Cooling Off in Bethesda Fountain

Tommy First Grade Beau Brummel

After an exhaustive scholastic year in First Grade at St. Stephen's of Hungary I needed a good swim in Central Park. Dad had his Yashica 44 camera with him and caught Rory and me doing our thing in Bethesda Fountain.

Yesterday, The New York Times published photos from that one hundred degree August day in 1961. Here is a link to story with photographs.

Yashica 44

Tommy Rory in Bethesda Fountain August 1961

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.

Pet Chicken Down In Chinatown

Dad nailed a typing test early in his Navy career (always good with his hands) and directly became a storekeeper. This led to "The Life of Reilly," for Dad in the Navy and later in the Merchant Marines (Storekeepers control lots of goodies). After the service, Dad sold space on ships for a few of the big shipping lines along lower Broadway and Battery Place. At the time(1950s & 1960s), there was more product coming in and out of New York then there was space on all the ships. For a long time "The Life of Reilly," continued for Dad in civilian life and he made art in his free time (it surrounds me).

When corruption chased most shipping lines out of New York along with the jobs, Dad bought a town car and got into the livery business like his Dad and his grandfather. His father was a hack driver, and his grandpa was a hostler, caring for horses.

When Dad found the internet his typing skills shook off their cobwebs. I'd get a couple of requests a week to print something up for him. Dad loved quirky stories. Here is one from 2000, two years before he died.

The Saddest Day of the Year

Leaning over the water fountain, pushing the steel button down with my thumb, bringing my lips in for a burst of water, getting nothing.

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The saddest day of the year: when Carl Schurz's water fountains turned off. I was in a constant state of thirst down the park, and with the water fountain shutdown came earlier sunsets, darkness, and chilly winds. Friends scattered. That first day in the park without water nailed in the reality that winter was coming and the park would not be the welcoming home that opened her arms in spring, summer and early fall. Walking out of the park up 84th Street, I was reminded that my grandfather, John Rode and his family lived in 511 East 84th Street when he met my grandmother in 1942 when they served together as Civil Defense wardens during World War II. I don't know how to put captions on the pictures but I'll do my best to explain. The passport 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. I'll put up other photos next week.

The picture above is my Dad, Bob Pryor and Adelheid Rode on the 511 stoop in 1946 on John & Anne's wedding day. The pictures below is my grandmother, Anne Pryor, speaking at a Service Flag Dedication on the stoop of 511. Below the passport are Herman and John Rode on East 74th Street in 1909. Below that, Maggie Hagen, my friend from Cleveland on the Drive yesterday, then Carl Schurz in 1900 & 1936, and finally a picture of Henderson Place from 1968.

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 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 cry.

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

And They're Off!

58 years ago today, Father Edward O'Halloran married my parents in St. Stephen of Hungary on a warm Saturday afternoon. Mom from the St. Joseph's parish loved St. Stephen's church, Dad was indifferent. It was a dry wedding. That was smart. The fireworks would have started an hour into it. The Pryors and Ryans could hear someone giving them the finger through a brick wall. Best they could, Mom & Dad loved each other deeply with a lot of stuff blocking the effort. I love them.

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Abbi Crutchfield is my guest tomorrow night on Yorkville radio show @ 9pm on the Centanni Broadcasting Network. Abbi performs stand-up and sketch comedy all over New York City and is a staple of the underground scene. She produces The Living Room Show at Postmark Cafe in Brooklyn, Positively Awesome at Cellar 58 in the Lower East Side and Ladybits, a new all-female comedy show at Cornelia St Cafe in the Village. She has been featured on VH1 and MTV as well as several national commercials. You can catch her parodies on Youtube.com/curlycomedy and her hilarious one liners daily on Twitter.com/curlycomedy

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Dad Shot Thumper

Mr. Beller's Neighborhood published an old Yorkville story of mine, "Dad Shot Thumper."

Dad shots a bunny and gets served a plate full of penance. See link below.

http://mrbellersneighborhood.com/2010/06/dad-shot-thumper

Happy Birthday, Rory ~ Happy Dad Day, Dad

Today, would be Rory's 54th birthday, I miss him, I love him. Happy Birthday, Rory. Father's Day was always a big one. Dad was on best behavior, and we always threw the ball around. I miss making Dad cards. I gave it everything I've got.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HII6prY06JQ&feature=related

A June 20th 83rd Street,
Yorkville Memory

I remember the morning Rory, Mom, Dad and I moved into #4R at 517 East 83rd Street. It was June 20, 1957. Rory’s first birthday. I was three and three months. It was very warm, Mom let Rory and I run straight into the apartment before my aunts and uncles brought the furniture up.
At the window was the fire escape, on it a nest of baby pigeons. Rory squealed and I felt the same way. Rory said one of his newly learned words, “Wow!”
“Mom got to see it, birds, lots of them!” I yelled over my shoulder.
Mom came over in three strides, gave Dad a look and said, “Bob, stay here. I’m taking Tommy and Rory for ice cream.”
On the stairs, we passed Aunt Barbara and Aunt Joan carrying a piece of our bunk bed. When we got back from the store with our ice cream sandwiches, Rory and I ran to the window. No birds. I asked Dad, “Where they go?”
“The mom taught them to fly and they took off.”
I had no ammunition; I said nothing but knew something fishy happened. I had a good cry, Rory saw me, and he started crying too. Rory didn’t know why he was crying; he just liked to cry when I cried.
When the furniture was in and the move was over, the adults started cracking beers, Dad was on the phone and the next thing I knew a group of friends and extra relatives showed up. Allie Cobert, Uncle Mickey and Uncle Lenny put on Dad’s white dress shirts and made bow ties out of the ladies kerchiefs and begin singing, “Sweet Adeline.” After the singing sung out, Dad put records on the Victrola. Bored, I retreated to the bathroom to play. I sat on the toilet bowl and did some target practice with my water gun. Out the window into the air shaft, a few quick shots off mom’s bra drying on the towel rack, then up at the naked light bulb on the ceiling. That was fun. The more I shot it, the more it sizzled. I could see smoke coming off it. I kept going.
“CRACK, BOOM!”
The bulb exploded, the door flew open and a half dozen people were in the bathroom with me before I could hop off the bowl. Mom was on top of me pretty good but Barbara and Joan extracted me before Mom could figure out what to do with me.
The next summer, Barbara came over our apartment. She sat in the kitchen with Mom drinking coffee. When Mom wasn’t paying attention, Barbara went to and opened the back window by the fire escape. Then she sat back down like nothing happened.
Within a few minutes we heard birds, “Tweet, tweet, tweet.” Then it stopped. Two minutes later, “Tweet, Tweet, tweet.”
Mom moaned and said, Oh, Christ, they’re back.”
I smiled. Then this big gruff voice, “Fire Inspector, Fire Inspector!”
Mom popped out of her chair scared shitless. In came Joan in my red fire hat with a big grin on her face.

