This is the true unexpurgated story of my teen years.

When I was 16 I looked like I was 9. I had a full face of freckles, reddish, curly-knotted hair and red cheeks probably due to capillaries close to the surface. I was always mistaken for being Irish but the name Greenberg always corrected that misconception.

I was a ball-playing fool. Anything with a ball bouncing was for me. I didn't even realize I was too short to play basketball.

I forgot to tell you about my personality. I was overly aggressive. I could argue about anything and usually did. This tenacity helped me on the basketball court and also helped to overcome my height disadvantage.

Stickball, the game of the Bronx streets, was another major part of my life. I wasn't that good but I enjoyed fielding more than hitting the "Spaldeen."

Football was played in the gutter. Sometimes with a newspaper rolled up and held together with string and occasionally one of the kids would get a real football as a present. "Go down to the blue Chevy and buttonhooks was a street game plan from quarterback to his end.

The seasons came very quickly and distinctly. You would emerge from your apartment building and every kid had his pockets full of marbles. Purees, Steelies, Jalopie were some of the marble types. A Kraft cheese box with different sized cut-out holes put a kid in business. The entrepreneurs would cut different sized holes in the box, draw a line about 10 feet away with chalk and give prizes for those with great skill and good aim.

At 16 the sirens of the pool hall beckoned. Why age 16 I will never know but everyone seemed to know when you were of age to ascend the 20 or so steps up to Pop's Pool Room. It became a haven from the streets. The clicking of the ivory balls, the betting, the green cloth table covers and the camaraderie was relaxing for a kid away from school and away from the streets.

For some reason, I don't truly remember, I was banned from the Pop's Pool Room. Aggression and a wise-guy mouth might have had something to do with it. Having no place to waste my time, I got the best grades at CCNY. Eventually, after I served my sentence I was allowed back into the pool room.

My first memories of CCNY were of a frightened 16-year-old kid in a strange new world. I was a brown-bagger and I always had that oil stain from my tuna fish sandwich evident on my lunch bag. I looked for a quiet place to wolf down my sandwich. I opened the door of the CCNY lunchroom and received the fright of my life. Guitars were playing, people screaming at each other, students kissing and in other various amorous positions hit me in the face. I closed the door and scurried away. I knew it was too much for me.

Four years later I was much more mature and confident and was one of the lunatics at the lunch table.

I don't recall my teen years with pleasure. To girls I was invisible. Only ball playing and arguing kept me alive. The story of my Bar Mitzvah is a separate story.

Thanks for listening.