145th Street: Short Stories
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About the author
Walter Dean Myers’s fiction and nonfiction books have reached millions of young people. A prolific author of more than one hundred titles, he received every major award in the field of children’s literature. He wrote two Newbery Honor Books, eleven Coretta Scott King Award winners, three National Book Award finalists, and the winner of the first Michael L. Printz Award for Excellence in Young Adult Literature. He also received the Margaret A. Edwards Award for lifetime achievement in writing for young adults and was the first recipient of the Coretta Scott King–Virginia Hamilton Award for Lifetime Achievement. He was a 2010 United States nominee for the Hans Christian Andersen Award and was nominated for the Astrid Lindgren Award numerous times. From 2012 to 2013, he served as the National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature with the platform “Reading is not optional.” In his most-beloved books, Walter explored the themes of taking responsibility for your life and that everyone always gets a second chance.
An ALA-YALSA Best Book for Young Adults
New Bonus Content:
-Q&A with Walter Dean Myers
-Teaser chapter from On a Clear Day
-Excerpt from Hoops
The first week of his senior year, everything changed. That’s when Mack met Kitty. She hadn’t finished the sonnet she wrote for him, but she had finished Mack. From that minute on, he was stupid in love.
That’s just Kitty and Mack.
But everybody on the block has a story to tell.
A salty, wrenchingly honest collection of stories set on one block of 145th Street. We get to know the oldest resident; the cop on the beat; fine Peaches and her girl, Squeezie; Monkeyman; and Benny, a fighter on the way to a knockout. We meet Angela, who starts having prophetic dreams after her father is killed and Big Joe, who wants a bang-up funeral while he's still around to enjoy it. Some of these stories are private, and some are the ones behind the headlines. In each one, characters jump off the page and pull readers right into the mix on 1-4-5.
Random House Children's Books
; November 2001
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Title: 145th Street: Short Stories
Author: Walter Dean Myers
The way I see it, things happen on 145th Street that don't happen anywhere else in the world. I'm not saying that 145th is weird or anything like that, but it's, like, intense. So when I heard about Big Joe's funeral it didn't take me by surprise. It was something that I remember, and that's why I'm telling it. This is the way it went down.
The funeral took place on the Fourth of July, one of the hottest days of the year. People were sitting out on their fire escapes or on their front stoops trying to catch a breeze. If there was a breeze in the 'hood it must have stopped somewhere for an iced tea because I didn't see or feel it. Nobody was doing any unnecessary movements unless their name was Peaches Jones, who was setting out to ruin Big Joe's funeral.
Peaches was what you would call seriously fine. She was fifteen, about five feet three, a medium brown color, and definitely wrong. She was wrong because she was not giving Big Joe his propers, which means his proper respect. A person ought to have respect for other people all of the time, but especially at two times during their life. The first time is when they are born. When a baby is born you shouldn't say discouraging things about it like "Hey, I seen prettier dogs than that baby," or "Maybe he ain't ugly, maybe he's just inside out." Give the baby a chance.
The other time you need to show some respect is when a person is going on out of this world. You know, like they're dead and whatnot. Let the person go. Whatever will be their reward has got to be figured out on the other side. Even if they slip on out owing you some money, you got to bite the bullet, give up some slack, and let them be on their way. But Peaches didn't see it that way when it came to Big Joe. She had her mind dead set on messing up Big Joe's funeral.
Let me back up here and tell you: It all started when Big Joe, who owns Big Joe's Bar-B-Que and Burger Restaurant, right here on 145th Street down from the EezOn-In Cafe, decided to cancel his life insurance. He said he had been paying on his life insurance for twenty years. If he canceled his insurance he would get a check from the insurance company for eighteen thousand dollars. Now, that is some serious money. It sounded good when the guys in the barbershop were talking about it. So Big Joe canceled his insurance and sure enough, two weeks later, he was telling everybody that the check came just like he thought it would. That's when he decided to have the funeral.
"I have always loved a good funeral," Big Joe said. He was sitting outside his restaurant, peeling potatoes to make potato salad. "And when I went to Freddy's funeral-y'all remember Freddy?"
"Yeah, I remember Freddy and his funeral," Willie Murphy said. "He looked real good."
"That's my point," Big Joe said. "He was looking better than I have ever seen him. He was dean, had his hair combed, and wore that dark suit with a carnation in his lapel."
"He was sharp!" Willie went on. "And when Angela, that little Puerto Rican girl, sang 'Precious Lord,' everybody was crying."
"Ain't nobody was going to cry over Freddy when he was alive," Big Joe said. "Funerals bring out the best in people. Am I lying or flying?"
"You definitely flying," I said.
"I hate to talk about the dead " Willie added, "but when Freddy was a walkie-talkie all he wanted to do was to hang out on the corner and ask everybody he seen if they had any spare change so he could take it down to the Eez-On-In and get him a beer."
