Where Are We From?

Thank you, Lorraine McAndrews and the Big Six Reading Club for inviting me to tell at your event yesterday. I had a ball and it was a pleasure to meet all of you and connect on your New York City memories.

I read a few stories from my memoir, told a few tales out of my head and sold half a dozen books. Afterwards, I decided to walk through Calvary Cemetery and visit my Irish relatives' graves. It had been a while. Strolling through Sunnyside towards Woodside put me in the mood. I miss Pop and Nan Ryan.

The administration office was deep inside in the cemetery. I marched forever in the humid heat to find out the exact location of my family's burial plot. What drove me crazy was inside this huge supposedly peaceful place I never experienced complete quiet because of the roar of vehicles on the major roads alongside side the property. Left me half in and half out of the experience. Not sure what I was hoping to feel but I had vivid memories about my fear of death as a boy (I remember the moment my mother told me that when you die it's forever and how I temporarily stopped breathing when I took that fact fully in) and how seeing the big crucifix on the hill at the front of the cemetery from a car window on Queens Boulevard scared the crap out of me and that made me think about my first confession when I was 7. Where I was sure if I said the wrong thing to the priest on the other side of the dark window in the confessional booth he had a lever he would pull down and send me straight to hell.

My great-grandmother, Mary Ryan, from 76 East 105th Street bought the plot on April 12, 1904. Thanks to Aunt Barbara, my one living relative from my mother's generation, I know who most of the people were buried there and how they relate to me. My mother's family were all from East Harlem. They were black Irish, most of their friends were Italians from the Pleasant Avenue area. Mary's oldest child, Patrick Leonard Ryan, my grandfather, moved his family from East River Houses (public housing) to 1616 York Avenue in 1942 where he became the superintendent of the building.

My interest in my family's past is compulsive and gives me pleasure. My only regret is I didn't ask more about the Pryors and Ryans before they all died. But I work hard trying to fill in the gaps. I'm hanging on a hope that one day my daughter will want to know where she is from.

Do you like old New York City photos and 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 110 Amazon five star reviews out of 110 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.

Deja Vu ~ Feel Like I've Been Here Before

My Uncle Mickey, a true Yorkville son, died last October. Yesterday, I visited  my Aunt Barbara. We spent the afternoon talking, remembering, laughing and crying. Shitty memories are buried under a ton of love.

I believe there is a point and time when your career fate is sealed. Your life's path is chosen. It happened early for me, but took 49 years to figure it out.

I'm a mechanical idiot. My cousin, Jimmy, taught me,"lefty loosey, rightytighty," seven years ago. Before learning this helpful rhyme I stared at screws, helpless, bringing myself to tears not knowing which way to turn the screw driver. I did know, if I went the wrong way, too hard, I'd strip the screw hole and mess everything up.

Here, you see me making a bathroom decision at two years old. Even then, I needed something to read in there. Faced with a choice between the practical "Popular Science," and "True." I chose "True," the man's magazine loaded with high adventure, sports profiles and dramatic conflicts. At two, writing was ready for me, but I'm plodder and I wasn't ready to write. But I was thinking about it.

I wish I occasionally grabbed a "Popular Science." Come Monday, Jimmy, his son, Matt & I are painting my Aunt Barbara's apartment in Elmhurst. I expect to be used as a water boy and everyone is right with this choice. Painting an apartment brings back a complex memory.

In 1967, my parents decided to paint our new Sunnyside, Queens place, they asked me to help. My father gave me a gallon of white paint and told me to do the closet in my room. Somehow, I got the ladder, the paint and me into the small space. It was hard to breath in there.

About an hour into it, I left the closet and asked Dad for more paint. He looked me up and down, went to the closet, shook his head like a horse, turned, shook his head in a downward motion towards me, walked to my mother in another room and said something. Mom came back to the closet, looked in it, looked at the empty gallon of paint, then walked over to her handbag and pulled a bill out, then came back to me and said, "Tommy, throw your clothes away, take a shower, here's ten dollars, go into the city and stay with your grandmother for the weekend."

I fear paint, I fear Monday. May God have mercy on my soul.

Jimmy & Peter Ryan, Tommy & Rory ~ Sparkle Lake ~ 1961

Passing Through Sunnyside

Rode the # 7 subway line through LIC, Sunnyside & Woodside along the El yesterday on my way to Elmhurst to visit Aunt Barbie Pins.

Took some pictures, I'll add more later. Here's an old Elmhurst tale.

