Saturday, October 31, 2015

The Love Seat ~ A Yorkville Ghost Story

Boo! Happy Halloween. Here are two 1960 photos from the fifth floor of 321 East 85th Street on Halloween night. I be the Hobo, Rory is the Pussycat. Mom to the left, Nan Ryan to the right.

Van Gogh Find Yourself @ Ryan's Daughter Nov.4th

This Wednesday @ 6pm I'll be telling two good yarns at Ryan's Daughter, part of the 36 year anniversary show for the tavern. Come on down to 350 E. 85th Street. Van Gogh Find Yourself @ Ryan's Daughter Nov.4th


Here's my Yorkville ghost story. Boo!

The Love Seat

As a boy in the early 1960s, I'd go up my grandparents' second floor apartment on York Avenue several times a week. Their hallway was lit by one low watt exposed bulb. The dark hall frightened me. Sometimes my fear was compounded when I'd hear fuzzy radio sounds coming from the usually locked basement. I assumed it was a foreign station, maybe German based on the marching music, waltzes and the announcer's accent. I told my grandmother.

"You're hearing things," she said
"What's down the basement? I asked.
"Nothing and it’s none of your business!"



I chose to believe her because I had no courage or interest in going down to the cellar to investigate. I began taking the single flight of stairs in four long jumps to get into the apartment as fast as I could. I never looked back.

Over the years, the radio echoes from the cellar were there on and off. In 1964, Pop Rode, the man I knew as my grandfather died (Pop was my grandmother's second husband), and I began to stay over my grandmother’s on the weekend. The noisy avenue was right outside our front window. I'm a light sleeper. Awake, over my head I began to notice pacing in the apartment above. My ears perked up like Nipper the RCA dog. Dread sharpens my hearing. Through the airshaft next to my bed, I heard a man talking to himself. Based on my movie knowledge he sounded German. He spoke rapidly with quick pauses as if he was reading a list of pressing things to do. I didn’t move a muscle. The old lady above us spoke in a whisper, lived alone, and walked with a cane. It was a waste of time to check in with my no-nonsense grandmother.

"You're hearing things." She’d say. Eventually I'd fall back to sleep or it'd get light outside and chase my terror away.

In 1977, my parents bought a house after a lifetime of apartment living and had extra space to place new things. The day they moved in, I noticed Dad carrying a wide chair.

“Dad, what’s that?”
“It’s a love seat.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From your grandmother.”
“I've never seen it.”
“It was stored in her cellar.”
“Huh?”
“It belonged to someone else who never retrieved it.”»



Dad told me a story. When his father contracted late stage tuberculosis in the mid 1930s, Mr. Volk, the German man upstairs cared for Dad’s family, bringing them food and fetching a doctor when one of them was sick. After my Dad's father died in February 1941, Mr. Volk gave my grandmother a couple of dollars anytime she was short. As a thankful gesture, my grandmother invited Mr. Volk in for coffee at the kitchen table. While Dad spoke, I pictured this with ease because I saw my grandmother do the same thing hundreds of times in my lifetime. She was strict but kind.

Mid 1942, Mr. Volk knocked on my grandmother's door. With his hat clutched in his hands, he greeted her urgently, "Mrs. Pryor, how are you? You work hard. I have something to ask, it is difficult. You know I've been good to your family. When you're husband was ill and after he passed. I care for you and your sons like they're my own. Immigration came yesterday and said I’m being deported in two weeks. There are problems with my papers. I have one chance to stay; I must be married and do it quickly. I ask you because I trust you to trust me that this is purely so I can stay. I'm desperate!"

My grandmother paused, took a deep breath and politely turned Mr. Volk down. He didn't grow angry; he thanked my grandmother for her kindnesses and asked her a favor.

"Would you take care of my love seat until I return after the war? It belonged to my parents.”

She agreed to care for it and felt obligated to store it safely until Mr. Volk’s return. The love seat sat in the cellar of 1582 York Avenue from 1942 until 1977. It’s in my living room today. I hear no voices. Mr. Volk is at peace.


Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Swimming to Big Words & Other Travel Options

It's raining, its pouring, the old man is...  heading to

Tonight, Wed, Oct 28th @ 6-8pm
61 Bergen St, Brooklyn, New York 11201
Our artists: Athena Pappas, Gabe Smoller, Thomas Pryor & Cooper Wilhelm
I'm telling a good one.

I'm at my window, the driving rain is doing its best to not hit the sidewalk, its swirling around, going mostly sideways until it finds an unprotected dressed so wrong person to smack in the face. The rain plans to stick around for a few hours so I'm trying to figure out a way to get some people to  Big Words, Etc: Faking It tonight. 

