now. I might get lost." We sat and talked about nothing really for over an hour. It wasn't until his mom called him in for supper that he got up to leave. "Thank you for talking to me. You're the first."

That summer, I liked to help Reys with his homework from his new school. His mom often invited me in to lunch with him and watch cartoons. And the sad thing was, No one ever talked about any of it. And as if to erase the memory of the tragedy, the Projects Manager in charge had the incinerator torn down. No flowers were planted there. No plaque was placed there. The concrete base remained, and no kids ever played there again.