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I was talking with a friend about how much I love Ray Davies and the Kinks music. This reminded me of a frigid November Saturday afternoon in 1965 when I was eleven.
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For some reason, I was staying over my Aunt Barbara's apartment in Elmhurst. I liked to wander around the neighborhood by myself, so I was window shopping along Roosevelt Avenue under the El, breezed past Jackson Avenue. I had a buck, which meant today I would buy one 45 single, and it better be a good one. When I was eleven, no decision carried as much weight and thought as buying a record. There was a small music store near the Jackson movie house. I tired out the clerk looking over the new releases and finally decided on "Till the End of the Day," by the Kinks, because I heard "Where Have All the Good Times Gone?" the flip side once and liked it fine. It was a unexpected gift buying a single when the B side was a good song too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UnB3CHwPipU
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I ran a half mile to Barbara's apartment on Macnish Street, not breathing, said hi, and went straight to the Victrola. Saw something disturbing.
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"Barbara, why is the record player unplugged?"
"It's broke.'
"Huh?"
OK now I was in hell. New music with no means of playing it. I dropped into a chair. Barbara saw the shape I was in and made a suggestion.
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"Tommy, Joannie's not home, but why don't you go try Betty?"
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Barbara, my Aunt Joan, and their friend Betty Mulhern, all lived in the building. Betty Mulhern was Emma Peel, Barbara Feldon and Serena, Samantha's evil cousin all rolled into one. If you didn't like brunettes, and saw Betty, you'd like brunettes. She danced every new dance, and her wild hair flew. She wore tight shorts on long legs, she wore clam diggers, she painted her pretty toes. Her eyes sparkled, her nose twitched. I couldn't make eye contact with her without my belly feeling funny.
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I went down the hall and knocked on Betty's door. Music was playing.
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"Hey Tommy, what's up?"

"Hmmm, I have a new record, Barbara's player is broken. Can I play it on yours?"
"Sure, come in."
I put it on. Betty was doing the dishes, and she started to sway her hips. All I could do was watch her move back and forth, back and forth.
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I played both sides five times. Would have made it six, if Barbara didn't come in to retrieve me.

25 Miles to Go ~ Under The El

Late December 1969, Sunnyside, Queens, I got off the #7 at the Bliss Street Station at 46th Street at 2:45pm on the afternoon going into the high school Christmas break. I was 15, alone, had zero to do and wished I was in Yorkville. I have no intention of going home to Sunnyside Gardens with the parents until much later and needed a plan.

I decided two destinations. I hit White Castle, bought 12 belly bombers and a chocolate shake, put them in my plastic LaSalle school bag and snuck them past the ticket taker at the Center Movie House at 43rd Street & Queens Boulevard for the 3:30pm "Wild Bunch" showing.

The slow motion Peckinpah violence scenes reminded me of my own clumsy accidents where the whole thing played out slowly, one frame at a time, so I got to think about the consequences coming. Morbidly, I watched the film twice and got out of the movie house at eight o'clock. My stomach didn't feel so good.

But... there was five to seven inches of snow on the ground and barely any traffic on Queens Boulevard. I was on another planet and it felt magical. I had school shoes on and figured if I went across the street and walked down the center under the El I could avoid a couple of blocks of winter wonderland deep snow on my way home. I had my transistor radio on me and put it on, the first song I heard was Edwin Starr "25 Miles to Go," when I started singing along I noticed a terrific echo under the concave concrete El. Not only was there a dynamic echo, but when I sung along I didn't sound that bad, sort of like I sounded singing Chicago Transit Authority's "Beginnings," in the shower.

The "25 Miles" echo was so good, I walked down to Rawson Street at 33rd Street

and started walking back to 46th Street, echoing my ass off under the El, swinging my school bag to the music. Without the car traffic on Queens Boulevard it sounded otherworldly.

I wish It snowed more, and I was in Sunnyside under the El with my radio on and 25 miles to go.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fq9Mhj7oc7w&feature=related

EDWIN STARR "25 Miles"

Hey hey uh huh huh huh huh oh Uh huh huh huh huh huh yeah It's twenty five miles from home Girl, my feet are hurting mighty bad Now I've been walking a three day, two lonely nights You know that I'm mighty mad But I got a woman waiting for me That's gonna make this trip worthwhile You see she's got the kind of lovin' and a kissing A make a man go stone wild So I got to keep on walkin' I got to walk on, oh ho ho I, I, I, I'm so tired But I just can't lose my stride

I got fifteen miles to go now And I can hear my baby calling my name It's as if as though I'm standing at her front door I can hear that doggone plain Now I'll be so glad to see my baby And hold her in my arms Now when I kiss her lips I turn a back over flip and I'll forget these feet of mine I got to keep on walkin' I got to walk on oh ho ho I, I, I, I, I'm so tired but I just can't lose my stride Walk on let me tell you ya'll I, I, I, I, I, I'm so tired But I just can't lose my stride Come on feet don't fail me now I got ten more miles to go I got nine, eight, seven, six, eight, six I got a five more miles to go Now over the hill just around the bend Huh although my feet are tired I can't lose my stride