Chapter 1
(Moving Day)

“My first impression of Keyon was that he seemed
to be pretty cool. Looked like the type that was able

to get along with.

I thought to myself, “If we were going to be
schoolmates, I might as well get acquainted with him.”

Uniondale was your typical suburban hamlet on
Long Island in the state of New York. Population;
approx. 16,000 in 1979. It was a diverse town,
unincorporated, so there was no mayor or city council.
Instead run by the Town of Hempstead and police were
maintained by Nassau County.
However, the fire department was a volunteer
service, so people who wanted to become a firefighter
had to train on their own time. And taxes were
reasonable for middle class families. The school
district was called, “the Uniondale Union Free School
District”. Not sure whether that was a dig on labor
unions or not, but it was surely worded to make a
statement to everyone working there.
The biggest attraction of the area was the
Nassau Veterans Memorial Coliseum. Yes, that
coliseum. The home of the New York Islanders of the
National Hockey League. I’m not into hockey, but
they’ve been pretty good the last few years. They
just might win the Stanley Cup one year.
It used to be the home of the Nets when they
played in the American Basketball Association (ABA).
Back then, they had one of the best teams in the
league, including Dr. J, Julius Erving. He was a
hometown guy and went to high school just across the
bridge in Roosevelt.
The Nets won two ABA titles and was going to
kill it when they joined the NBA. But after the merger

in 1976, the team was forced to sell Dr. J to the
Philadelphia 76ers. They never recovered and left for
New Jersey the next year before eventually moving to
Brooklyn.

◆◆◆

August 10, 1979 – It was a hot summer day when
our brown Pontiac Bonneville station wagon drove down
Jerusalem Avenue on the way to our new home in
Uniondale. My younger brother Todd and I sat in the
back staring out the window as the moving truck
trailed closely behind us, in tow.
Dad was driving while mom was listening to some
music coming out of the radio. While looking out the
window, I noticed that there were a number of stores
along the way that would be my go-to stop for
groceries and other items. We then passed a 7-Eleven,
a pizza parlor, and a strip mall with a supermarket.
The two vehicles make a right turn south on
Uniondale Avenue. We continued along until we got to
Northern Parkway. We then made a left turn onto the
street. The neighborhood was lined with Cape Cod
similar houses. It was a common design for houses
made after World War II.
Finally, we arrived at our new home, 724
Northern Parkway, and it was NICE! The grass was
perfectly cut to perfection and a pretty bright green.

A 25-foot maple tree was in front in-between the
sidewalk and the street. The fully bloomed leaves
would be a welcome natural air conditioner for us that
summer.
We parked in front of the one family house and
the main entrance had big numbers on display. The
moving truck drove further ahead and stopped in front
of our station wagon. One of the moving men, a tall
muscular dark-skinned man with a bald head got out and
helped the driver maneuver the truck around, backing
it into the driveway.
Now parked in the driveway, two other heavyset
and younger looking men jumped out of the moving
truck. One of the heavyset men opened the back door
to the truck and they started unloading the furniture
and taking it inside. My parents, both excited, got
out of the car and just stood in awe of their
purchase. They worked so hard to get to this moment
in time.
“It’s so beautiful.” Mom said while putting her
arm around dad’s waist.
“It sure is,” dad replied, “Everything we
dreamed about when we looked at it two months ago.
Finally, after all these years, our dream home.”
My dad, William Parker, a tall, handsome 39-
year-old black man, worked in sanitation for the City
of New York for 18 years. Working his way up the

ladder to supervisor, he was pulling in big money,
which was unusual for men of color.
Dad was the enforcer. If my brother Todd or I
got out of line, he would whip out the leather belt. I
was 16 at the time and was getting too old for that,
but Todd still endured that punishment. Despite all
that, dad still loved us. He just wanted to make sure
we were not following the wrong crowd.
My mom, Alice Parker, has a pretty brown
complexion, 36-year-old, was a nurse at Cumberland
Hospital in the Fort Greene section of Brooklyn. She
started nursing in 1969 after getting her Associates
Degree at New York City College of Technology in
Brooklyn. She was a clean freak and made sure my
brother and I did our chores.
Together, my parents saved their pennies and
nickels for this moment. We were your typical middle
class, African-American family. My name is Clayton
Parker and friends call me Clay, and if I had to do it
all over again, I would’ve been more enthusiastic
about the move.
Yeah, I know. My folks were doing this for my
kid brother and me. But let’s face it. When your
parents tell you that you’re leaving your best friends
and the comfortable settings of Lafayette Gardens
Apartments, it’s a big adjustment. As a 16-year-old
kid at the time, you’ve got to imagine that I was not