"Un-huh, but he still had him a nice funeral," Big Joe said. "I'm going to have me a nice funeral while I'm still alive so I can appreciate it."
Now, we didn't exactly know what Big Joe meant by that but when he started explaining, it made sense. He was going to take part of that eighteen thousand dollars and throw himself a funeral the way some people throw a party.
"Nothing too fancy," he said. "Just something nice."
Now, this is what he did. He went over to the Unity Funeral Home on Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard and arranged things with them. At first Old Man Turner, who ran the place, was a little put Out, but then he saw where live people having funerals would greatly increase his business and he said okay. He was going to supply the coffin, the hearse, which carried the coffin, and two limousines. The good part of this is that since I was there when Big Joe was first talking about his funeral I was going to get to ride in one of the limousines.
Big Joe asked Leroy Brown, who had a little band, to play the music at his funeral. Then he found Angela, that little girl who had sung at Freddy's funeral, and asked her to sing a song.
Now, you're probably wondering what Sadie, Big Joe's girlfriend, thought about all this. Well, she didn't like it one bit.
"You don't mess with dying," she said, her hands on her hips. "You go laying up in some coffin and death liable to reach out and snatch you right away from here!"
"Woman, you're just superstitious," Big Joe said. "Ain't nothing to worry about."
Sadie was a widow lady, her husband having been run over by an ambulance while he was on the way across Malcolm X Boulevard to buy a Lotto ticket. Maybe her being a widow was what made her touchy. But if she was a little upset it was nothing compared to what her daughter, Peaches, felt. When Peaches heard about Big Joe's plans she was madder than a junkyard dog with fleas.
"He's been asking my mama to marry him for the last year," Peaches said. "If he's going to be a good husband what's he doing going around acting stupid?"
"Is she going to marry him?" I asked.
"She doesn't need to marry him or anybody else," Peaches said.
Big Joe had promised Sadie he was going to adopt Peaches once they were married. That looked like a good deal to me because Big Joe was really successful and everybody liked him. Not only that but the brother was handsome, too. He was tall and dark and had white hair at the temples, which made him distinguished-looking.
Peaches and her mama argued up one side of Big Joe and down the other but he didn't change his mind. He was going to have his funeral.
Big Joe was popular on 145th Street. If you were a little down on your luck and needed a meal, or a pair of shoes, or even half the month's rent, you could go to Big Joe and he'd listen to you and more than likely help you out, too. So by the day of the funeral it looked like there was going to be a big turnout.
Now, besides Sadie and Peaches there were some sisters from the church who thought the idea was a little peculiar and they made sure that everybody knew it, but even some of them showed up because they appreciated a good funeral, too.
Well, the Fourth of July was hot but the undertaker's parlor was air-conditioned. There were only two funerals scheduled for that day, Big Joe's in the afternoon and a funeral for somebody named Calderone later that night.
When we came into the funeral parlor there was Big Joe, lying up front in his casket. It spooked me out. Big Joe wasn't moving a muscle and you could see he had on some of that makeup they put on dead people. Sadie was sitting in the front row with her arms folded and her jaws tight.
When it was my turn to file past the coffin I did so real slow. I knew that Big Joe was alive but I didn't know what I would do if he suddenly sat up. I was glad to sit back down again.
The funeral director's wife played some songs on the organ and then Angela sang her heart out; there were real tears running down her face. Then some of Joe's friends stood up and said good things about him.
Leroy's band, the All Star Stompers, played "Amazing Grace" and "One More River to Cross" and before you knew it we were deep into the funeral. I looked over at Sadie and she was getting a little misty, too.
When the inside part of the funeral was over the undertaker shut the coffin. I watched to see if Big Joe was going to move. The dude didn't even twitch.
When we got outside, the hearse and the limousines were waiting, and so was Peaches. She and two of her friends, LaToya and Squeezie, had painted these big signs. They read, BIG JOE IS NOT DEAD.
Mother Fletcher, who might be the oldest woman on the block, was just passing by and saw them. She went over to them. I went over, too, because I wanted to know what she was going to say.
"You're right, child," Mother Fletcher said. "The flesh fades but the spirit lives on to its eternal reward!"
"That's not what I mean," Peaches said. "I mean he's really not dead!"
"Suffer the little children!" Mother Fletcher said as she started walking away. "Glory hallelu'ah!"
From the Hardcover edition.
In the press
"Myers has a great natural style . . . and is completely at home in a Harlem depicted without adulation but with great affection." — The Horn Book Magazine, Starred
"Readers will find that they could settle in for hours and take it all in." — Publishers Weekly, Starred
"Fast, wry, and honest . . . the search for personal identity is at the heart of this lyrical collection, and so is the sense of the place." — Booklist, Boxed
From the Paperback edition.