One of the best things about living in Knickerbocker Village in the ’70s and ’80s was that there was never a dull moment. Something always happened, for better or for worse. People knew how to have fun, and as long as you didn’t hurt anyone, at least not too much, most things were fine.

One of the favorite diversions of the people in and around KV was the art of practical jokes. Now practical jokes are a very tricky proposition. Some people might take a joke. Others couldn’t. And some of those people who couldn’t, were quite dangerous and could be dangerous to your health. More importantly, if you were one of the practitioners of a practical joke, you better be able to take a joke if one is perpetrated on you.

I was a member of both groups.

In the late 1970s, I ran a car service and limo service out of Bruno’s parking lot, which I owned for 27 years, at 31-35 Monroe Street. At that time, I had about a dozen men working for me, doing multiple shifts. They all lived in Knickerbocker Village. We take lots of people from Knickerbocker Village to the five boroughs and to the airports. In fact, the people from KV were basically our only customers.

One day I received a phone call from the New York City Parks Department. The person on the line told me they had a work order to build a bandstand across my parking lot for a politician running for office, who was born at 31 Monroe Street. He was going to give a campaign speech at the site. I don’t remember who the politician was. Now this was entirely possible, as my lot was the site of three buildings that were razed sometime in the 1940s.

I told the person from the Parks Department that as long as they didn’t block my driveway, I didn’t see it as a problem. He told me that he would call back to tell me the exact time the bandstand would be built.

Shortly after, the man from the Parks Department called me and told me that there was a small mistake. The politician was born at 31 Monroe Place in Brooklyn, not 31 Monroe Street in Manhattan. I said fine. No harm, no foul.

But word got out. Everyone who worked for me had heard what had happened. I was the perfect scapegoat for a practical joke.

A few days later I received a call from a person who appeared to be an official from the New York City Parks Department, Gentrification Division. The man said they were looking to improve the appearance of Monroe Street and wanted to plant two trees there. I thought maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. The trees on the block provided shade and would look somewhat nice. KV management had already planted some small trees on their side of the block. They looked good.

The man then said, “When is the best time to come? I have a diagram of your lot and we would like to plant two trees. One ten feet from the curb and one 30 feet from the curb. Directly on behind the first.” Then he said the magic words: “Inside your parking lot.”

I went a little crazy. “Inside my parking lot? What are you crazy? You can’t plant two trees inside my parking lot. I park cars inside my parking lot.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” said the man. “We’ll put rubber around the base of the trees so you don’t damage any cars.”

For now I’m ready for a straitjacket. I yell at him, “I don’t care about rubber. Trees will ruin my business. I’ll have less parking space and always have to maneuver around those damn trees! I absolutely refuse to let you plant trees in my parking lot. This is an outrage!” .

The man said calmly, “Sir, have you ever heard of the term Eminent Domain?”

I said sure. “But how does Eminent Domain apply to my parking lot?”

He said, “Sir, according to Eminent Domain, the government can seize any personal property, if we determine that it is for the good of the people in the area. Sir, we don’t want to seize your property. We just want to plant two trees. I don’t see why You have a problem with that. You’re being very selfish, sir.”

Now my head is spinning and all I can see are dollar signs flying out of my bank account. There are a couple of drivers from my auto service in my office and I’m trying to explain to them what’s going on. They don’t get it either.

This was happening right in the middle of a work day, where I was trying to run two businesses at the same time. My mind was racing. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Most sane people would have considered the possibility of a practical joke. But not me. Not at that moment. I was furious.

So I yelled some profanity into the phone, some threats about hiring a lawyer, and finally hung up. Crazy as hell.

As I’m fuming, figuring out my next move, a few minutes later the phone rings again. I pick up the phone and hear several men laughing in the background. Someone finally says, “Joe Bruno, you’re a jerk and an idiot.” And then they hang up.

They sure got me. it did me good

Now all he wanted was revenge.

Using the elimination process and learning the personalities of the people in Knickerbocker Village, I figured I was one of the two men responsible. I settled on my good friend Anthony, who worked on Wall Street during the day, and me as a car service driver, a couple of nights a week and on weekends. He lived in Building G, 10 Monroe, 3rd floor, facing the courtyard. He lived in building K, sixth floor, also facing the courtyard.

I was thinking for a couple of days how to get even. Then one night I came home and checked my mailbox in the K building. With the mail was a flyer announcing the “Grand Opening of a Chicken Delight” at Grand and Essex. In bold at the bottom of the flyer it read, “WE DELIVER!”

I went home in a daze with anticipation. I called Chicken Delight and asked if they ship to Knickerbocker Village. They said they did. Excellent. I gave them Anthony’s address in the G building and my phone number, in case they called to check. This was in the late 1970s, when caller ID was a thing of the far future.

I told Chicken Delight, “I’m having a party for 10 people. How much chicken do you think I should order?”

The gentleman told me about 30 pieces, 3 pieces per person. I said okay. That’s perfect. He then asked me if I would like sides with chicken. I said, “Of course. What kind of garnishes do you have?” He told me mashed potatoes, French fries, buttered biscuits, coleslaw, etc.

I said, “Okay, send me enough for 10 people.”

He asked me if I needed something to drink. I said, “Sure, do you have any beer?” She said no, just soft drinks. Then she added: “For 10 people, four 64-ounce bottles of Pepsi should do the trick.”

I said, “Great. How much is this going to cost? And how long will delivery take?” He said to give him 45 minutes to an hour, and that the bill was forty-odd dollars. I asked him if he had change for a hundred dollar bill. She assured me yes.

I hung up the phone, retrieved my binoculars, and sat by my bedroom window, facing 10 Monroe Street.

Within about an hour, I saw two men carrying numerous grocery bags of groceries and refreshments up the front steps of West Court. They turned left and headed straight for the G building. I was laughing so hard I almost wet my pants. I thought the worst that could happen was that I had lost forty-something dollars. And I would eat chicken for a few days. It was worth the fun I was having.

Five minutes later, I saw the two men walk out of the G building, empty-handed!

Did Anthony really accept the food? I never thought that was possible.

In minutes, the range of my phone. it was anthony

“Joe Bruno, I have some extra chicken from Chicken Delight. Are you hungry?” Then he started cursing me, laughing just as hard as me.

I said: “Why did you accept the order?”

He said, “Because I’m hungry and they have good chicken.”

“How did you know it was me?” I asked.

“You gave them your fucking phone number. That’s how,” he said. “Moron!”

Well, I guess that proves that no one is perfect.

I told Anthony I wasn’t hungry and advised him not to choke on the bones.

What you told me cannot be published on a family blog.

More on Knickerbocker Village practical jokes at a later date. There are a lot of them.