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Leonard Bernstein, Arthur Laurents, and Jerome Robbins, never met Mary, Danny, Joan or I when their memorable WESTSIDE STORY was visualized.

None of us were members of The Jets, The Sharks of The Emeralds.

Yet we were probably the original “Gang” in the now historical Westside NYC neighborhood immortalized by their beautiful musical tribute.

I wondered today how we had been whitewashed from the tribute to a time and place now extinct except in memories.

Those innocent days of yore popped back into memory again when I received my weekly Saturday phone call. Dan, the lone male survivor of the group and the oldest, phoned to check on my well being.

In the years of “once upon a time,” Dan would be awaiting his posse outside Brokaw’s Ice Cream parlor. He had returned from the war and the sea, and now defiantly wore a red polyester shirt setting off his blonde Irish locks. The gang he led did not have the distinctive dark beauty of the swarthy Latin dancers in the musical, but all shared the magical Irish humor and heartbreaking smile. And his lindy hop was well known over the entire Westside in the adjoining Parishes where we traveled to dance and possibly fall in love.

The older “girls” and recent Cathedral High graduates arrived a bit later needing time to freshen up after a day’s work in a local insurance company or downtown telephone company satellite.

Mary was usually the earliest, innocently breathtaking in a freshly starched pastel dress. She was a typical Irish beauty with raven curls and an infectious giggle, and secretly had a “crush” on Bobby D, Dan’s close friend.

Joan and I arrived together, from the same tenement, and after completing our homework. We were known as a duet, and also the youngest auxiliary members of “The Gang.” I was admitted to the cherished inner circle due to Joan’s infectious personality and cover girl looks.

She had barely turned 16 and I was still 15, two facts not known by the more established “Gang” members. We were both wise enough to realize our admittance was based on our ability to laugh at the jokes and be tacit admirers of the established returning heroes to the welcoming neighborhood.

The traditional drink of choice for members of “The Gang” was a Coke, sometimes enhanced with a twist of lemon, or on rare occasions to be frivolous, someone would request a “ Cherry Coke.”

And yes, perhaps those faded memories belong in a dusty album, but instead remain vibrant because of the still pulsing friendship formed in “Our Gang” with loyalty, friendship, and two other vital ingredients, decency and respect. We wore no emblems and shared no secret salute, but laughed at the same radio programs and loved the same music.

As another memory emerges, from the dusty pages of my treasured Latin book, and I quote Cicero, a/k/a Marcus Tullius Cicero:

“A friend is as it were a second self.”