By Publisher Emeritus Jerry Robinson
Editor's note: Jerry Robinson, who passed away in 2014 would have been 100 years old today. He wrote this as part of his autobiography.
On my 10th birthday my big brother Russell bought me my first bike. April 6th, 1930. What a day. "C'mon, Gerald," he said. "Let's go up to Killingsworth Street."
"Okay," I answered, and we took off. "Where're we going?"
"You'll see." The most exciting place on Killingsworth Street was Darling's Bike Shop. Many times we had feasted our eyes on the row of shiny bikes in the window.
When we turned in there I nearly died. It smelled so good. Rubber-tired heaven.
Russell had already made the choice: a powder blue, 26 inch, balloon-tired baby with steerhorn handlebars. Absolutely the most gorgeous creation from the hand of man. The frame had been broken and brazed down by the sprocket, but I didn't mind.