My conversion to Judaism in 1977 began while having lunch with my girlfriend at the original Purity Diner on Seventh Avenue and Union Street.

A few guys came into the diner who knew her and said hello. She introduced me to them, and one asked if I liked to play basketball. I said very much, and he said we have a regular game on Saturday afternoon at the Union Temple health club. Why don’t you stop by?

I did so the following Saturday and had a great time playing ball. At the end of the day, the manager of the health club approached and asked me, “Are you Jewish?”

Because the club was part of the temple, I quickly replied, “Yes I’m Jewish.”  So, using my girlfriend’s last name, I signed up as a full member of the Temple. I paid $700 per year, received all the High Holiday tickets and invitations for all kinds of events. 

I almost never missed one of the three basketball sessions per week. After a while, I made a few friends and sometimes we would go out to dinner as a group after playing.

I was happy to have a place to play indoors during the winter. There were usually about 20 guys per session, so we played half court, four on four, rotating in and out. Winners stayed on the court until they lost.

In addition to the basketball court, membership included use of a pool, sauna, and steam rooms. 

Eventually, I realized that a lot of men there, especially a group who watched TV in a room off of the locker room, were definitely not Jewish. 

These health club members had belonged to a downtown Brooklyn YMCA, which had been demolished by the City under Eminent Domain. They were allowed to join the health club as non-Jewish members of the Temple. So, I learned that actually you did not have to be Jewish to join the Health Club. 

I was embarrassed, but I told the manager, “You know I’m really not Jewish.” and he said “Oh we knew you were Italian.  Why did you wait two years to tell us?”

So, my days of being Jewish ended in 1979, two years after I had joined the Temple and I went from paying $700 dollars a year to about $200. I was glad to save the money. 

There is one aspect of the club that I have never forgotten. Every Wednesday, the men’s locker room closed a half hour early so women could use the sauna and steam rooms, which were located inside the locker room. There was always one man who refused the manager’s request that we hurry up and leave on time. The slow moving, half naked man would rotate his hips side to side while saying, “Let ‘em come in, I have nothing to hide.”

Years later, I got married and moved to Queens. And after a lengthy renovation, Eastern Sports took over the running of the health club. 

During my time as a member, I began making a series of photographs. In addition to some interesting members, there were strange little rooms throughout the club. One had a large body bag for boxing, another nets for golf, another an ancient exercise bike. There was a very funky weight room: all the weights under 40 pounds were stolen and replaced by coffee cans filled with cement joined by a piece of pipe.

I miss that place as much as I miss my vertical leap.

Swimmer

Golf Room

Member in Golf Room

Weight Room

Boxer and heavy bag

Exercycle

Members on the roof

Tanning on the roof

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Larry Racioppo’s new book is Here Down on Dark Earth: Loss and Remembrance in New York City (Fordham University Press), photographs by Larry Racioppo, text by Clifford Thompson and Jan Ramirez.

Racioppo’s photographs are in the collections of the Museum of the City of New York; the Brooklyn Museum; the New York Public Library; the Brooklyn Public Library; El Museo del Barrio, New York; and the National September 11 Memorial & Museum, New York.