Spring arrived early in 1969. One morning, snow still clung to the shady side of houses, but by afternoon, puddles were forming across the sidewalks, and Derrick could smell wet earth, fresh grass, and something like freedom floating in the breeze. Kids ditched coats for light jackets. Windows cracked open for the first time in months.
Phelps Park came alive again—basketballs bouncing, bikes flying, jump ropes whipping the pavement. Derrick and the fellas felt it too. Not just the warmth. But the restlessness. The sense that something was about to happen. They had no idea how right they were.
It was a Saturday in late April when it happened. Derrick, Tony, Marcus, Leon, and Reggie were walking down 41st Street towards Rod’s, a small corner store on 41st and Chicago. They had loose change from chores and allowances, and they planned to buy: Lemonheads Boston Baked Beans Now & Laters And a couple bottles of pop
The sky was bright. Birds chirped. Kids rode bikes in short sleeves. It felt like everything good about spring. But as they reached the alley behind the store, Derrick noticed someone step out from behind a garage. Eddie Sherman. Behind him—Ray-Ray and the Deeks brothers. The same bullies from the winter incident. Older. Bigger. Meaner.
“Look who it is…” Eddie said, smirking. “The little crew from Phelps.”
Tony whispered to Derrick,
“Aw, man… not again.”
Leon took one step forward instinctively. Derrick put an arm out.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Just keep calm.”
But this time—the bullies weren’t in the mood to talk. Eddie walked toward them slowly, hands in his pockets like he was bored.
“You boys think you tough because you got saved by old man Green last time?”
Marcus’s face flushed. “We didn’t get saved—”
“Shut up, boy,” Harold Deeks snapped.
Leon’s jaw tightened. Tony muttered something under his breath. Reggie swallowed hard. Eddie looked Derrick dead in the eye.
“You always think you the leader, huh? Little Mr. Quiet. Think you better than everybody.”
Derrick shook his head.
“We don’t want any trouble.”
Eddie smirked. “Too late.”
Ray-Ray stepped forward and shoved Leon—hard. Leon stumbled into Marcus, who grabbed him to keep him from falling.
“HEY!” Tony shouted.
Ray-Ray shoved Tony next. Tony shoved him back. Then Eddie swung. A hard, fast punch aimed at Derrick’s chest. It landed. Derrick gasped, stumbling backward. That was all it took. Spring exploded into chaos.
Leon lunged first—tackling Eddie into the mud. Tony and Marcus both grabbed Ray-Ray. Reggie swung at Lonnie, who dodged, grabbed Reggie, and threw him down. Derrick shook off the shock and jumped in. It wasn’t organized. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t even a real fight in the adult sense. It was a flurry of: swinging arms wild grabs knees hitting dirt fists that hurt more from impact than damage breaths coming in gasps
The older boys were stronger. But the crew had something they didn’t: Each other. Every time someone got thrown down, two boys pulled him up. Every time a bully pushed one back, another stepped in front. Eddie was furious. Ray-Ray was shouting. The Deeks brothers were cursing and swinging wildly. But the crew held their own.
Derrick got knocked down twice but kept getting back up. Tony took a punch to the shoulder and barely flinched. Leon fought like he’d been waiting months for this moment. Marcus landed one good punch that surprised even him. Reggie took a hit to the jaw and shook it off with a growl. The fight went on for what felt like minutes— but was probably less than thirty seconds. Because then— A voice boomed from across the alley.
“HEY! BREAK IT UP!”
It was Mr. Jackson, the big, broad-shouldered deacon from Sabathani who lived nearby. He marched toward the crowd, his long shadow cutting through the fight like a wall. The older boys scattered instantly—running fast as rabbits, slipping on mud as they scrambled away. The Derrick and the guys stayed frozen, panting hard.
Mr. Jackson grabbed Leon’s shoulder first.
“You boys okay?” he demanded, his deep voice echoing off the garages.
They nodded, catching their breath.
“Who started it?”
Silence.
Finally, Derrick spoke. “
They did. Eddie and them.”
“I figured,” Mr. Jackson said. “Kids like that don’t know how to act. But you boys need to walk smart. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” they all said. “
“You run in packs. You look out for each other. But you don’t go looking for trouble. Understand?”
They nodded again. Mr. Jackson looked them over, checking for cuts or bruises. Marcus had a bloody lip. Reggie had a bruise forming on his cheek. Leon’s shirt was ripped. Derrick’s knuckles were scraped raw. Tony was limping slightly. But they were standing. All of them.
“Come on,” Mr. Jackson said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.
And then you boys get home before your mamas start worrying.”
The walk home was slow. Quiet. Not because they were scared— but because the fight meant something. Something bigger than fists. Tony finally broke the silence.
“We actually fought them.”
“And didn’t get destroyed,” Marcus added proudly, touching his lip. “Only slightly destroyed.”
Reggie nodded. “We stuck together.”
Leon cracked a small smile. “Yeah. We did.”
Derrick looked at each of them—friends he had known since first grade, friends who stood with him in snowball fights, football games, classroom conflicts… and now a real fight. He felt older. Stronger. More connected. Like they all weren’t just a group of kids anymore. They were brothers.
As they reached Oakland Avenue, Derrick stopped and turned to them.
“We didn’t start that fight.”
“No,” Tony said.
“But we finished it,” Leon replied.
Derrick nodded.
“And next time… we won’t let it get there.” Marcus snorted. “Next time I’m bringing a stick.”
They all laughed—wincing from bruises—but laughing all the same. They bumped fists. A silent promise passed between them: We protect each other. We stand up for each other. We grow up together. Spring had arrived. And with it, a new kind of strength. The kind earned—not given. The kind that sticks with you forever.
