A Lost Hope Remembered

54 years ago, my father took this photo of RFK with my grandmother, Ann Pryor Rode, on the right smiling looking down at me, 10 years old, in the crowd at his rally for NY Senator on the s/w corner of 78 St. & First Avenue in 1964. My grandmother, Yorkville's Democratic District Leader, worked hard for Bobby in his 1964 senator run and again in 1968 in his campaign for President. In 1967, RFK sent Nan a congratulatory letter signing it, "Bob." Tomorrow's a sad day for our fractured country marking what might have been.

East 84th Street: The Edge of My Universe

As an adult and as a kid certain Yorkville blocks could instantly swing my mood one way or the other. A block that always made me feel good was 84th Street between York Avenue & East End Avenue. Since I was forbidden to cross a street alone until I was 6, 84th Street was my adventure block


I lived on 83rd Street and 84th was as far as I could go away from my building without getting a kick in the ass for breaking the "cross the street rule."

84th Street was the edge of my universe.

The housing on 84th Street, unlike 83rd Street, included a row of townhouses and beautiful mature trees on each side that made a canopy of green over the street bed in spring and summer. The block was the yellow brick road that ended in a little hill that led directly into Carl Schurz Park. My park!

On 84th Street riding my bike I felt like Richie Rich cruising his estate. Pretty women in fine dresses walked up and down coming back from fancy East End Avenue. I was careful when I circled past them on my bicycle.

It wasn’t until my teens that I learned my family was this close to buying 511 East 84th Street. My Dad’s family was ready to do it in the early 1950s but my Uncle or Dad chickened out (never completely clear).

The now and then pictures here are 511 East 84th Street in 1942 and yesterday afternoon.

My grandmother, Ann Pryor Rode, is a giving a speech on the stoop and my father, Robert, 13, (on top right) is in the crowd taking in the Service Flag Dedication event in August 1942.

Strolling down 84th Street still makes me feel like a wealthy man.

War of the Tomatoes

1953, right after my parents first wedding anniversary:

Up in the York Avenue apartment, my half Italian father who thought he was 100 percent Italian, accidentally repeated these words to my Aunt Alice within earshot of his Italian mother. "Patty's sauce is better than Mom's."

After watching her mother-in-law's huffing reaction to this announcement, my 100 percent Irish mother who thought she was Italian was pleased as punch.

This kicked off a 46 year "War of the Tomatoes." Patty Pryor and Ann Pryor Rode dug trenches ~ and it wasn't just tomatoes.

Shopping On York Avenue ~ 1959

On the ground floor of my grandmother’s building, 1582 York Avenue, were two storefronts. To the left was Parker's Grocery. One day in 1963 a quart of milk, a loaf of Wonder bread and a pound of Ronzoni number #9 spaghetti all cost 19 cents each. That was cool. Murray Parker owned the store. Leather hat with built in earmuffs he wore year round over his large bald head. A real girl catcher. Huge cigar always unlit. Powerbroker over-sized Swifty Lazar eyeglass frames. Grimy white linen apron. That was ok because you never saw a clean one, so there was nothing to compare it to. Murray’s parents Mr. and Mrs. Parker (no first names available, nor given) started the business in 1932. Same year my dad's family moved into the building.

All arithmetic was accomplished by pencil on the brown bag you took your groceries home in. You would go home, check the numbers on the bag, then scratch your head for five minutes wondering how Murray never made an error. Sometimes he’d go down one side, do a subtotal in his head, go down twenty more items and always give you a perfect grand total. Many purchases were recorded in a marble composition book to be settled at the end of the week on payday.

Parker's was my first solo shopping experience. In 1959, at five, Mom sent me to the store for a pack of Marlboros and two milk. She gave me a dollar wrapped around a quarter. Parker's was around the corner from my 83^rd Street house so I walked to the store without crossing a street. Mom looked out Chickie Murphy’s front window in 4W watching me go up the block. When I neared the avenue she called my grandmother, “Mom, Tommy’s near the corner going to Parker’s, get on the front phone, watch him into the store and let me know.” “Got it.” As I turned onto York, Nan waved down to me and yelled, “Be careful.” “OK, Nan!”

Inside Parker’s, I asked Murray for the cigarettes and walked to the back of the store to grab the milk from the glass case. Walking back towards Murray up the narrow aisle, his eyes traveled from me to the counter. After a long pause, Murray said, “What the hell is this?" Sitting on the tired marble counter a brown bag of garbage. Oh crap, I brought it with me. Too much pressure, remembering Mom's orders, "Marlboro, soft pack, two milk from the back of the case," and the stupid garbage.

The Elements of Story ~ Then & Now

Here are two pictures of the same corner of 84th Street & York Avenue looking east towards East End Avenue and the river. The top picture is from 1942, the lady in the picture is my grandmother, Anne Pryor. Across the street is Gene's Tavern. Gene's had a two lane bowling alley in the basement and in 1942 my Uncle Tom was the Pin Boy. That year, he turned the job over to his 13 year old brother, my father. Gene's later became Melnicoff's Clothing store where Mom bought white shirts about this time of year for Rory and me for the coming school year at St. Stephen's. The only time I liked going into Melnicoff's was when Mom decided it was time for a new pair of sneakers, which as far as I was concerned didn't happen often enough. Dad made her take it out of the house money, Mom wasn't tight, she was broke.