I've consulted Rory. He suggested I double check with Popeye for an updated Colorform weather report. I did.  Popeye says wear a Mac, a Morton Fisherman storm hat and Yellow matching water proof boots (disclaimer: my Colorform set when I was young had boots, updated set shown here fired the boots).

I'm thinking of friends that live close to Local 61. I'm calling in all chits. Also locating friends that swam varsity or sail. When I head down later, I'll pass through a park and pick up a few turtles, ducks and geese.

This is the kind of weather you pray for when that movie you've been waiting to see on the Turner cable channel is on tonight at 6pm, so you can say to your friend, "I'm so sorry, I missed your show. I have no rain gear and my lumbago's been acting up."

Or... you could look at it as a challenge, you know... kind of like hitting every puddle on the way home from school, what's your mother gonna say?

"Why didn't you dodge the rain?"

Below, today's weather report in photos.






















Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Old Tunes & Big Words

Cannot express the joy I feel when I listen to my old mixed tapes. They reunite me with old friends and fond memories. The tunes create a desire path that triggers dancing if no one is watching me.

I'm telling a good story tomorrow, Wed, Oct 28th at Big Words, Etc: Faking It. Music plays an intricate role in the action. Please come down to Local 61 if you are in or near Brooklyn.



Wed, Oct 28th @ 6-8pm


61 Bergen St, Brooklyn, New York 11201

Our artists: Athena Pappas, Gabe Smoller, Thomas Pryor & Cooper Wilhelm


******************

Do you like old New York City photos and street life stories? Then check out my 1960s memoir,"I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood."Available at Logos Book Store and online at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

The book has 112 Amazon five star reviews out of 112 total reviews posted. We're pitching a perfect game. My old world echoes TV's "The Wonder Years" ~ just add taverns, subways and Checker cabs.





Meeting a pal for lunch at Subway Inn's new location on Second at 60th Street. Former spot of Eduardo's Restaurant & Cocktail Lounge in the 1960s. More on the corner's connection to my yesterday tomorrow.



I grew up on 60th between Park and Lex. I grew up eating at Eduardo’s. We ate there at least two times a week. Our waiter’s name was Frank and my Father was close with the owner, John? I remembered as a kid he would come to our table and tell jokes, do magic and have fun with the guests by picking their pockets, bringing me their wallets and having me return them to the guests. The best food ever. Eduardo’s was a treasure.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Dallas, Go Home!

Thank you, Beasley for closing the Cowboys coffin.

Every time the Giants beat Dallas gives me a double shot of Christmas Eve memories from long ago.



This Wednesday night, Oct 28th  I'm telling a winner, read on:

Did Frank Sinatra entice you to join the Capital Record Club when you were 12 claiming you were 18? It happened to me. After I received my first delivery box for 97 cents, four Beatle albums ~ delighted, I forgot about the membership. 4 weeks later, Capital sent me Buck Owens' "Roll Out The Carpet," Lp and a bill for $3.42. Unacceptable. I began my short career as a forger. This story includes Huskie dungarees, Cool Whip, (not in that order), a Mickey Mantle forger, The Boy Scout Manual's section on "Stalking," and The Thurman Munson/Pepsi Cola Fan Club.


Wed, Oct 28th @ 6pm atBig Words, Etc: Faking It,  I'm spilling the beans, and it's a doozy. 

Come on down!


Big Words, Etc: Faking It
Wed, Oct 28th @ 6-8pm
Local 61
61 Bergen St, Brooklyn, New York 11201

This month's theme is Faking It with: Athena Pappas, Gabe Smoller, Thomas Pryor & Cooper Wilhelm



Do you like old New York City photos and street life stories? Then check out my 1960s memoir,"I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood."Available at Logos Book Store and online at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

The book has 112 Amazon five star reviews out of 112 total reviews posted. We're pitching a perfect game. My old world echoes TV's "The Wonder Years" ~ just add taverns, subways and Checker cabs.



Friday, October 23, 2015

And Make Believe It Came From You

Did Frank Sinatra entice you to join the Capital Record Club when you were 12 claiming you were 18? It happened to me. After I received my first delivery box for 97 cents, four Beatle albums ~ delighted, I forgot about the membership. 4 weeks later, Capital sent me Buck Owens' "Roll Out The Carpet," Lp and a bill for $3.42. Unacceptable. I began my short career as a forger. This story includes Huskie dungarees, Cool Whip, (not in that order), a Mickey Mantle forger, The Boy Scout Manual's section on "Stalking," and The Thurman Munson/Pepsi Cola Fan Club.


