Last Saturday, I headed north to “Back in the Day at Poe Park,” a Bronx storytelling and music festival. A two block walk from the # 4 train, and one block from the D train, the event was organized by the Five Boro Story Project, a city wide effort lovingly founded and led by Bridget Bartolini…. Read more »
June 20, 1957, on my brother Rory’s first birthday we moved into apartment #4R at 517 East 83rd Street. Mom let Rory and me run straight into the apartment before my aunts and uncles brought the furniture up. I dragged my brother by his arm. At the window was a fire escape with a nest… Read more »
My happiest time of year is not tied to the weather, nor is it tied to a holiday. I get silly when The Losers Lounge play Joe’s Pub. Founded by Joe McGinty and Nick Danger in 1993 at the Pink Pony, the revue grew into a musical force when it merged with the Kustard Kings… Read more »
Manhattanhenge is the twice a year event when the sunset lines up perfectly with the main street arteries in Manhattan. This year, the two dates were last night and the second one will be July 12th. Unfortunately, the sunset was hiding behind cloud cover last night. Hopefully, on July 12th the sky will be clear. If… Read more »
New York City, February 1941: On a Saturday morning, my father woke up and found his father drinking coffee alone in the kitchen with only the winter light coming in through the backyard window. My grandmother and uncle had left for work. Dad, 11, talked baseball with his Dad for an hour while eating three… Read more »
I like Central Park early in the morning. The light is special, the space is quiet but for the dogs off their leashes. I like that best, gives the place a country feel. Well, I was biking over there on a Sunday morning around seven when I saw this end result of a “funny thing to do… Read more »
At 16, my dream job was working behind the deli counter at Daitch Shopwell. As a stock boy this would be a coup. Watching Milton or Marty cut thin slices of rare roast beef and Jarlsberg Swiss, I cried with pain. Pain that some son of a bitch was going to eat that tasty mound of meat… Read more »
Got into a sparkling new cab this morning. The seats, dashboard and windows shined. Riding my finger along the metal detail on the passenger door, I thought, the only time my brother Rory and I were ever this clean was for one lone hour at a photography studio on Third Avenue in spring 1960. I repel wool…. Read more »
When I was young, I connected with a few mothers of my friends. Sweet Mrs. Muller gave me Sloppy Joe Sandwiches, Funny and sarcastic Mrs. McMahon gave me my own half gallon of 4C Ice Tea on hot afternoons, and the intelligent and elegant Mrs. Peters (unknowingly for a short time) gave us space for… Read more »
I bet I can name every barber I’ve had back to five years old. I only remember nicknames for the first two on York Avenue because I didn’t know their real names. “Herman the German” and “Mickey Mouse” with his wife with Tourette’s syndrome. In a house dress with her wild gray hair, she sat next to you… Read more »
