I was very young back then,
to remember in detail the old
neighborhood, so I asked my
oldest brother Barney, to help me fill in
some of those details for this
memoir. We'll
start with my building which was
located at 1791 Lexington Avenue
between 111th and 112th street
in Harlem, known to many as El
Barrio. I was born and raised
there. It was a 5 story tenement
building which had four railroad
type apartments to each floor.
Our apartment faced the
backyard, where the only scenery
we would look at on a daily
basis were the fire-escapes of
the other buildings, the
courtyard and clotheslines
hanging from one building to the
other.
(view
period photo ) There
was always the Irish man who
entertained us, singing up a
storm from the courtyard, and
the people would throw money to
him from their windows. He had a
nice voice.
It was a two bedroom apartment,
where I lived, quite small for 9
people, my parents and us seven
kids, of which I am the youngest
and a German Shepherd by the
name of Brownie. Papa was much
older than mama, at least by 20
years. The neighborhood we lived
in was predominantly Italian and
Puerto Rican. It was a safe
building, we always had our
front door to the hallway open,
to let the fresh air in, when it
was hot. Outside the building,
the neighborhood was always in a
turmoil of fights between the
Italians and the Puerto Ricans
over their turfs. Each block had
its own name, our block was
called the Red Wing. Sometime in
the forties, between 1943-1947,
Harlem was in a riot. There were
gang wars between the blacks and
the whites. The Puerto Ricans
sided with the blacks against
the Italians. One day Mayor
LaGuardia , brought with him
Frank Sinatra, Josh White and
Paul Robeson, to the Benjamin
Franklin High School (where my
brother Barney was attending)
which was located on Pleasant
Avenue between 115th street and
116th street, to bring harmony
to the neighborhood.
Some of the neighbors at 1791
Lexington Avenue, were nice, and
others were interesting. Across
the hall from us, lived an
Italian family by the name of
Giovanellos. The aromas of
Italian cooking coming from
their apartment was so
overwhelming. Probably we all
had our heads out the door,
drooling and hoping for a little
portion. Mrs. Giovanello, was a
real sweetheart, she helped us
through many emergencies. They
had two children, Marie and
Otto. Mr. Giovanello, was the
neighborhood ice man. In those
days, we had the ice box, which
we used in the summer and
spring. Then in the winter, the
food would be placed on the
outside window sill. Mr.
Giovanello must have been a very
strong man, to walk two or three
blocks from Park Avenue, with
the block of ice on his
shoulders, and up three flights
of stairs. He was such a nice
man.
The Fitzgerald's had two sons,
one who became a priest and the
other suffered a nervous
breakdown from World War II. He
was so handsome. Every so often,
you would hear him screaming
from the apartment, as if he was
at that moment in the war. Since
I was so young, I became
nervous. Poor Mrs. Fitzgerald,
it must have been very difficult
for her. Next door to the
Fitzgerald's lived a couple, who
every so often were involved in
domestic violence. She was an
Italian war bride, and he an
alcoholic and a wife beater. She
was always screaming at her
kids. Downstairs on the ground
floor, was an Italian lady by
the name of Mary Calabra. She
was the nosy body and instigator
of the building. Every time we
would go past her apartment up
the stairs, she would open her
door, and give us such a look
that made us feel uneasy..
On the floor below our
apartment , was an elderly Irish
lady, who I loved very dearly,
as a child. That was Mrs.
McDonald. She was 90 years old,
and lived by herself. Whenever
she would hear me run up the
steps, she would open the door,
and call out "Marian, would you
like a cup of tea and a donut".
Now how could a kid refuse a
donut. I was so sad, when Mrs.
McDonald fell and broke her hip,
and had to be moved to a nursing
home by her children. She was my
friend. She would tell me
stories, and we would listen to
the radio. I wasn't allowed to
go outside and play, unless my
sister or one of my brothers
would keep an eye on me.
Mama was over protective with
me, always warning me
about talking to strangers. Since
our apartment did not face the
street, Mama couldn't look out
the window to see where I was,
so most of the time, I had to
remain indoors. Not having toys
at my disposal, or having any
friends to play with, I had to resort
to being creative. Mama's
clothespins became my playmates.