Next Wed, Oct 28th @ 6pm at Big Words, Etc: Faking It,  I'm spilling the beans, and it's a doozy.

Come on down!


Big Words, Etc: Faking It
Wed, Oct 28th @ 6-8pm
Local 61
61 Bergen St, Brooklyn, New York 11201

This month's theme is Faking It & these are the writers who you will fall in love with:

Athena Pappas
Gabe Smoller
Thomas Pryor
& Cooper Wilhelm

Mingle with some of New York City's finest around 6, reading starts at 6:30, you vote for next month's theme during intermission, drink a little more, make a new friend. Bring your loved ones, co-worker, pen pal. See you there!



Do you like old New York City photos and street life stories? Then check out my 1960s memoir,"I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood."Available at Logos Book Store and online at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

The book has 112 Amazon five star reviews out of 112 total reviews posted. We're pitching a perfect game. My old world echoes TV's "The Wonder Years" ~ just add taverns, subways and Checker cabs.

Monday, October 19, 2015

At The Polo Grounds

Last night's Mets' victory brought back strong memories of my first two visits to the Polo Grounds.

"Hey Dad, who were you just talking to down at the end of the bar?"

"Oh, that's Al Dorow, the quarterback for the New York Titans."

It was fall 1961, Dad and I were in Loftus Tavern after throwing the ball around outside on York Avenue. My two teams, the New York Giants, football, and the Yankees, baseball, were playing well, the Yankees won the World Series in October and the Giants were on their way to the NFL championship game. The Titans, in their second year in the new American Football League, were barely catching my attention at 7 years old. But Al Dorow was a professional football player, and he did talk to my Dad, so that made him important in my life.

"Dad, will you take me to a Titan game?"


The next Saturday, Dad took me to the Polo Grounds where we saw the Titans beat the Oakland Raiders. That was my first time at the Polo Grounds, the Natural History Museum of ballparks compared to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Yankee Stadium. Even at 7, I recognized I was in a place like no other, and it was going to go away forever, you could see it, smell it, hear it, feel it. Being small, only emphasized how outsized the space was, first time I saw a picture of St. Peter's Basilica I thought of the Polo Grounds.

The next year, 1962, was the Mets first year. I punished my father for not taking me to New York Giants football games, so he made it up to me by taking me to many, many baseball games. When the Yankees were out of town it was only natural that he would take me up to the Polo Grounds for a Met game and he picked a beaut for our first outing.


Friday night, June 1, 1962, the New York Mets versus the San Francisco Giants. The first New York appearance by the Giants since they ran away from home with the Brooklyn Dodgers after the 1957 season. Even though there were nearly 45,000 people there, Dad found us two seats high up in the grandstands right behind home plate in Section 1. The crowd's energy felt like they just left Circus Maximus, saw too few Christians die and wanted blood, now!

Dad did a score card in pencil, and I remember getting excited about three names, Paul Pryor, the third base umpire had the same last name as mine; Augie Donatelli, the head umpire behind the plate had the greatest sounding umpire's name I ever heard; and Willie Mays, in my mind Mickey Mantle's arch rival, was starting in centerfield for the Giants.


By the time the game started, there were two ejections in the section next to us. By the third inning, Dad threatened the guy behind us, "If one more drop of beer touches my kid's head, you and I have a problem." The guy said nothing. I stayed dry. In the top of the fifth, Willie Mays hit a homer, the only homer I would ever see Willie hit live. The homer triggered fights on top of us, below us and to each of our sides. I spent the sixth inning under my father's seat watching the game from between his legs. Dad pressed me to leave and I agreed when the Giants went up 9-1 in the top of the 7th inning.


I held Dad's hand walking to the subway. I knew he liked that.

This story previously appeared in Mr. Beller's Neighborhood.





Do you like old New York City photos and street life stories? Then check out my 1960s memoir,"I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood."Available at Logos Book Store and online at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

The book has 112 Amazon five star reviews out of 112 total reviews posted. We're pitching a perfect game. My old world echoes TV's "The Wonder Years" ~ just add taverns, subways and Checker cabs.



Saturday, October 17, 2015

"I'll Have None Of Your Shenanigans!"

The Nun whacked me. A moment before this St. Stephen of Hungary 4th grade photo was snapped Sister Adrianne slugged me off the top of my forehead with her open hand. See my face? It's still red. (Second row, last on the right). 

