Chips On That Ball

If you ever threw a ball onto a roof, or hit one up in stickball, that was the end of that ball, and time for a new one.

Even though you knew where it was, and it was a good, live ball, and rubber balls were a major expense, it didn't matter. Retrieval was ill-advised, as roofs were forbidden terrain.

Of course, in private houses they were inaccessible. You might get a homeowner to throw a ball back from a yard. If they liked you. Which was unlikely. No adult liked any kids playing ball by their house. You sure didn't even want to tell an adult you got a ball on their roof. That means it could have been their window.

Apartment house roofs could be reached, but this was as close to felonious behavior as a kid could get.

We all understood the rationale. No one could see you up there. A kid on a roof meant trouble.

Every once in a while, a crazy kid would start a fire on a roof. Young lovers would get caught up there. Kids threw bottles (non-deposit) and rocks down onto look-out-below.

Cops hated people on roofs more than anything. My father had a brother and friends on the job. I knew from trade talk that when cops arrived on a scene of trouble, one would emerge from the squad car eyeballing the street, and the other the roofs. The roofs were considered the bigger threat. A psycho up there is harder to see, chase, or shoot.

Once in a while, though, you had to take a chance. Say you hit it up there, and it wasn't your ball. If the owner of the ball had the presence of mind to holler "Chips on that ball" on its way, you are financially responsible. If you don't have the coin to replace it, you are either entering a debate (You found that ball; It was half-dead anyway), or going on a vertical journey.

The bad part, besides what is already described, is that one of the kids in the game might decide to have fun as you are sneaking up, and start shouting "Hey, super!," hoping to alert the caretaker of the building. "Kid going up that roof!"

This usually didn't happen, as it would bust up the game, but it might, if everyone was tired of playing anyway.

The good part - if no one rats you, and you have a safe trip - was that there were usually a number of good balls up there to come back down with.

If you are lucky, and the super isn't standing by the front door waiting for you, you hit the street with a trove of treasure.

If he is, and quick begging for mercy doesn't help ("They made me!"), you need those balls to pitch at him to unblock your pathway out. Ping-ping-ping, balls ricocheting off the big guy, then a couple of quick feints from you, then out the door, and run like hell.

You might yell to your friends, "The super!," though this is really unnecessary, to any observant parties. You all run, and by a block away laugh, though you will make like John Dillinger for a few days. This week's games will be somewhere else.