There were a handful of kids who spent all our playtime together on 164th Street, between Broadway and St. Nicolas Avenue, from the late 70s to the mid-80s. We spent our days riding our bikes or playing the classic street games like kick-the-can, stoop ball, ringolevio, and loadies (scully). We let our boom box blast while we played three-on-three basketball right on the sidewalk, using a milk crate chain tied to iron window guards, with the bottom cut out as a basketball hoop. Nestor was competitive. He could make jump shots consistently and forcefully drive to the basket for layups. He was a lanky, funny kid with untameable curly hair who grew a little taller each day.
Nestor was by far the funniest in the group. He and I emerged as a close duo within the group of playmates. We were together at St. Rose of Lima Elementary School and later Cardinal Hayes High School. My family loved Nestor, and Nestor's Mom, Lucy, loved me. We cherished Converse All-Stars, Stan Smiths, and Timberlands. We eventually put away the boom box when we got our Sony Walkmans. We watched the birth of MTV together. We enjoyed pop music, disco, and salsa. Duran Duran was Nestor's favorite by far. He idolized Simon Le Bon. Stand-up comedy was another of Nestor's immense loves. Steve Martin, Richard Pryor, and Eddie Murphy were his heroes. His other passions were the Knicks, Rangers, Yankees, the Pittsburgh Steelers, and Michael Jordan's University of North Carolina Tar Heels.
While at St. Rose of Lima school, we met Fernando. He and his family had immigrated from Spain to New York City, landing at 162nd Street and sitting next to Nestor in Sister Irene Marie's sixth-grade class at St. Rose of Lima. Fernando spoke no English when he arrived, and ever-caring Nestor took on the role of Fernando's full-time interpreter. Fernando emerged as the third musketeer with whom we shared all our activities, and we later started a mobile disc jockey business that lasted into the early 2000s.
During our high school years, we played a lot of stickball and two-hand touch (sewer-to-sewer). Our summers were spent running the St. Rose of Lima summer camp. We both reported to the camp director, Dorothy "Dottie" Moore. We oversaw the activities and care of about 100 kids each summer. Actually, we spent a lot of time year-round in the St. Rose community center competing in highly competitive wiffleball and floor hockey leagues.
Our group of friends organized into softball and touch football teams, declaring ourselves the "Stingrays" to compete in organized leagues and take invitations to play against other nearby neighborhood teams like the "Roadrunners" or "Still Stoned" from the 170's Streets. Nestor, Perry, and I were the three bigger and heavier kids on the Stingrays. We got nicknamed "Beefsteak, Beefcake, and Beefpie." Nestor, the athlete, excelled here. He was a highly reliable, dangerous left-handed hitter and always the best fielding first baseman in any league we played in. He idolized first basemen Kieth Hernandez of the St. Louis Cardinals and later the New York Mets, and the Yankees' Don Mattingly, maybe the two greatest first basemen in Major League Baseball history.
One Summer, we were invited to play a softball game in "Jew Park" on 174th Street against a new neighborhood team called the "Wild Bunch." They turned out to be an all-girls softball team. Their pitcher mesmerized our entire lineup with her beautiful smile and amazing dimples. Her team called her "Bruni." The "Wild Bunch" beat us more than once, and Nestor met Bruni.
Even with all of these activities, we made time for our hobby, exploring. We walked every block in Washington Heights, then began to explore other Manhattan neighborhoods for pure entertainment. Two times we rode the 1 train to the South Ferry stop at the southernmost tip of Manhattan, then walked north through multiple Manhattan neighborhoods all the way home in Upper Manhattan. The second time we did that, it was under a steady all-day snowfall. We'd bike across the George Washington Bridge and down to the Dairy Queen in North Bergen.
Our disc jockey business with Fernando grew and grew. We called ourselves the "Latin Connection Spinners," made sweatshirts with our names on them, and played at high school dances, sweet sixteen parties, birthday parties, New Year's Eve parties, weddings, and even corporate events and holiday parties. We were a little cooler by then. Nestor got a close-cut hairstyle and grew into what the girls saw as tall, dark, and handsome. We'd walk into the 181st Street McDonald's, and all the Mother Cabrini High School Girls would put down their food to whisper, point, and make eyes at Nestor. I remember feeling like chopped meat.
Nestor was already showing that he was a hustling go-getter. Besides the disc jockey business, he had various jobs and odd jobs he took. We once did a horrible job installing floor tiles in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Two of his jobs that I can remember were working the counter at the Carvel ice cream store on 168th Street and working at Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center, caring for live research monkeys, believe it or not.
I graduated from college and went to work in advertising, where Nestor later joined me at Conill Advertising in Midtown Manhattan. He rose to the position of marketing promotions director. In this people-oriented role, his natural charisma helped him thrive as he oversaw marketing activities for many brands at events such as the famous Calle Ocho Festival in Miami and Cinco de Mayo festivals in California and Texas.
Not much longer down the road, Nestor was my best man when I married, Nestor and Bruni became a thing, and maybe we were becoming adults.
How fortunate am I to have been the beneficiary of my friend's fun-loving, insane sense of humor during our formative years. By the time I turned 20, I had laughed enough for multiple lifetimes, and we weren't done yet. Thank you, Nestor. Until we see each other again, every day I'll feel like we are still hanging out together. I love you, Bro.
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