very happy with the move. And when I got out of the
car my dad immediately noticed.
“What’s your problem, son?” He asked me as I
leaned up against our station wagon with my head down
and fiddling with my fingers.
I mumbled with an attitude, “I don’t understand
why we had to leave Brooklyn.”
My response pissed him off.
“Now we’re not going to go through this again.
Brooklyn is no place for a teenage boy to be growing
up. I want the best for my family. This is something
we’ve been planning for a long time to happen.”
My kid brother, Todd, was only 9, and he is all
excited. He is looking at the house with wide eyes.
“Is this where we’re staying at, Daddy?” Todd
asks.
“Yeah, this is it, son. You’re gonna have lots
of room to play with in the back yard. Lots of fresh
air and plenty of friends for you and your brother to
play with.”
I interjected. “I’m gonna miss all my friends
in Brooklyn.”
And dad replied, “You’ll get plenty more friends
here in this neighborhood, Clayton. Now why don’t you
go help your momma get unpacked?”
I just walked away, disappointed and helped mom
get the boxes out of the station wagon and into the
house. I was in the living room unpacking boxes while

admiring a large window with a view of the bay.
Meanwhile mom noticed the movers getting a bit clumsy
with the crystal table. She was possessive of her
items.
“HEY! Be careful with that table! It’s very
expensive and I don’t want to lose it!” Mom firmly
instructed.
“Sorry, ma’am. We’ll be more careful.” The
tall baldheaded muscular mover apologized.
“I paid a lot of money for that table, and it
better not have a scratch on it.” Mom sarcastically
chimed back.
Once I was done unpacking, I went upstairs to my
bedroom. The movers had placed the mattress and box
spring against the wall. I plotted on how the room
was going to look. I looked at some of the loose
boxes and noticed a circular mailing tube. I opened
it and took out the first poster, Reggie Jackson
a.k.a. Mr. October.
I’d been a NY Yankees fan since 1976 the year
they won the pennant. I went nuts when Chris Chambliss
hit that home run to send the Yankees to the World
Series. The next year, Reggie Jackson slugged three
home runs on one pitch each.
Dad was a Brooklyn Dodgers fan and loved
watching Jackie Robinson Play. He was hurt when they
left Brooklyn for Los Angeles and he vowed never to
watch another baseball game ever again. Even when the

Mets came to town in 1962, Dad never could root for
them or any other baseball team.
I looked at the walls in my bedroom and tried to
figure out where I could put Reggie’s poster. I
finally placed it on the wall on the left side next to
the window. I then began hearing music coming from
the house next door. I loved the music, so I popped
my head out to hear what it was.
The music of “A Taste of Honey’s “Boogie, Oggie,
Oggie” was blasting from the stereo on the top floor
of our neighbor’s home. The bedroom window was wide
open, and I could see huge posters of Julius Erving,
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, George Gervin and other
basketball players from back in the day on the wall
around the room.
I later found out it was my new neighbor, Keyon
Mitchell, a 16-year-old African-American boy. He was
a phenome in the world of Uniondale Basketball and was
a star on Turtle Hook Junior High’s (Now Middle
School) undefeated squad. He liked to wear the best
clothes and name brand shoes.
After admiring his posters, Keyon put on his
best basketball sneakers (Puma’s), Levi’s jeans and
Dr. J T-Shirt and started singing along to the song.
“Get on Up on The Floor ‘cause We’re Gonna
Boogie, ‘Oggie, ‘Oggie ‘til We Just Can’t Boogie No
More….”

He turned off the stereo and continued to sing
the lyrics. Keyon then grabbed his basketball and
walked downstairs to the kitchen. There, Keyon’s
mother, Janice Mitchell, a beautiful woman in her late
30s, was washing dishes. Keyon walked by.
“Keyon, Where you headin’?”, she asked.
“I’m gonna go play some basketball at Uniondale
Park.” He responds while spinning the basketball on
his index finger.
“Oh, no you’re not. You’re going down to the
basement and get some steaks from the freezer so we
can get the barbecue started tonight.”
Keyon became annoyed from being distracted,
“Damn!”
“I heard that! Don’t you be cussin’ in my
House! Now, do as you’re told!”
“Okay, mom.”, Keyon said as he walked down the
stairs into the basement.
The basement downstairs was unfinished. Lots of
storage and boxes laid across the room. The furnace
and water heater were situated in a corner. The
Freezer was located right under the stairs. However,
there was a sound system. A Panasonic stereo and
amplifier, a turntable made by Technics, and four 2-
foot speakers. There was a speaker in each corner of
the basement. Keyon looked at the record on the
turntable, “Good Times” by Chic.