Hanging over the 84th Street streetbed is the Service Flag that was hung there to support the troops in August 1942 after a parade around Yorkville by hundreds of neighbors up and down the streets and the avenues.

I took the second picture last week. Still a bit strange it's a 7-Eleven.


I want to thank Frank Flaherty, my guest this past Tuesday night on the Yorkville radio show on Centanni Broadcasting. Frank, a Deputy Editor at The New York Times, and author of the splendid writing reference book "The Elements of Story," shared stories on how careful and thoughtful editing and deeper exploration into your subject can take storytelling to a richer level and improve all your writing. The Harper Collins soft cover version of the book comes out in two weeks and we'll be widely available in bookstores and online.

Next Tuesday my radio show guest is Alison Pryor.

Here are the Frank Flaherty show and Centanni links:

Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts 8/24/2010 with host Tommy Pryor & guest: Frank Flaherty

http://www.centannibroadcasting.com/

It's About the Music, Then And Now

On the radio show tonight, my guest, Edward Rogers & I are going lightly through the past using music to tickle our brains. Edward, songwriter, musician, yarn spinner, has a terrific new album, "Sparkle Lane." We'll play old ones and new ones and muse over what it all means to us.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJF6xSpDdZs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yi0CqIeLjkQ&feature=related

My grandmother left me lots of stuff. Some sentimental and some practical. Among the practical items are an antique beater that helps me make nifty mashed potatoes, Vanilla Extract for yummy pound cake & Cut-Rite Wax Paper. This box of wax paper, over fifteen years old, still delivers excellent cheese storage in the clinch when other normally reliable products are not there. Thank you, Nan.

Please listen to, Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts, @internet radio, Tuesday @ 9pm @ the Centanni Broadcasting Network. Here's the link:

http://www.centannibroadcasting.com/

Go to live streaming at 9pm on Tuesdays, or go to the archive next day and find the show you wish to listen to, for example: last week's link is below

Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts 7/20/2010 with host Tommy Pryor-and Guest Mickey Fiorillo

Nan Loved San Gennaro Zeppoli & Tripe

My grandmother, Ann Pryor Rode, worked for Surrogate & Supreme Court judges from the 1940s through the 1970s. Being right there on Centre Street, being of Sicilian blood, Nan made a big deal out of the San Gennaro festival. The actual Feast Day of San Gennaro is September 19th. The festival started in 1926 for the patron saint of Naples.

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Nan loved food, and loved her zeppoli's. At lunch all that week, she would walk over to the festival, pin an offering to the statute's apron, and eat her way through the streets. One of the judges always drove her back and forth from work to Yorkville. I couldn't wait for the paper sack of oiled soaked treats, and she always had her own powered sugar shaker ready to blanket each zeppoli like it was in the middle of a terrible snow storm.

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Moderation was an unknown word in Nan's household. She didn't smoke or drink and moved the weight of those vices over to eating. She also brought home tripe from a Mulberry Street butcher, I was thrilled to find out tripe was cow stomach. When she prepared cow stomach I left the apartment and wouldn't come back till it was done, eaten and put away.

The other night, I walked down Fifth Avenue, through Washington Square Park, down Bleecker Street and over to Houston and Mulberry. When I got there, Puck was looking down, smiling, from a ledge on the south east corner of his self named building at the Festival's entrance sign, saying San Gennaro in neon script. I slid through the gauntlet of vendors aiming for Old St. Patrick's Cathedral soaked in the festival lights. I then imagined the location 83 years ago. It was easy. The City's great in this tween period between summer and fall.

My Melancholy Baby

Hi, this is the Honorable Ann Pryor Rode, I just heard about tonight's show.
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I'm skipping the Fifty Fifty Club, canceling Bingo, and rescheduling the Cherokee Club Dinner Dance committee meeting.
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Though, I passed on six years ago, what kind of grandmother would I be if I can't come back and cheer my star boarder grandson on.
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I'm counting on Yorkville Casino quality entertainment tonight, but if Tommy stinks, I'm prepared to take over the mike and get the show on the road.
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See you at Happy Ending Lounge @ tonight @8pm
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http://www.happyendinglounge.com/2005/
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Why do you grieve?
Try and believe
Life is always sunshine
When the heart beats true
Banish your fears
Smile through your tears
When you're sad
It makes me feel the same as you...
Come to me my melancholy baby
Cuddle up and don't be blue
All your fears are foolish fancy, maybe
You know, dear, that I'm in love with you;
Every cloud must have a silver lining
Wait until the sun shines through
Come on and smile, my honey dear,
While I kiss away each tear
Or else I shall be melancholy too...
(music, Ernie Burnett, lyrics, George A. Norton)
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The Snake Plant