I would dress them up with
fabric, and act out my stories
with them and even scold them in
a thunderous voice, just like
Mama would do. How I loved my
clothespin dolls. I could still
remember how I used to sing to
them. They were so much a part
of my childhood life. The boys
were always downstairs playing
stick ball with the neighborhood
kids. The kids on the block that
were my brother Arnold's friends
were Nelson and Frankie, they
were Puerto Rican; Dino and Tony,
were Italian, Fludy Singleton,
he was black, and some others
that I can't remember. Fludy's
family lived on the corner of
111th street and Lexington
Avenue. The kids were not a
gang, they just hung out
together and had fun. Oh, I
almost forget Mr. Morris, one of
the neighbors, he was on the
ground floor. Mr. Morris did car
repairs and was the local
bookie, a lot of traffic went to
his apartment to place their
bets. I think Papa was one of
his regular customers.
The bathroom of our apartment
was very small. Just a bathtub
and the toilet, with the box and
chain above the toilet.
(view
period photo)
The kitchen also was very
small. There was no counter
space, as far as I could
remember.. The only things that
fit, were the ice box, the old
fashioned stove, which had the
oven on the side, and a double
sink. The deep sink was for
giving baths to the small
ones, like me.
(view
period photo) Mama, was always
bent over the deep sink or the
bathtub washing clothes, it
seemed like she was always
washing clothes. In the
good weather, the clothes would
be hung out on the clothesline.
Many a times the clothesline
would break with the weight of
the clothes, and mama would get
mad, because the clothes would
get dirty, when they fell to the
ground below and she would have
to wash them all over again.
Mama didn't have a nice
temperament, she would always be
cranky, complaining and yelling
at us. I think she welcomed when
my brothers took to the street
to play. Whenever it rained, or
it was winter things were worse,
because the clothesline was in
the kitchen, and when you came
into the apartment, you had to
go under it, to
get inside.
(view
period photo)
Since we were so many to sit
down at the table, Papa would
put planks between the chairs so
we could all fit. No one spoke
at the table. That was a rule.
Papa would give a look, and we
knew what that meant. Every
morning we had a ritual in our
house, a tablespoon of cod liver
oil and a slice of orange, to
follow it. Yuk! It had such a
horrible taste. None of us ever
got sick, except for Michael, he
seemed to catch the colds. We
all had chubby faces and rosy
cheeks. The people would always
love to pinch our cheeks. I
guess we looked so healthy.
Barney said, that during World
War II, we had to put blankets
on the window, so the light from
inside wouldn't show. Barney was
a junior air raid warden during
the World War II, period.
In the summertime, when it was
very hot, and we couldn't sleep,
the kids would pull the mattress
out to the fire escape, to get
the fresh air. We didn't have
fans then. We had steam
radiators, and when it was cold
in the winter, many times the
landlord didn't buy the coal on
time or was too cheap to give
heat. All the tenants would bang
against the radiator until he
would give heat. During the
forties, the building was clean
and well kept. We even had a
dumb waiter to put the garbage
on. About the 1950's the
building began to deteriorate.
The dumb waiter didn't work
anymore. Some people threw their
garbage out the window to the
courtyard instead of going
downstairs and putting it in the
garbage cans. We then began to
have a serious problem with the
rats. The rats would get into
the dumb waiter and climb the
wall to get into the apartments. The alley cats were always
howling and fighting with each
other, when they weren't chasing
the rats. The Irish man didn't
come around to sing anymore.
Maybe he died, or the courtyard
wasn't so clean anymore, he was
afraid to. I don't know how much
rent papa paid in the 40's, but
I do know that when mama moved
out in 1962, she was paying
$30.00 a month.
Our favorite place to go in the
summer, was the roof. It was
safe back then. All of us would
go up there and have a picnic
par-beach and get sunned down.
(view
period photo)We had fun. Some of our
neighbors would go also. You had
a real glimpse of the apartments
facing the backyard.
(view
period photo)
When it was so hot in the
summer, everyone took to the
streets and turned the fire
hydrants on, boy was that fun.
We went a lot to the Jefferson
Pool which was on first avenue.
It was free to the people of the
neighborhood.
(view
period photo)
The best part of the
summer in the old neighborhood,
was the Italian Feast of Mount
Carmel, on First avenue. We
always looked forward to that
feast.
The Boy's club was on
111th street between First and
Second avenue. My brother
Michael, went there a lot. He
liked to box and was very good
at it. There was also a parking
lot that was owned by the
Salerno brothers, next to the
Boy's Club across from the big
Gas Tanks on 111th street. One
of the brothers married my
sister Rosie. Sometimes we would
go to the Pizza place that was
on Third avenue between 111th
and 110th street. Joey Rao, was
the mob man in the area across
from the Benjamin Franklin High
School. The Faranga Funeral
Parlor was located at 116th
street between Second and Third
avenue. Congressman Vito Marc
Antonio was known in the area of
116th street.
