She Started It

Dad captured my first argument with a girl.
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Barbara threw the Spauldeen lousy and the ball went up on a roof and rolled down into the gutter. The one week rental in Putnam county didn't have a ladder. The ball was lost. It took a long time for me to stop being mad at Barbara. I didn't talk to her for a good half hour.
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Below, Mom and Nan Rode at Putnam in 1960 ~ can you feel the love? Look at the puss on Nan knitting. They spent their lives together at war over Dad and family control. Nan was bossy. How bossy? I'll bet you a thousand dollars my grandmother, Ann Pryor Rode, could have gotten Madonna to go to the store for her, and then made Madonna rotate her stock in the pantry and refrigerator. And then Madonna would have asked, "Is there anything else you need Mrs. Rode?" And there always was. "Help me put up the drapes, Madge." And Madonna would, and she would have come back for more. They all did.
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Everybody's pissed. Someone was always pissed at somebody else in my family. My job was to figure out how to navigate the rearranged alliances. I got pretty good at it, but Nan Rode always screwed me up.
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She had a fight with Pauline Hannah and stopped talking to her. I was expected to do the same. I couldn't stop talking to someone I knew my whole life who did nothing to me, but when we saw each other in the street the greeting changed, no hugs, no how you been? If you were on Nan's shit list, I had to fall in line. So when Pauline and me passed each other in the street, we started nodding with a weak smile, and that's where we stayed.
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This goes a month or so, and I swing around 83rd Street and go up Nan's to see what's up. I'm on the hall stairs and I hear laughing coming from the second floor apartment. I flip the door knob, go in, and there's Nan and Pauline laughing and laughing like they heard the funniest joke on earth. I'm feeling all odd looking at Pauline who I treated like shit for a month, and Nan is clueless or thoughtless that's she's supposed to tell me when she makes up with her friends on her shit list. Nan had a special pencil with a huge eraser for her shit list, and we all went on and off that list effortlessly.
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Below is the cornerstone for the Eastside Settlement House facing the FDR Drive at 76th Street. Built in 1903, it was the second settlement house. It had a grass hill that led down to the East River. My grandmother, uncles, aunts, father & mother haunted that place. It had everything a kid could want. My parents, Pat Ryan and Bob Pryor were the Lindy Dance Champs at the Settlement House.

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Above, Dad & Mom, Patchogue, 1962.

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July, 1961, Dad, Allie Cobert and Mickey Fiorillo from 84th Street between York & East End Avenues. They are standing three stores down from the Old Timers Tavern on the east side of York Avenue at 83rd Street & 84th Street. The awning in the back is Parker's Grocery Store. That's Reliable Meats directly to the right. Mickey married Barbara my Mom's sister, he's my uncle. Allie was family, we loved him.

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Found this great picture of Rory at the start of first grade with a date on the back, November 18, 1962. This is right after the Cuba Missile Crisis. The kids don't look worried. It's recess! They're drinking their milk snacks, and the odds are pretty good I sold it to them, because by third grade I was going class to class as a toast and milk salesman.

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I know the three girls next to Rory on the left, but I only know them like this: the pretty brunette in the front was Bernadette's sister. Bernie was one year ahead of me at St. Stephen's of Hungary. Kenny Devoe loved her, or maybe it was Michael Sorenson. Behind her is Tina Harangazo, Rory's first girlfriend, she was so cute. A perfect symmetrical face. Behind Tina, is Joey Scrapits sister. Joey was in my grade and he's now a doctor. I never caught the sister's name but she was pretty and quiet..

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Here's Pilgrim Hill today at 72nd Street, looking down at what we called Sailboat Lake but park officials called the Conservatory. Starting at the Pilgrim statute this was the best sleigh ride in Central Park.

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I can't dress. Never could.

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Not in first grade, look at my tie. Not when I was 7, look at my zipper.

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As a man, I've failed to meet the minimum sartorial standards for looking good. Please see the evidence in my picture with Mayor Bloomberg and NYCHA Chairman Tino Hernandez, examine the bottom shirt bottom near my belt.

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But I could always ride a horse. This is in front of Lamston's on 1st Avenue in 1959. Every time, I saw a dime with Mercury on it, I thought about this ride. It was my favorite thing on earth when I was five.
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