"Good boy!" My grandmother encouraged my two year old father. It was 1931. She was leaning out their York Avenue window, Dad was in the cobblestone street with a bucket using one of his six year brother's baseball cards for a scooper.
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"That's it Bobby, pick some more up."
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Dad knelt and put horse crap into the bucket for Nan to use as fertilizer.
Nan loved her flowers and plants. When she died, I tried to save something.
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In the photo above, to the right of my Great-Aunt Mary is a snake plant with one big leaf peeking out.
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It's summer 1969, Mary, 70 years old, took the subway in from Jackson Heights to visit her baby sister, Ann, in Yorkville. It was Saturday night, they made potato pancakes and fresh apple sauce.
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The sisters talked in Italian to keep me out of their business.
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The same snake plant sits in my apartment today, forty years later.
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That's Dad's painting over the fridge
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Memorial Day

"What's today?"

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"Sunday."

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No, the date?"

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"May 30th"

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Nan looked looked out the window across the street, and got wet in the eyes.

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"What's a matter?"

She didn't answer, I tried again.

"Nan, what's bothering you?"

"Pasquale."

"Pasquale?"

"My cousin."

Your cousin, who?"

"My older cousin."

I had my hint.

"Pasquale, your older cousin?"

"He died."

"OK, where did he die?"

"France."

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"When?"

"1918."

It was May 1999. I was at Nan's bedside at the Jewish Home on 106th Street between Columbus and Amsterdam Avenues. She'd just passed her fourth anniversary in Room Frank 510 - we didn't celebrate.

"We're you guys close?"

Nan looked up, her eyes milky with macular degeneration.

"He was my best friend."

She was 12 in 1918, lived on 75th Street & York Avenue. Nan told me Pasquale lived around the corner and walked her to school when he wasn't working in the cigar factory on 69th Street.

"I was a tomboy, he'd always played catch with me, and he got me out of trouble with my mother ~ she loved him. He was tall, and always stepped in when she was ready to give me a whack. He'd pick Mom up and spin her round. She'd forgot all about me."

81 years later, my grandmother, 93, was remembering her cousin, Pasquale, with love.

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Memorial Day fell on May 3oth. It started after the Civil War. It was a somber day, no fireworks ~ honor guards honoring the flag, and a long moment of silence at the ball game remembering those who died for their country.

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Yorkville Service Flag Dedication ~ 84th Street ~ 1942

On August 30, 1942, a parade winded through Yorkville and finished with a flourish on 84th Street between York & East End Avenues. The occasion was a majestic Service Flag dedication. Music was played, speeches were given. To the left, my grandmother, Ann Pryor, talks to the gathering.

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Below, is the crowd on 84th Street. On the bottom, kids carry the flag across First Avenue at 82nd Street. My Dad, 13, is one of the kids in the back, his head is directly under the bus sign between the two older guys.

If the dedication was today, I'm sure Murt, Loftus Tavern's bartender would close with, "Consider it your patriotic duty, to get down to 17 Murray Street, this coming Monday, May 4th @ 7pm to toast the New York Times City Section with a swell reading, fine music, and free grub. I'll have no guff on the matter, or pick your window and I'll knock you through it. Have a pop, your mother approves. Get home safe."

Melodious Mothers

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From what I heard, The PS 77 Mother's Club was an Allied Force in Yorkville. They had regular events at the Yorkville Casino, so my grandmother, Ann Pryor Rode, spent a lot of time putting events together for the Cherokee Club and PS 77.

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Nan sang around the house but never belted out a tune in the apartment like she's doing above. She sang without embarrassment and that's good, because she sounded like Leo Gorcey's sister having a baby. But it never seemed to bother her when people made faces while she sang. It looked like everyone was drinking warm grapefruit juice.

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When Nan, got together with her friends to play Pinochle, I'd listen from the front room and make believe I was on the East River pier with the Dead End Kids. The whole gang, Leo Gorcey, Huntz Hall, Bobby Jordan, Gabriel Dell and Billy Halop. It was easy to imagine, the card players sounded just like them.

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And you know what? I sound like Leo Gorcey too, and I sing without embarrassment. Yorkville does that to you.

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A Toast to the New York Times City Section show

Monday, May 4th @ 17 Murray Street @7pm

Come toast the best editorial team in New York with Sloane Crosley (I Was Told There'd Be Cake), Saara Dutton (Mama D’s Arts Bordello), Merrill Black (contributing City writer) and Tommy Pryor.We’re celebrating the New York Times City Section, reading our neighborhood stories the City editors help craft. It's a free show with free appetizers. Barry Stabile and JJ Stadler will play old school R&B tunes after the reading.

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Toast to the City @ 17 Murray Street, Monday, May 4th @7pm.

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Put the Friggin Camera Down

Did I ever tell you, that Weegee, the crime photographer, was a friend of my grandmother?

Problem was, when he visited the family on York Avenue he couldn't sit still and kept taking flash photos without warning. It unnerved us, but Nan loved the lug.

That's Mom, me and my grandfather, John Rode, in his best "I'm not with the hooker perp walk pose."