Giving Thanks To Mom

Happy Mother's Day, Uncle Mommy!  

(because she was the best uncle I ever had.)  

Her unconditional love for Rory and I has a big room in my heart that I visit each time I need a hug.

This story was previously published in Mr. Beller's Neighborhood

I walk into the house in 1964. I’m 10. The first thing I see is a pair of bare legs on the inside of a closed window and the rest of the body isn’t in the apartment. I’m praying to God whoever it is doesn’t fall, the soapy glass prevents a clean identification of the person sitting on the outside sill, but I kind of figure it’s my mother by the unmistakable fluffy slippers dangling from her toes. Now I’m flipping out because I’m scared of heights. She’s four stories up, 50 feet smack over the concrete backyard. My heart’s outside my chest doing a Mexican Bean dance on my T-Shirt. Finally an arm starts swirling away the soapy water and I see Mom’s face through the glass and she smiles at me. I love that smile, and for a brief moment I was not frightened for her I was just amazed at how hard she worked to keep our small apartment clean.

When I was boy, right through my teens, if I was away a day or longer from the house she’d surprise me and cleaned my room like something out of a movie. It looked so good I thought I was in Beaver Cleaver’s bedroom. This blew my mind, I’d run through the apartment and grab my mother and kiss her over and over saying, "thank you, Uncle Mommy, thank you." All Mom said while being tackled, “Watch my head, I don’t like people touching my head.” Last week, I washed eight windows. When I got to my daughter’s room I felt Mom’s spirit sweep through me, she made several passes. 

As I cleaned my daughter’s space (dusted the old knick-knacks, too) Mom stayed with me for two hours. I felt the love she experienced doing this for me countless times many years ago. Growing up in Yorkville, my family and all my friends lived in small spaces, most with two or more kids. A tenement mother had a difficult job. Keeping a home when the challenges to clean were relentless. I think most city moms had a brittle grip on their sanity. But their love was so sturdy it never gave up. While I was I polishing Mom's Aries knick-knack figurine, behind me I felt that same smile I saw through the soapy window when I was 10. Thank you, Mom. 

This story was previously published in Mr. Beller's Neighborhood

Uncle Mommy ~ Best Baby Sitter Ever

Barbara, Joan, Rory, me in the summer of 1958

Pryor children babysitting rule #1: all assignments outside the Pryor apartment were only accepted by our grandparents and my mother's two sisters. All other houses begged off. There was one unbreakable caveat with the aunts and the grandparents ~ no one would watch the two of us together. The extended family agreed, "Tommy and Rory were not allowed in the same house without parental supervision."

Rory and I fought over any spot on the couch the other was in; the last slice of bacon and battled to the death over who licked the tuna fish bowl after Mom made our sandwiches.

When Bob and Patty Pryor went out, Rory stayed with the Ryan grandparents or Barbara and Mickey. I stayed with the Pryor-Rode grandparents or Joan and George.

Freedomland 

Rory and I had our needs met at all households, but Joannie had bongos, an FM radio and a bullfighter poster on her wall. She had a calypso bar with high stools and wore clam diggers as she danced and sang around the living room. I kept expecting Trini Lopez to drop in.

Uncle Mommy & me, on Hudson, 1963

Joan and George took me to the beach named after Joan. This was good since the Pryors didn't have a car.


I loved my grandparents, aunts and uncles, but my favorite babysitter was Mom. Sometimes, it was just her and me. She called me her “Cow, Cow, Boogie,” and I called her "Good Ol' Uncle Mommy," she asked me why, "because you're the best uncle I ever had!"

Mom giving Dad the business @ 1962

We snuggled on our tiny 83rd Street couch watching The Twilight Zone and Hitchcock on Friday nights after Rory conked out. Her smile stopped my clock.

I was a lousy artist, a stinky poet, and I had a stutter. None of this disrupted me from trying to make Uncle Mommy laugh. She loved Rory and me like a freight train. Today Mom would be 90, and I'm still working on stuff for her. It's my job. To Make Uncle Mommy laugh.

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Happy Birthday, Uncle Mommy

Today my mother aka "Uncle Mommy" (because she was the best uncle I ever had) would be 89. Her unconditional love for Rory and I has a big room in my heart that I visit each time I need a hug.

Five years ago, Mr. Beller's Neighborhood published my tribute to Maaaa.  It goes like this...

