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| 321 E 85th Street Halloween 1960 |
Tonight, I'm doing my first storytelling show ever in Yorkville at Ryan's Daughter @ 350 E. 85th Street.This block is embedded in my past, I went to kindergarten at P.S. 77 on the corner where Tri-Faith now stands, I played on the roof of 321 with my aunties, Joannie Baloney and Barbie Pins Barbara, this is the street where Freddy Muller, Benny Romano , Buddy McMahon and I stopped in front of a thrown out couch and standing lamp, found a chair across the street and a refrigerator box and set up our imaginary Johnny Carson Show set. It was Halloween 1971, we were teen kncukleheads and kept asking strangers on their way home from work to stop off on Johnny's couch so Johnny aka Freddy could interview them. Benny was an excellent Ed MCMahon, "You are correct, Sir!"
Here is a story about that 85th St. I wrote on this blog two years ago with photos of 321 E. 85th Street.
Tonight's show will be a hoot!
Wed, Oct 24th @ 7pm at
Ryan's Daughter, 350 East 85th Street, (bet. 1st and 2nd Ave).
The Yorkville bound artists will knock you out: Daniel Guzman, Nicole Ferraro, Thomas Pryor, Francesca Rizzo ~ featuring music by Eric Vetter, Carlo Fortunato & Alex DeSuze & friends.
At the Ryan's show, I'll sell and sign
"River to River: New York Scenes from a Bicycle."
"Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts"
A Neighborhood Storytelling Show
@ Ryan's Daughter
350 East 85th Street (bet. 1st and 2nd Ave)
321 E 85th St tale
Hallloween night 1960 ~ Rory, Mom, Nan Ryan & me visited my Aunt Joan's apartment at 321 East 85thStreet. Rory was a Cat & I was a Hobo. We bought my Bum mask for 39 cents at Woolworth's and raided my grandfather's old clothes for my costume when he went out for a walk. He didn't miss a thing, as predicted by my grandmother.
321 was a usual haunt for Mom, Rory & me. Mom visited her sisters, Joan & Barbara, two to three times a week. Counting my two grandmothers, I had five mothers.
The now pictures are all of 321 East 85th Street's stoop this past week. As you can see, hardly anything has changed in 50 years, including, I still dress like a hobo.
That's Alison in her Halloween ghost costume in 1988. Here's a silly poem I wrote for her years ago.
“Dungarees be Free!”
Hot summer night, a run on the track.
Fear struck hard! I turned my back.
Adjusting my eyes to see what was there,
A little fat man with long green hair.
“My debt I’ll collect,” he snarled at me.
I proceeded to run up the nearest tree.
“I have all night you may as well come down.”
Before he finished his remark, I fell to the ground.
'What do you want, leave me alone!"
Knelling over me, I smelled his cheap cologne.
“You borrowed my jeans and I want them back!”
“They're dungarees, they are not slacks!
You’re a fruitcake I don’t own any jeans.
Go far away your breath stinks like beans."
I rushed home, as he jumped up & down.
“You’ll never be safe. I’m not leaving town.”
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Rolling around, I have a strong recollection of the variety of newspapers on each newsstand that seemed to be on every corner of the neighborhood, especially 86th Street. .jpg)
Once I was crossing streets on my own then it was time to venture straight over to Fifth Avenue to Central Park, my community backyard and personal playground. If I was with friends and we got caught in the rain that far over, we'd run into one of the museums, the Met, Guggenheim or the Natural History if somehow we ended up on the west side. We'd stay in the shelter aware of the art but not doing much about it until the weather cleared or we got thrown out of the place because of our relentless horseplay..jpg)
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