I attended the elementary school
P.S. 57 which was on 115th
street, between Lexington and
Third avenue. One day I decided
to play hooky from school. It
was after we had a big snow
storm. I was playing in the
snow, I don't know how mama knew
I was there, but she gave me
such a pulling of my braids and
a spanking and then took me to
school. That was the last time I
played hooky from P.S. 57. I
attended the Junior High School
P.S. 101 which was located at
111th street between Lexington
Avenue and Park avenue.
The police precinct for our
area, was the 23rd Precinct,
which was at 104th street
between Lexington and Third
Avenue. On 108th street ,
between Lexington and Park
avenue was a Spanish club, it
was the youth center of the
catholic church. St. Ann's
Church was located on 110th
street between Second and Third
avenue.
Mama would make us chicken soup
often. She would buy the chicken
from the Poultry place that was
on 112th street between Park and
Lexington. They would kill the
chickens and the turkeys there.
It wasn't too far from La
Marqueta, (The Marketplace)
which ran from 112th-116th
street on Park avenue. The
elevated train was right over
it. There were many Jewish
vendors in La Marqueta. Mama
always did her shopping there.
Everything was so cheap...the
dollar went a long way. The food
was always fresh. Mama even
bought my dark blue dress for
papa's funeral there.
We used to go a lot to the
library which was on 110th
street between Lexington and
Third avenue. My brothers
attended P.S. 83, which was not
too far from the house.
After the war, the projects were
built around the corner from our
building. The projects were
between 112th -115th street and
between Lexington and Third
avenue. The neighborhood started
to look different with the
cluster of tall buildings. More
kids came into the neighborhood.
On Lexington Avenue between 102
and 103rd street, there was a
big hill. It was known as the
steepest hill on Lexington
Avenue during 1939-1950. My
brothers would go sled riding in
the winter on that hill .
Papa
worked at Finkenburgs, as a
refinisher. It was a furniture
store that was located at 123rd
street on Third avenue. The
trains from the Third avenue El,
would rumble by, and the
building felt like it was
shaking. Papa would come home so
tired from his day's work
and the long walk he had to take
from 123rd street to 112th
street and Lexington avenue.
After soaking his feet , he
welcomed the comfort of his
slippers, which I ran to get for
him. Papa would always pick me
up and give me a big hug,
calling me his "little
munchkin", and rub the stubble
of his beard against my face.
Ouch........that really hurt,
but I loved every moment of it.
Saturday and Sunday was
a good day for us. Papa had his
paycheck, and every Saturday he
would buy an ice cream cone for
each of us from the candy store
that was located at the corner
of 110th street and Lexington
Avenue. In front of the store
was the subway exit for 110th
street from the Lexington line.
It was a whole block and a half
from there to our building. We
had to all line up from the
oldest to the youngest, and in
order to get our ice cream, we
had to kiss Papa on the lips.
Yuk! This was not a pleasant
thing to do, since Papa smoked a
lot of cigars, and he had that
cigar taste constantly on his
lips. Oh well, such a small
sacrifice for that delicious ice
cream treat.
Sundays were for visiting, we
would either go to my Aunt
Louisa's house who lived on
102nd Street and Columbus
Avenue, my God-mother's house in
Far Rockaway, My Uncle Frank in
the Bronx, or go to City Island
and dig clams, or to Orchard
Beach in the summer, Pelham Bay
or have a picnic in Central
Park. We would go to my Aunt
Louisa (mama's sister) many
times. They had a four bedroom
apartment, for themselves and
their five children. Uncle Pepe
had a moving truck, and a store.
My Aunt had 3 girls and two
boys. Their apartment seemed so
much bigger than the apartments
in my building. I guess the
apartments on the west side,
were
set up differently. So when Papa
would visit, it would be a total
of our family, which were 9 and
Aunt Louisa's family counting 7,
giving a total of 16 people,
eating and having a wonderful
time. God bless my aunt Louisa,
she was such a sweet person, I
loved her so much, she was
always making such wonderful
tasting foods, and in abundance
too, especially when she knew
that my family might just happen
to come by. We didn't own a
telephone, we would just arrive.
Every Christmas eve and New
Year's eve, we would go there
and stay over. Uncle Frank and
Aunt Angelica would come too
with my two cousins, Elsa and
Angie. We always had a good time
with our cousins.