So I walk into the house, I’m 10, and the first thing I see is a pair of bare legs on the inside of a closed window and the rest of the body isn’t in the apartment. I’m praying to God whoever it is doesn’t fall, the soapy glass prevents a clean identification of the person sitting on the outside sill, but I kind of figure it’s my mother by the unmistakable fluffy sky blue slippers dangling from her toes. Now I’m flipping out because I’m scared of heights. She’s four stories up, 50 feet smack over the concrete backyard. My heart’s outside my chest doing a Mexican Bean dance on my T-Shirt. Finally an arm starts swirling away the soapy water and I see Mom’s face through the glass and she smiles at me. I love that smile, and for a brief moment, I was not frightened for her I was just amazed at how hard she worked to keep our small apartment clean. 

When I was boy right through my teens, if I was away a day or longer from the house she’d surprise me and clean my room like something out of a movie. It looked so good I thought I was in Beaver Cleaver’s bedroom. This blew my mind, I’d run through the apartment and grab my mother and kiss her over and over and shower her with thank yous. All Mom said while I tackled her, “Watch my head, I don’t like people touching my head.”

This morning, I washed ten windows, five storms windows and two screens. When I got to my daughter’s room that’s when Mom’s spirit swept through me, I felt it, I felt her, and she made several passes. As I cleaned my daughter’s space (dusted the knick-knacks, too) Mom stayed with me for two hours and I began to feel the love and enjoyment she experienced doing this for me countless times many years ago. Doing something she was good at with her whole heart. Mom knew she had maternal limitations; she was a street kid who never grew up, an urban Peter Pan smoking a Marlboro with a bump-up hairdo and a High Ball drink, neat. But with the mothering tools she had, she gave totally with humor and unconditional love.

As a dad, I’m no Ward Cleaver. Nope, I’m restless, pushy and jump the gun a lot, and this drives my daughter cuckoo. I wish I could control it but I’m not adopted, and if you spent quality time with my parents you’d know I’m a dysfunctional family car accident survivor. I know my paternal limitations and I give my best with the skills I have to express love to my daughter. I make things for her: dioramas, cards, photo books with stories, whatever I can to extract a smile. Once in a blue moon, I’m able to patch my patience together and clean the dusty house around my records, books, papers, photos, Dad’s art, and sports junk.

This morning, thinking about my daughter while I polished my mother’s bone china pieces and her Aries statute, behind me I felt that same smile I saw through the soapy window when I was 10.

Happy Birthday, Uncle Mommy!

Happy Mother's Day, Uncle Mommy!

In July 1963, our 83rd Street building sprung a gas leak. We had no cooking stove for a week. Even though we ate out or could eat at our grandparents on York Avenue, we still got hungry at home.

One afternoon...
“Mom, make us a grilled cheese.”
“Mom, make us a grilled cheese.”
“Mom, make us a grilled cheese.”
“Be quiet or die,” cautioned Mom.
“I’m so hungry,” Rory pleaded
“I feel weak,” I said.
“My head hurts.”
"I can’t feel my toes.”

“Your short lives are nearing their end. I’ll kill you both.”

After we wore her out, Mom made us grilled cheese sandwiches using her iron and ironing board. Made herself one too. They were delicious, but Dad’s dress shirts smelled like buttered toast for a long time.

Happy Mother's Day, Uncle Mommy! all our love, Rory & Tommy

ps one day Mom asked me why I called her Uncle Mommy, and I told her, "because you're the best uncle I ever had!"

If you enjoy my work, check out my memoir, "I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood." It's available at  Logos Bookstore, 1575 York Avenue, or buy it online at Amazon,  Barnes and Noble or other booksellers. If you do read it, please leave a few honest words about the book on Amazon and B&N. Thank you!  (125 five-star Amazon reviews out of 125 posted)

Uncle Mommy's In The Dark & Logos Bookstore Lease Renewal Celebration

My memoir covers my first eighteen years growing up in Yorkville. Eighteen years ago today, Mom died. "Why do you call me Uncle Mommy?" she asked. "Because you're the best uncle I ever had."

Early on, her favorite indoor summer activity was turning off all the lights to keep it cool. Day or night, we walked around our little square apartment in shadows or in the dark. Our mere light coming through our backyard windows,  that was, unless "Thomas Edison" ~ Dad ~ was home. He loved turning everything on at once. But Mom persevered. Following him and immediately snapping the lights and all else off if she wanted quiet, "Quiet helps you stay cool," she told me in my ear as Dad made a spoiled milk face.

Our favorite outdoor thing in summer was Carl Schurz Park's baby pool. And if it was too hot, Mom came in with me. Nice, after eighteen long years, I see her face and hear her voice every day.

Here is a public link to photos from the pool last year.


A message from Harris Healy

Logos Bookstore is celebrating our 40th year in business and the 20th anniversary of our York Avenue location.

We'd like to welcome the Upper East Side community as well as all New Yorkers to join us on Tuesday July 26th at 6:30 PM for free refreshments, a 20% off discount on all items in the store (excepting original artwork and already discounted sale books.

