Going Downtown Brooklyn as Kids

Hey everyone, welcome back to *Brooklyn Echoes*, the podcast that keeps the borough’s legends and memories alive. I’m your host, Robert Henriksen.

Ah, the magic of downtown Brooklyn back in the day—those crisp autumn weekends and especially the glittering holiday seasons when us kids would pile into the subway with our parents, hearts racing with excitement. Picture it: the 1960s or ’70s, the air buzzing with the hum of the city, the rattle of the train on the tracks as we zoomed under the East River from wherever in the boroughs we called home. Maybe it was Flatbush or Bensonhurst, but downtown was the promised land, the heart of Brooklyn’s shopping mecca on Fulton Street. We’d emerge from the Hoyt-Schermerhorn station, blinking into the daylight, surrounded by the towering buildings and the throngs of shoppers hustling along the sidewalks. The streets were alive—vendors hawking newspapers, shoe shiners calling out, and the unmistakable scent of roasted chestnuts wafting from pushcarts, especially as winter set in. Those chestnuts were our first treat; for a nickel, you’d get a paper bag full of hot, nutty goodness, steaming in the cold air, perfect for warming your hands as you munched.

Downtown Brooklyn wasn’t just a place; it was an adventure for us kids. Fulton Street was the main drag, lined with grand department stores that felt like palaces. There was Namm-Loeser’s with its endless aisles of toys and clothes, Mays where you’d find bargains on everything from socks to kitchenware, and Martin’s, another staple for household goods. But the crown jewel was Abraham & Straus—A&S to everyone who knew. That massive building at Fulton and Livingston, with its ornate facade, was where dreams lived. As kids, we’d press our noses against the glass windows even on regular trips, gazing at the displays of shiny bikes, dolls, and games. But oh, the foods! Downtown was a feast for the senses. Street vendors dotted every corner—hot dog carts with those plump franks steaming on the grill, slathered in mustard, onions, and sauerkraut for just a dime. We’d beg our parents for one, the salty snap of the casing mixing with the tangy toppings, juice dripping down our chins as we walked. Pretzel guys twisted fresh dough right there, sprinkling coarse salt on those warm, chewy loops. And knishes—potato-filled pockets from Yiddish vendors, fried golden and served with a dollop of mustard. If we were lucky, a stop at a corner candy store for an egg cream: that fizzy mix of chocolate syrup, milk, and seltzer, no egg or cream in sight, but it tasted like heaven fizzing on your tongue.

Lunchtime was a highlight. Sometimes we’d duck into Junior’s on Flatbush Avenue Extension, right in the thick of downtown. That place opened in the ’50s and became legendary for its cheesecake—creamy, dense slices with a sponge cake crust, maybe strawberry or plain, so rich it melted in your mouth. But us kids loved the diner fare too: grilled cheese sandwiches oozing American cheese, or matzo ball soup on chillier days, slurped with noisy delight while sitting on those vinyl booths. If we were at A&S, there was the in-store cafeteria—think tuna melts, hamburgers, and ice cream sundaes served on metal trays you slid along the counter. And don’t forget the popcorn vendors outside, the buttery kernels popping fresh, or the Italian ices from pushcarts in summer, lemon or cherry flavored, scraping the icy crystals with a wooden spoon.

But Christmas time? That was when downtown Brooklyn transformed into a wonderland straight out of a storybook. Starting right after Thanksgiving, the air turned crisp, snow sometimes dusting the sidewalks like powdered sugar. We’d bundle up in wool coats, mittens, and scarves, the subway ride feeling longer with anticipation. The streets glowed with strings of lights draped over lampposts, carolers singing on corners, and Salvation Army bells ringing. Vendors amped up for the holidays—roasted chestnuts were everywhere, their smoky sweetness mingling with the pine scent from Christmas tree sellers on side streets. Hot chocolate from carts, thick and creamy, topped with marshmallows if you splurged. And pretzels got a festive twist, sometimes dusted with cinnamon sugar.

The real magic was the store windows, especially at A&S. Those displays were legendary, animated masterpieces that drew crowds from all over the city. We’d shuffle along the sidewalk, jostled by families, peering into scene after enchanted scene. One window might show Santa’s workshop with elves hammering toys, their little arms moving mechanically, lights twinkling. Another could be a winter village with trains chugging around snowy hills, kids skating on a frozen pond, all under falling “snow” made from cotton or soap flakes. The colors—vibrant reds, greens, golds—reflected off the glass, and the figures were so lifelike, with rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes. Us kids would stand there mesmerized, fogging up the windows with our breath, pointing out details like a reindeer peeking from a stable or a family gathered around a fireplace. And it wasn’t just A&S; Mays and Namm’s had their own displays, maybe nativity scenes or fairy tales come to life, like Cinderella’s ball or the Nutcracker ballet, with dancers twirling on hidden mechanisms.

Inside A&S, it was even better. The store was decked out floor to ceiling—garlands, wreaths, and that enormous Christmas tree suspended from the ceiling in the elevator lobby, twinkling with ornaments and lights, so tall it seemed to touch the stars. There was a merry-go-round for kids in the toy department, spinning with painted horses, and little prizes like candy canes or stickers handed out by elves. We’d line up to see Santa, sitting on his throne in a velvet wonderland, whispering our wishes for bikes or Barbie dolls while a photographer snapped Polaroids. The air smelled of perfume from the cosmetics counter mixed with fresh-baked cookies from the bakery section—gingerbread men, sugar cookies shaped like stars, grabbed as treats while parents shopped for gifts.

Other stores added to the festivity. At Mays, you’d find affordable toys and decorations, maybe picking up tinsel or stockings. Namm-Loeser’s had a grand toy floor too, with model trains and dollhouses. And after hours of wandering, we’d cap it off with more food—perhaps a slice of pizza from a nearby parlor, gooey cheese stretching as you bit in, or if it was dinner time, a stop at Gage & Tollner on Fulton, that historic spot with gas lamps and oysters, though us kids stuck to simpler fare like fried chicken or macaroni. Walking back to the subway, bellies full and arms laden with bags, the city lights twinkling, we’d chatter about our favorites—the windows, the treats, the sheer joy of it all.

Those trips to downtown Brooklyn shaped our childhoods, a blend of urban grit and holiday sparkle, flavors and sights that linger like the taste of a perfect knish. Even now, thinking back, it’s like stepping into a snow globe of memories, where the world was big, bright, and full of wonder.

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