It was such a sight to see, Papa
, a tall man with his chest out,
proud as ever, walking with his
seven children, from Lexington
avenue, through Central Park to
102nd street and Columbus
Avenue. We would spend the day
at my aunt Louisa, then take the
cross town bus at 116th street
back to the house. Papa was very
patriotic, every time the
National Anthem was played over
the radio, he would make us all
stand up and pledge allegiance
to the flag.
Everyone from the neighborhood
loved Papa, he was such a
charmer...He always had a habit
of inviting his friends over to
our tiny overcrowded apartment
and stay for a meal. Mama would
hit the roof each time." With
planks between the chairs and
nine mouths to feed, there is
just not enough space or food
for frequent free-loaders, "she
would say. Her fiery personality
seemed to overshadow Papa's, as
she vocalized her annoyance. He
was so used to her outbursts by
now, that he just didn't care.
He was the bread-winner and they
were his invited guests. He
would look at her, shrug his
shoulders and then walk away.
That was the kind of person my
papa was. He loved to socialize,
mama didn't, especially with
those of the neighborhood. The
amazing thing about this was
that after Papa's funeral we
never saw hide nor hair of these
friends ever again. I guess they
were afraid that mama would ask
for a hand out, or they would
have the burden of a widow and
seven children upon their hands.
In the forties, the
people from El Barrio, were
friendly, despite the conflicts
in the street, everyone knew who
belonged there and who didn't.
Something like a street watch.
Jack, an Irishman was the
patrolman in our area. In those
days, they walked the beat. He
always had his pockets stuffed
with free passes to the movies
for the kids of the
neighborhood, who couldn't
afford to go. The only time we
ever went to the movies, which
was the "Cosmo," located at
116th street between Lexington
Avenue and Third Avenue, was
when papa wanted to be alone
with mama.
Next door to our building, on
the corner of 111th street and
Lexington Avenue, was a
Methodist church, and the
minister's name was Rev. Wilson.
He was the most
compassionate human being ever
there was in the neighborhood.
He cared about the social
problems that existed in the
neighborhood. My brother Arnold,
was a rebel by nature. He was
always disobeying papa . He got
into trouble vandalizing the
church, and patrolman Jack
brought Arnold home. Papa was so
furious...I don't know if Arnold
learned a lesson from Papa or
not, that day. Rev. Wilson and
members of his church, were very
kind to mama, when papa died. They gave us
a lot of food . Rev. Wilson's
church, even paid for my
brothers Arnold, Michael and
Daniel to go to Port Monmouth,
New Jersey for two weeks after
papa died. He also sent the
other kids from the
neighborhood.
Every Sunday morning, we had
buns for breakfast. Papa would
buy the most delicious buns from
a German Bakery on Third avenue,
between 115th and 116th street.
There was also a Cushman Bakery
on Lexington Avenue at the
corner of 115th Street. Papa
always got the newspaper from
the newspaper stand down by the
Third Avenue El at 111th street.
Everyday in the morning you
would see on Lexington Avenue,
the laundry horse and wagon who
would pick up the laundry from
the neighborhood. My brother
Barney worked there at 50 cents
a day, from 7:00 A.M. to 7:00
P.M. after the depression. On
the corner of 112th Street and
Lexington Avenue, was an Italian
Delicatessen. Mary and her
family owned it. The Italian
bread was so crispy, and the
cold cuts were in such abundance
on a sandwich, I believe you
could feed a whole family with
it.
Everyone in the neighborhood
loved Mary. Mama , every so
often would send one of my
brothers to pick up a sandwich.
Next to Mary's Deli, on
Lexington Avenue was Santos the
Furrier, then next to Santos was
a Butcher Shop.
While we were growing up, papa
would attend the synagogue that
was around the corner from our
building at 162 East 112th
street between Lexington and
Third Avenue, while we went to
the Catholic church "Our Lady
Queen of Angels" which was
located at 113th street between
second and third avenue, this
was where I made my communion
and confirmation.
Papa would take the boys to
Howard's Clothier on 125th
street between Lexington and
Third avenue, to get their
clothes. When the oldest would
outgrow his clothes it would be
passed down from one to another.
Since mama didn't bother to
shorten the hems of the pants,
my brothers would roll them up
at the waist with a belt. My two
oldest brothers were very tall.
My sister Rosemarie was tall and
bigger in shape. I was a little
peanut, so I couldn't fit into
any of her clothes. The only time we
would get a present would be on
our birthday, or Christmas. Mama
would say we were too many, to
be celebrating. Be thankful for
what we got.