Keyon couldn’t resist temptation. He took the
basketball and put it down on the floor. He then
walked over to the stereo and turned the power button
on. The light turned on from the stereo and Keyon put
on the headphones, not realizing the volume control on
the speakers was on high. Keyon put the arm of the
turntable on the record. He then takes the record and
moves it back and forth with his left hand, on a
certain break part of the record making it sound like
it’s scratching.
With headphones on his ears Keyon didn’t realize
the sound traveled full blast throughout the house.
“KEYON! I THOUGHT I TOLD TO BRING UP THOSE
STEAKS!”
Janice was livid.
“Uh Oh.” Keyon mumbled out loud after realizing
he was in deep trouble.
“SORRY, MOMMA! I’M ON MY WAY!”
Keyon abruptly turned off the stereo and lowered
the levels on the sound. He picked up his basketball,
headed to the freezer where he grabbed four packages
of steaks, and walked up the stairs slowly, hoping he
doesn’t get the wrath of his mom.
He opened the basement door.
“You Know One of These Days I’m Gonna Take That
Stereo Away from You!”
“Sorry, Momma.”

Keyon’s having a hard time carrying both the
steaks and the basketball at the same time.
“You’re always sorry, Keyon. You’re So
distracted, you can’t even put two and two together to
make four…and put that basketball down!” Her final
demand which he does.
Upon doing so, Keyon notices the moving van
outside.
“Who’s moving into the old Sullivan house?”
“They’re a family from Brooklyn. Your father
and I know them from way back. You were a baby when
we lived in Lafayette Gardens, so I doubt you’ll
remember them. We’re having dinner with them later
tonight. And you’ll be going to school with their
oldest son, Clayton.”
“Cool.” Keyon said. “I’ll see if he wants to
play basketball with me.”
“I don’t know, Keyon. They may still be
packing. Listen, I want you home by six, Keyon. Got
it?”
“I got it, Mom. Later.” Keyon says while
exiting the house.
Keyon left with the basketball in his hand. He
was hoping to not only have a new neighbor but a new
friend.

◆◆◆

The moving men were done with the main furniture
and were leaving the house. My neighbor, Keyon became
curious. He started walking toward the house,
dribbling his basketball along the way. Dad noticed
Keyon in the front yard and walked out to greet him.
“May I help you, young man?” Dad recognizes
Keyon. “Oh, hi Keyon. How are you today?”
“I’m good, Mr. Parker. My mom was saying you
were moving in today.”
“Yeah, we’re just moving in.”, Dad replied.
“All the heavy stuff is done, so it’s just the boxes
and unpacking.”
My mom, seeing Keyon and Dad, walks out the
house to meet him.
“Oh, hello there Keyon. Where’s your folks?”
“My Mom’s at home cooking. My dad’s at work.”
“You excited to have us as neighbors?”,
questioned dad.
“Yeah, I Am. You’re probably be better than the
family that used to live there.”
“Your father and I go way back. He told us
about the house being available back in January and we
had to take a look for ourselves. You haven’t met my
son Clayton before, have ya? I’ll call him out. He’s
about your age.” Dad Said After His Rhetorical
Question.

My dad then called for me to come outside. The
whole time I was in the doorway seeing Keyon talking
to my parents they had no idea I was scouting them.
My first impression of Keyon was that he seemed to be
pretty cool. Looked like the type that was able to
get along with.
I thought to myself. “If we were going to be
schoolmates, I might as well get acquainted with him.”
“CLAYTON! COME OUT OF THE HOUSE! WE GOT SOMEONE
FOR YOU TO MEET!”, dad screamed out.
I played it off like I didn’t hear him the first
time and walked out the house to joined the
conversation. Dad immediately introduced Keyon to me.
“Keyon… this Is my son, Clayton.”
“Hi.” I said, “But you can call me Clay. Only
my folks call me clayton.”
Keyon put up his hand to give me a “High-Five”
handshake and responded, “It’s Cool.”
Mom was still in overdrive with the move. We
had pretty much everything in place.
“Clay, is your room done?”, mom asked.
“Yes, Mom.” I politely answered.
“Well, why don’t you go and play basketball with
Keyon and get to know him.”, she said.
I tried to get out it by saying, “I’m not much
of a basketball player, momma.”
But my request went ignored. Dad wanted me to
get involved in making as many friends as possible.

“That’s okay, Son. We got most of the important
things unpacked. The most important part of moving is
starting new friendships. Besides, we’ll be over for
a barbecue at the Mitchell’s place tonight.”
“It’s alright, Clay.” Keyon interjected, “We’ll
be home by 6. I promise.”
As we left, Keyon passed me the basketball, a
Spaulding, NBA quality, completely inflated. When you
bounced it, you can hear the rubber pounce, and it had
a funny smell.
“This ball smells like pure rubber.”, I stated
after getting a good whiff of the ball.
“That’s a new ball.”, Keyon said. “I purchased
it last week at Modell’s. Someone punctured my last
one. What we’ll do is play ‘21’, no free throws, and
half-court.”
“I’ll try to play catchup.” I said, knowing I’d
never make it to 10 points.