"He Was My Best Friend."

Pasquale Cuccia

It was the end of 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.

What's today?"

"Sunday."

"No, the date?"

"May 30th"

Nan, my Dad’s mother, turned her head towards the window.

"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."

"Pasquale, your older cousin?"

"He died."

"OK, where did he die?"

"France."

"When?"

"1918."

 "We're you guys close?"

Giovanna Cuccia, my great grandmother

 Nan turned her had back to me, her tearing eyes milky white from macular degeneration. 

Anna Cuccia @ 1917

"He was my best friend."

She was 12 in 1918. Her family lived at 1403 on Avenue A right off 75th Street. 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 played catch with me and skate with me.  Pasquale 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 forget all about me."

81 years later, my grandmother, Ann Pryor Rode, formerly, Anna Cuccia, 93, was remembering her cousin, Pasquale, with love. He died for his adopted country.

Years ago, Memorial Day always fell on May 30th. It was a somber day. No fireworks, honor guard honoring the flag, and later a long moment of silence at the ball game remembering those who died for their country.

Thomas E. Pryor Jr. @1945

Robert A. Pryor with cousins on 84th St @1946

500 block 84 St. Flag Dedication @1942

Anna Cuccia @ Ann Pryor on 511 stoop @1942

84 St @1942

@1942

Tommy & Nan Rode at her District Leadership retirement
party at Tavern on The Green @1995

Memorial Day

Anna Cuccia 1917

What's today?"

"Sunday."

"No, the date?"

"May 30th"

Nan, my Dad’s mother looked out the window and got wet in the eyes.

"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."

"Pasquale, your older cousin?"

"He died."

"OK, where did he die?"

"France."

"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 white with macular degeneration.

"He was my best friend."

She was 12 in 1918, lived at 1403 York Avenue off 75th Street. 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 played catch with me and skate with me.  Pasquale 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 forget all about me."

81 years later, my grandmother, Anne Pryor Rode, formerly Anna Cuccia, 93, was remembering her cousin, Pasquale, with love. He died for his adopted country.

Years ago, Memorial Day always fell on May 30th. It was a somber day. No fireworks, honor guard honoring the flag, and later a long moment of silence at the ball game remembering those who died for their country.

Pasquale Cuccia

Tom Pryor 1945 on York Avenue/83rd Street

Robert Pryor and cousins 1946 84St & York Ave

August 1942 Flag Dedication in front of  511 E 84th Street

Tom Pryor & Anne Pryor Rode 1995

Memorial Day

"What's today?"

.

"Sunday."

.

No, the date?"

.

"May 30th"

.

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

.

"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."

.

"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.

.

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.

.

.

.