Rascals and Rogues column writer Ralph Horner continues his chronicles growing up in Cleveland neighborhoods in his newest series, Rumbles on E. 49th.

Growing up on East 49th Street in the 1950s, “the old neighborhood,” could be rough for a kid. In fact, according to a report on juvenile delinquency in the Jan. 8, 1955 Saturday Evening Post, crime and disorder committed by teenagers increased by a 45% between 1950 and 1955. Horner recalls what life on the streets of Goodrich-Kirtland Park was like back then.

The shortest fight I ever saw happened at Willson Junior High on Ansel Road. It was also the most decisive win I ever saw.

 Willson was really three schools in one. One school was us, the traditional students. The second group was called the Sight Savers. These were kids who were blind or nearly blind. Aside from the usual subjects, they were taught how to get along in the sighted world despite their disabilities.

They were encouraged to intermingle with the traditional students and to take part in all activities. The third group were kids who were perpetually inclined to extreme misbehavior. We called them “the Basement Boys.”

The Basement Boys were not permitted to have free access to the upper floors without supervision because there was always trouble. Most of them were well on their way to a serious life of being incarcerated. All their classrooms were in the basement, and they were not permitted to come out of their subterranean depth by themselves.

The only exception was during lunchtime movies. Lunch was from 12 p.m. to 1 p.m. One half of the student body ate lunch in the first half hour and watched one reel of a popular movie in the second half. The process was reversed for the other half of the student body.

The Basement Boys were not allowed to eat with us, but they were allowed to watch the movie. They had to sit together, off to the side seats and were under supervision.

One day after the movie was over the Basement Boys were filing out of the auditorium and that brought them into close proximity to the rest of the regular students. One of them took advantage of this opportunity to swipe his hand across the breasts of one of the teenage girls.

I observed this activity, along with Bob Mc Fee and Ed Sacorski, two guys from East 49th Street. Bob Mc Fee was the only Black kid in my neighborhood, but he was well accepted by the other guys in the neighborhood because of his athletic skills and his abilities in a fight. 

He could hit guys faster and harder than you can imagine. Ed Zacorski was not fast but when he hit someone they usually stayed hit and the fight was over.

The miscreant, seeing that his misdeed was observed, shot up a flight of stairs to make his escape. Ed told two other guys to “go get him and chase him back this way.” The other guys went after him, while I stayed behind to see what was going to happen.

Ed and Bob hid on either side of the hallway doorway and waited. After a while you could hear someone flying down the steps, being pursued by the two other guys.

It was the Basement Boy. As he ran through the door, something happened so precisely that you would have thought it was choreographed.

All in one motion, Ed grabbed the offender of Junior High propriety by the collar and shirt so suddenly that he went kind of feet up horizontal in the air. In the same motion, Bob laid a haymaker smack on the kid’s jaw.

By the way the kid landed, almost completely horizontal and with a big thud, you could tell he hit the floor already knocked out in mid-air. If there had been instant replay the knockout would have been shown over and over on TV.

It would have been a highlight film on the news at 11. It was poetry in motion and the kid was not seriously hurt.  It was also juvenile justice served.