It has been over forty years since I started hanging at C&B. The corner of Castor Ave and Benner St. in the lower quadrant of Northeast Philadelphia. The core of this gang were kids that lived on the 6100 block of Alma Street. The Kearney’s, Hansberry’s, German’s O’Brien’s, Andrews and Yoaches all lived on that hundred.
Jesse Benson, Tommy Taylor and Kevin McIntyre lived within earshot. Kenny Morrison and Billy Parkins and Don Shea a couple streets away. We often congregated on Benner near Alma, behind a corner house. Nick German (Bird) drew an over sized Cannabis Leaf on the wall. It served as an alter, to our urban rituals.
In the summer of 1970 we spent our evenings sitting on the warm cement outside of Burt’s Pharmacy or the nearby driveways. Playing cards, smoking joints or hash, drinking beer, occasionally wine. Just lazing in the moonlight.
The man regularly screeched out of nowhere to block our paths in their ugly patrol cars which changed from red to blue it seemed overnight. They would leap out of their rides to apprehend then bust us for transgressions such as disorderly conduct, public intoxication, possession of drugs or alcohol.
So often in the warmer months we were forced to go on excursions. We plundered public swimming pools, Burholme. Or Pennypack Park, where we’d take turns on a swing, (a rope secured to the branch of a sycamore tree) by the creek.
If we felt adventurous, an excursion to Dinosaur Lake might occur, this was a crater formed from the construction of Liberty Bell Racetrack. Franklin Mills now sits on that spot. Later that year the Lake was drained, to search for a severed head of a murdered women. But, that summer the secluded body of water felt like our private resort. A 5×5 island of cement broke the surface near the center of the lake. It proved the perfect destination for a race I participated in daily.
On sticky mornings in August we’d bicycle over the Tacony –Palmyra Bridge and wade in the oil riddled Delaware River. You’d come out of the water with black stripes tattooed to your clothing. We didn’t seem to mind because the dip cooled us off.
On weekends, if the planets aligned someone’s older brother or sister would drive us over to Lion’s Lake, a cedar watering hole in the Pinelands of Jersey. Usually, the security detail would find cause to escort us off the property; before the end of the day.
Then there were the rock concerts at the Spectrum. We piled on the route 59 bus at the corner, which terminated at the Frankford El. From there we trudged up the steps to the platform where we caught the elevated train into Center City. Downtown the train became a subway. At Broad St we switched lines and headed South to the Spectrum.
Police officers patrolled the area with nightsticks and irritable German Shepherds. At any sign of mischief these hundred pound masses of muscle and teeth would rip into your flesh with animal abandon. Getting by these sentinels took perseverance and luck, but upon surfacing we walked a short distance up Patterson Ave to the arena.
Alice Cooper, Uriah Heap, Deep Purple were some of the bands we saw. At that time we attended many (dance concerts) which usually consisted of three bands sharing the bill. For instance on one Saturday night we saw Savoy Brown, Frampton’s Camel and The J. Geil’s Band. The floor of the arena was (open) you could stand amongst other groups of attendees and hear some wicked rock and roll.
The way things went in the the early seventies, we stood with our crowd in the midst of many others and fights often broke out between the many factions. Hey, it was always us, against them type mentality. Not too different from what we’re dealing with these days. More to follow…

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