I wanted to name A Bronx Boy’s Tale, My Back Pages, inspired by the Byrds’ version of Bob Dylan’s song of the same name. But the people at Create Space, where I was publishing my book, suggested that a title like that was better suited to a famous person’s memoir. I wanted to protest, “But I’m Jimmy Newell!” But I saw their point, acquiesced, and chose A Bronx Boy’s Tale.

I enjoyed writing the book and remembering what it was like growing up in the Bronx with the greatest people you could hope to share that experience. Some who chose to leave their comments thought it was not a true memory of the Bronx. Others found it inaccessible. I put up a banner on the WFUV website, and the young man I dealt with suggested the inaccessibility concept. I wanted to know what that actually meant and wondered if he found Shakespeare or Hemingway inaccessible. But thought it better to put myself in their company just yet.

My own criticism related to the many friends I left out of the book. This was not done intentionally or with malice, but really out of my own inability to juggle that many characters. Nevertheless, they were all part of my experience and, whether identified or not, all contributed to my fond memories, which inspired me to share my Bronx experience.

I wrote in chronological order beginning on November 22, 1963…the last day of American Innocence. Nothing was ever the same since then, and, sadly, the American Experience has deteriorated ever more precipitously in the last twenty years.

The gestation of American Divisiveness had already permeated American Life long before 2013, when A Bronx Boy’s Tale was published, had its roots in American life long before the date Kennedy was assassinated. However, we were convinced that the good life was trickling down to all Americans until it wasn’t in 2008. Reagan started our demise by masquerading as a populist who, nevertheless, busted unions, taxed Social Security, and was the first obnoxious candidate for President who mocked Jimmy Carter, “There you go again.”

Ronnie was a slug who aged better after dying ala Richard Nixon.

So, maybe A Bronx Boy’s Tale is inaccessible to young people (or at least younger than Boomers) because a world where you weren’t constantly bombarded with news, fake or otherwise, never was part of their experience.

Many may disdain nostalgia as soupy and unrealistic. I didn’t intend to be nostalgic, but wanted to write a social history of life in the Bronx before it became the fodder for late-night comedians. Consider it a reminder of where we used to be and how we used to be.