We played stickball games outside Beekman’s candy store, as young teenagers, almost every day of the week, from spring until the first snowflake fell. A line drive off Beekman’s store window brought him flying out the front door, white apron strings trailing behind him. A broomstick might fly from a batter’s hands and rocket toward Beekman’s front windows. Unofficial records and fading memories indicate that although Mr. Beekman may have lost his breath on several occasions during our stickball games, he never lost a window. In this engaging memoir, author Marty Toohey paints a vibrant portrait of growing up in the Bronx during the 1930s and 40s. In the Bronx’s cultural melting pot, Toohey and his friends delighted in the simple pleasures of life. Toohey shares his memories of roasting stolen potatoes or mickies in an empty lot on 167th Street, of the milkman’s horse tapping an early morning cadence on the cobblestones of Fulton Avenue, and of hiding from the nuns at St. Augustine’s Church, known as the Cathedral of the Bronx. Brimming with the simple charm of the past, Bronx Boy is rich with details, transporting its readers into a forgotten time of innocence.