Joan had gone to the roof and came down to the fourth floor on the fire escape, waiting for Barbara to open the window to let her in. It was not the first, or last time, someone came into our Yorkville apartment using something other than the front door.

Happy Birthday, Dad

Today would be Dad's 81st birthday. He sung Yorkville's praises. Thought the neighborhood was all you could ask for in a place to live. His stories are the source of many of mine. He drew the neighborhood, painted, sculpted, and sketched. He never bored me, tortured me, but never bored me. I have thin skin and he constantly broke it. But that's the father son relationship ~ a roller coaster ride that starts and ends with gigantic love.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCW9Hey6IVY

Nice Jacket, Where Are My Pants?

New York Press published my story, "Drop-off Dry Cleaning," today ~ page 14 @ 12.08.09 issue.
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Story happened during a Yorkville snowstorm right before Christmas in 1964. Dad was not happy.


http://npaper-wehaa.com/nypress/2009/12/08/#?article=683156

Safe at Home

I never shook Mickey Mantle's hand and that remains one of my few regrets.

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When I was 8 years old, Mickey stood right in front of me at the 86th Street RKO theatre in April 1962, when they made that silly movie "Safe at Home," to capitalize on the Maris & Mantle, M&M boys' 1961 home run derby. The Yankee team made appearances in several New York City movie houses to promote the film.

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I forced Dad to get to the theatre two hours early to make sure we were on the aisle. We had a quick burger across the street at Prexy's first. At seven o' five, word spread the team bus had pulled up in front. The Yankees came into the lobby dressed in suits & ties and marched down the right side of the movie house. Yogi Berra walked by me and stepped on my toe, but I didn't notice, though my father did and wanted Berra to apologize. It was strange seeing Dad pissed at Yogi.

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Elston Howard stopped in front of me, and put his arms behind his back like a military MP. Ellie saw I was having a baby over Mickey Mantle standing right next to him two feet away from me shaking in my sneakers. Dad and Ellie exchanged laughs over my dilemma, then Howard leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Say hi, he won't bite you." But I was too scared to say anything to Mickey. As the Yankees walked on stage for a final bow, I dribbled my opportunity away.

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Below is a letter I wrote to Mantle when I was 13.

Picture Book

Picture yourself
when you're getting old.
Sat by the fireplace
a pondering on.

Picture book,
pictures of your mama,
taken by your papa,
a long time ago.
Picture book,
of people with each other,
to prove they loved each other,
a long time ago.

(song by Ray Davies)

Lexington Avenue Dollhouses

In the 1960s there were antique stores along Lexington Avenue that specialized in selling miniature furniture and dollhouses.

Dad sold his dollhouses and furniture out of several of these stores. Here is one of his houses.

Below are two photos of one of the stores that survive at 1080 Lexington Avenue.

Secrets

Mom ~ Destroyer of things that collected dust & naughty items. To my deep regret, toys with loose parts & Dad's magazines made frequent trips to the Bermuda triangle.

Mom died before Dad, and when he passed away, I found items that made me smile and re-evaluate Dad's sneaky talent. He saved a bunch of old girlfriends pictures. God bless him.

Here is Dad with Betty Holmes on the roof of 519 East 82nd Street. They went out for a few years and hung out together at the East Side Settlement House. Dad saved lots of pictures of Betty, ergo, Dad liked Betty a lot, kind of like Captain Carl liked Miss Yvonne on Pee Wee Herman's Playhouse. Betty married Artie Betz. She was a beautiful and charming lady, just like my Mom.

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Here's a picture of Dad with a Navy friend and a couple of German girls in 1946. When Dad spoke of Bremen and Bremerhaven, he'd break out in a shit-ass grin, recognize he was smiling too widely, and try to pull it back. After seeing this picture in 2003, I understood.

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Missing Rory

Dad took us on excursions all around the City. I have photographic records showing more mileage covered than the entire New York subway system. Rory and Dad's camera fell in love, and never stopped the affair. I'm always rediscovering, Rory for an instant, making a mundane place into the most exciting place on earth. He did it in Central Park. We lived 10 minutes away, went there 1000 times, if you look at Rory in the Central Park photos, you'd think it was his first trip to Disneyland. He did the same thing at Yankee Stadium (he hated sports), or in a snow pile. I know we had fun sometimes, but looking at these pictures confuses me, since a lot of the time things weren't so great and miserable stuff comes back. Seeing Rory's excitement in these photos keeps the crappy memories at bay. Not forever, but long enough.
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