I think she was telling me, I should have had a V-8. The good news? She hit Pierre, too. That's why he has a rosy puss on his face. (Top row, second from the left).

Why'd she hit us? We were fighting over who'd sit next to Barbara O'Shea, the prettiest girl in our zip code (second row, fourth from the right).

Pierre had me in a full-nelson wrestling hold and I was biting his stomach. We worked our way to the top of the bleachers where we were lining up for our class picture. We thought the bleachers kept going, but after the fourth row, we stepped into thin air. No fifth row. We hugged and fell to the wooden floor. The nun ran around the bleachers and picked us up like a hockey referee breaks up a fight. After wringing us out, she gave us a look of enormous disgust and said, "I'll have none of your shenanigans." She slapped Pierre, then tried to hit me. I ducked. That's when I got the pop off the forehead.

I've always found it oddly exciting to duck and avoid that first shot. After you acquire "getting hit experience," you know the second shot's going to be a harder, more accurate blow, but you can't resist the instinct to duck the first one.

Pierre was banished to the top row, far away from Barbara. To torture me, the Nun put me in the same row as Barbara but three seats away sitting next to Mary Toth. To move the knife around, Sister Adrianne placed the best-looking guy in the class; Jean Paul Piccolo, to Barbara's left. Look at Jean Paul, new to our country from Milan, Italy, right next to Barbara. The dummy isn't even sitting heinie to heinie ~ there's no contact ~ Jean Paul's giving her space! I'd have made sure our apples were nestled together, cheek to cheek.

He was so cute it made me sick. Even Paul McCartney would look ugly sitting next to him. The final twist of the blade, everyone called him "John Paul." Not only named after a Beatle, he was named after two Beatles!

It was April 1964. My marks were up, but things looked grim.




My favorite writing compliment of all time about this tale from the incredibly talented Abbi Crutchfield

"Jean Paul's body language is certainly noticeable. I've decided you are a cross between Dave Sedaris and Frank McCourt. And I can't wait to read the book about your life."

Thank you, Abbi, xo, teepee

Do you like old New York City photos and street life stories? Then check out my 1960s memoir,"I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood."Available at Logos Book Store and online at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.



The book has 112 Amazon five star reviews out of 112 total reviews posted. We're pitching a perfect game. My old world echoes TV's "The Wonder Years" ~ just add taverns, subways and Checker cabs.

Friday, October 16, 2015

Saddest Day of The Year


Carl Schurz
October, years ago, leaning over the water fountain in the playground, I pushed the steel button down hard with my thumb, and brought my lips in for the burst of water.  Nothing. 

This was the saddest day of the year, when Carl Schurz Park's water fountains shut off.

I was constantly thirsty down the park and with the water fountains off also came earlier sunsets, darkness, and chilly winds. Friends scattered. That first day in the park without water was a reality smack to the face that winter was coming and the park would not be the welcoming home that opened her arms in spring, summer and early fall.

Carl Schurz winter

Walking out of the park up 84th Street, I thought about my grandfather, John Rode and his family living in 511 East 84th Street when my grandmother met him in 1942 when they served together as Civil Defense wardens during World War II patrolling the same block.

GreatGrandma Rode & Dad 511 E 84St
The pictures here: my father, Robert Pryor and my great grandmother Adelheid Rode on the 511 stoop in 1946 on my grandmother's wedding day to John Rode. The pictures below is my grandmother, Anne Pryor, speaking at an August 1942 Service Flag Dedication on the stoop of 511 E. 84th St.

The passport below belonged to my great-grandmother Adelheid Rode born in 1873 in Riede a municipality in the district of Verden, in Lower Saxony, Germany. She moved to 511 East 84th Street in the late 1930s with her husband Herman, and my grandfather, John.

After the winter I longed for one day, one TV show. Channel 2 showed "The Wizard of Oz," once a year usually on Easter Sunday. This was not only was the greatest film on earth (at that point in my life) it was a harbinger that Carl Schurz's water fountains would be opened for business sometime soon. I always sat real close to the TV, when Judy Garland sang "Somewhere Over The Rainbow." I didn't want my parents or brother to see me tearing up.


Anne Pryor on 511 stoop, 1942


511 E. 84th St. 1942

84th Street crowd in August 1942

Rode passport

Carl Schurz 1936

Do you like old New York City photos and street life stories? Then check out my 1960s memoir,"I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood."Available at Logos Book Store and online at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

The book has 112 Amazon five star reviews out of 112 total reviews posted. We're pitching a perfect game. My old world echoes TV's "The Wonder Years" ~ just add taverns, subways and Checker cabs.