By Alex Berger
My childhood years were spent living on Manhattan's Lower East Side, where age dictated your choice of friends. An adolescent boy would gravitate to boys close to his age and never intrude or be accepted into the group of boys more than two years younger or older than he. That was neighborhood law.
Such was the case of Hy Melzer, a member of the next older group, who was three years older than me. What first impressed me about Hy was his punch-ball prowess.
Although lanky, he packed a powerful punch. I would watch in awe as he punched a spaldeen — a pink rubber ball used in stickball — over the roof of my six-story tenement building. In fact, I won many a bet that Hy was able to perform this feat and for that I owe him my admiration, gratitude and winnings.
During my early teens, I was a big sports fan. I particularly liked watching boxing on TV and the greats of that sport — Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano, Ray Robinson, Jake LaMotta, etc., on Friday nights. When Hy, 19, and his powerful punch decided to become a professional prize fighter and permit this 16-year-old “kid” to be there every step of the way, he instantly became my hero.
I was there when he ran countless times over the Williamsburg Bridge to his Brooklyn gym, where he trained. I could not keep up with his pace and he would laugh as he circled around, ran behind and ahead of me and then slowed down to permit me to catch my breath as we neared the end of the bridge.
I was there in the gym where many professional boxers trained. I loved watching Hy box and I told him that one day he would become the next welterweight champion.
I was there when Hy won his first four-round fight — and all subsequent ones — at Brooklyn's Eastern Parkway arena. One fight I missed was Hy's out-of-town battle against Joey Carkido — his first “name” fighter — in Tampa, Fla.
I did not sleep a wink that night. The next day, before school began, I ran to the newsstand to read the boxing scores. One line said it all: “Tampa — Hy Melzer outpointed Joey Carkido in 8 rounds.” I jumped for joy. Hy won!
Hy kept winning, but a scary bout is still vivid in my memory. Hy was easily beating Tony LaBua, his hard-punching opponent, for the first six of his eight-round fight. Near the end of the seventh round, however, LaBua smashed a wicked punch against Hy's right eyebrow, staggering him and opening a severe wound around his eye. Instinctively, Hy kept away and managed to survive the round.
The bell rang for the eighth and last round. Hy unsteadily arose to meet his foe. LaBua, sensing a knockout, began throwing rights and lefts at the dazed Hy. I was on my feet, imploring Hy to keep away from LaBua's murderous punches. Time stood still as the three minutes of the round slowly ticked off.
An eternity later, when the final bell concluded the fight, Hy was literally carried back to his corner. He won and I was finally able to exhale. Hy wore his badge of courage — a bandage — for several weeks, but I noted his demeanor was shaken, too.
Hy's last fight was a disaster. He met Tippy Larkin, a crafty veteran, who dispatched Hy in one round. It was time for Hy to retire.
I did not see Hy during my four years in the Air Force. When I returned to the neighborhood upon my discharge, I was told that Hy had married and moved away. I tried to track him down, but was unsuccessful. So I went on with my life — attended college, got a job, married, moved to Queens and became a father twice over. As the years passed, I still had lingering thoughts about Hy.
My brother, Milt, who lives in Los Angeles, called one day to tell me the happy news that he ran into Hy, who had moved to California. A few weeks later, Gloria and I were on a plane headed west. My reunion with Hy was quite pleasant. We laughed about our shared, cherished memories and I vowed to return to see him in the near future.
But this was not to be. Milt called a few weeks later to say that Hy had passed away.
Hy, I want to thank you for allowing me to share your exciting life. You inspired me to be the best I possibly can be, to be courageous in the midst of adversity and mindful that you can punch a spaldeen over the roof of a six-story building.
Sleep well, my friend. You deserve it.
