SHARE YOUR STORY

If you are from Brooklyn, currently living in Brooklyn, or have visited Brooklyn, you most certainly have a story to tell. If you grew up during the 50s and 60s you probably

have a story to tell as well.

Share your story with us, you can email your story anonymously, or if not too embarrassing add your name or initials. We will keep your identity secret.

If you have photos of Brooklyn or Brooklyn-related people or locations, feel free to include

Email your stories and photos to wagmom@aol.com

“I am neither from Brooklyn nor am I Jew. In fact, I am Irish through and through and yet I found Bill’s stories to be my stories, Bill’s growing up pains to be my growing up pains. No matter where you’re from and who you are, you will find this the kind of book we all need every-so-often---light and enjoyable with a bunch of laughs.”

Tim Malloy, Co-Authored best selling books with James Patterson, veteran of television news and political reporter

In 1945 those push carts were still there. I walked that street. Mom shopped
there. When WW II ended  my mom bought me an Eisenhower army jacket at a clothing store on Belmont Ave.
- Irving H.

"Bill, as I started to read ur book I got to thinking how

Ur dad and my dad, both growing up in Brooklyn, had different carrer paths. My father was born in Poland, but grew up in the east New York section of Brooklyn and spoke English fluently. While ur family had a thirst for education, my dad  dropped out of school. He worked at western union delivering messages in the city; got fired when they found out he was jewish. Prohibition was in full swing at the time so he started driving vehicles delivering liqour all over the city and as far north as Monticello. He worked in the Dutch Schultz gang. He was making lots of money...gave it to his parents...didn't drink and was not womanizer. One time I asked my dad how he got the scar on his forehead. The gang asked him if he wanted to make more money hijacking liqour in other gangs warehouses. First time out a gun battle errupted and a bullet grazed my fathers forehead. After that encounter, he went to back as a driver transporting liqour. 

 

He did this for years and  must have been real good as a driver, because one day  in back of a speakeasy two big guys cornered my dad and said are u William Hirsch. They told him he was a lucky man. They told him if he didn't leave the country, he would be killed. He fled to Palestine...spent several years there....spoke fluent Hebrew and Arabic....in today's world he would be in high demand....in Brooklyn he used to take me to these seedy arab joints and love to mix with the arabs as they smoked their pipes. In Palestine he met my mom, who migrated from Lithuania to Palestine. They married there....my mom got pregnant with me and came to the U.S. in late 1936...I was born in '37...my father arrived shortly thereafter. With prohibition ending years earlier it was safe for him to return. In Palestine he did some shady stuff deliberately banging up new car and moving them across the borders and then restoring them. Yep our dads had different career paths". - Irving H.

“I’m reading your book for the second time—it relaxes me.” -   IS/Delray Beach, fl.