Papa was doing the best he could
to provide for us, and we were
growing so tall. Papa was
diabetic, and becoming very ill.
His job at Finkenburg's was
tiring him. He finally had to stop working
because of his health. Mama then had
to find work , which she did ,
cleaning offices at Rockefeller
Center. If she was always short fused
before, it was worst now. We all
had to get out of her way, or
suffer the consequences. Mama by
nature was not an affectionate
person. As much as I try, I
can't remember her ever giving
me a hug or a kiss as a child or
even as an adult. I grew up
feeling rejected. Mama
controlled me but didn't love
me, if she loved me she didn't
know how to show it. Sometimes I felt like she was
venting her anger only on me.
How I remember her pulling my
braids, sometimes followed
by a stinging slap across the
face or scolding me in
a terrible harsh way, which
always brought tears to my eyes.
Actually, come to think of it,
none of us were Mama's favorite
except for my brother Daniel.
Mama, always had adoring eyes
for him. I found myself
resenting this. I
sometimes felt like an unwanted
pregnancy, since I was the last
one to be born. Maybe this is
why my clothespin dolls became
so precious to me. Mama was 29
years old , married to papa who
was 20 years older than she was,
when she gave birth to me. I
think this was the final straw
for her. She had her fill of the
life she was living as well as
bearing children, in a crowded
apartment, with nothing to look
forward to, but more of the
same. The only time I ever
remember Mama laughing or
apparently happy, was when we
visited friends and relatives.
Mama was the life of the party.
This was what I loved about her,
what I wished she was all the
time. Naturally when Mama, or
should I say " Cinderella"
returned to 1791 Lexington
avenue, to the hum drum of her
daily life, she was back to her
usual acid tongue self;
complaining, yelling and
scolding. Papa was sick, and she
worked all day in the house,
washing, cleaning, cooking, then
went to work at night. This was
more than she had bargained for.
Things were not the same
anymore. Before papa got sick,
he always had a twinkle in his
eyes, as if his eyes were
laughing. Not anymore. Things
were economically tight. We
couldn't visit relatives like
before, or go to the places we
used to go. Papa's health was
deteriorating quickly. A
remarkable change from one of
active life to a state of
lethargy was evident. Not
realizing the temperature of the
water in which he soaked his
feet, he awoke the next day with
both feet badly blistered. Mama
insisted that he should go to
the local hospital and have it
checked out. Being the stubborn
person that he was, Papa refused
to go. The blistering became
badly infected spreading to the
right leg. Both the leg and the
foot were turning black and
began to smell of rotted flesh.
The leg had to be amputated.
Mama finally called the police
to take him to the hospital. By
that time it was too late to do
anything about it. Papa died from gangrene , a
complication from the diabetes. He was laid out
at the St. Lawrence Funeral Home
at 1985 Third avenue. It
was very traumatic for the whole
family. It felt so strange
seeing papa in his coffin. So
still and not moving. How I
missed papa, I was the baby, his
baby. Everything was changing in
our lives, the building, the old
neighborhood. Papa was the
center of our world and he was
gone and with him went the good
times. You know what, as crazy
as it may seem, in that
overcrowded apartment at 1791
Lexington avenue, we were a
family, in the good times as
well as the bad times. We
struggled, we fought and we
survived.
Whenever the family would get
together, whether it be the
holidays, a wedding of one of
the children, or a funeral of a
loved one, we would always
reminisce and relive the old
days, of when we were young.
Everyone would talk at once,
laughing so hard, at stupid
things each one did in the old
neighborhood. They were the same
stories told over and over each
time we met, but when they were
told they were as vivid as the
day it happened. The laughter
was contagious. We were such a rowdy
bunch. We didn't care who was
overhearing us. We just hoped that
our children would hear and
cherish the stories, so they
could pass it on to the next
generation. But then how does
someone remember what they
didn't live through? Memories
are only vivid to those who
experience them.
Everything is so silent now. The
laughter has ceased. Barney
lives in Pennsylvania and I live
in New Jersey. We communicate by
phone. Nostalgia and loneliness
for those times of the family 's
get together brings a flow of
tears to my eyes. Its quite
traumatic. I guess that's what
happens when you become
sentimental.
I know I can not bring back the
past by the longing for it, but
at least just for these few
moments, as I try to finish
typing these thoughts, I can
relive those strong cherished
memories of my dear papa
and the old neighborhood.