Yorkville native, Thomas Pryor, author of the memoir "I Hate the Dallas Cowboys: Tales of a Scrappy New York Boyhood" will be here to talk about what existed at 1575 York Avenue before Logos Bookstore as well as share other stories of the neighborhood. He will begin around 7:15 PM.

If you like my work check out my memoir, "I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood." Available at Logos Book Store.

The book has 120 Amazon five star reviews out of 120 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.

Happy Mother's Day, Uncle Mommy!

In July 1963, our 83rd Street building sprung a gas leak. We had no cooking stove for a week.

Even though school was done, we ate out and we could eat most our meals at both sets of grandparents on York Avenue. We still got hungry at home. One afternoon...

.
“Mom, make us a grilled cheese.”
“Mom, make us a grilled cheese.”
“Mom, make us a grilled cheese.”
“Be quiet or die,” cautioned Mom.
“I’m so hungry,” Rory pleaded
“I feel weak,” I said.
“My head hurts.”
"I can’t feel my toes.”

“Your short lives are nearing their end. I’ll kill you both.”

After we wore her out, Mom made us grilled cheese sandwiches using her iron and ironing board. Made herself one too. They were delicious, but Dad’s dress shirts smelled like buttered toast for a long time.

Happy Mother's Day, Uncle Mommy! all our love, Rory & Tommy

ps one day Mom asked me why I called her Uncle Mommy, and I told her, "because you're the best uncle I ever had!"

The Best Babysitter Ever ~ "Good Ol' Uncle Mommy"

Barbara, Joan, Rory, me in the summer of 1958

Pryor children babysitting rule #1: all assignments outside the Pryor apartment were only accepted by our grandparents and my mother's two sisters. All other houses begged off. There was one unbreakable caveat with the aunts and the grandparents ~ no one would watch the two of us together. The extended family agreed, "Tommy and Rory were not allowed in the same house without parental supervision."

Rory and I fought over any spot on the couch the other was in; the last slice of bacon and battled to the death over who licked the tuna fish bowl after Mom made our sandwiches.

When Bob and Patty Pryor went out, Rory stayed with the Ryan grandparents or Barbara and Mickey. I stayed with the Pryor-Rode grandparents or Joan and George.

Freedomland 1962

Rory and I had our needs met at all households, but Joannie had bongos, an FM radio and a bullfighter poster on her wall. She had a calypso bar with high stools and wore clam diggers as she danced and sang around the living room. I kept expecting Trini Lopez to drop in.

Uncle Mommy, me, on Hudson, 1963

Joan and George took me to the beach named after Joan. This was good since the Pryors didn't have a car.

I loved my grandparents, aunts and uncles, but my favorite babysitter was Mom. Sometimes, it was just her and me. She called me her “Cow, Cow, Boogie,” and I called her "Good Ol' Uncle Mommy," because she was the best uncle I ever had!

Mom giving Dad the business 1962

We snuggled on our tiny 83rd Street couch watching The Twilight Zone and Hitchcock on Friday nights after Rory conked out. Her smile stopped my clock.

I was a lousy artist, a stinky poet, and I had a stutter. None of this disrupted me from trying to make Uncle Mommy laugh. She loved Rory and me like a freight train. Mom died today a long time ago. I'm still working on stuff for her.

***********************************

Tonight at No Name... & A BAG O' CHIPS: SUMMER READING EDITION '15  I'm telling a hot fun in the summertime story in Mom's honor. The Free show starts at 7pm when The Summer Replacements get in tune.

**********************************

If you enjoy my stories please  check out my memoir, "I Hate the Dallas Cowboys - tales of a scrappy New York boyhood." Available at Logos Book Store or online at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

The book has 109 Amazon five star reviews out of 109 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.  

You can also purchase my photography portfolio, "River to River - New York Scenes From a Bicycle" on Amazon.

Best Babysitter Ever ~ Uncle Mommy!

Pryor babysitting rule: assignment outside the Pryor apartment was only accepted by grandparents and my mother's two sisters. All other houses begged off.

There was one unbreakable caveat with the aunts and the grandparents: No one would watch the two of us together. The extended family agreed, "Tommy and Rory were not allowed in the same house without parental supervision."

Rory and I fought over any spot on the couch the other was in; the last slice of bacon and battled over who licked the tuna fish bowl after Mom made sandwiches.

When Bob and Pat went out, Rory stayed with the Ryan grandparents or Barbara and Mickey. I stayed with the Pryor-Rode grandparents or Joan and George.

Rory and I had our needs met at all households, but Joannie had bongos, an FM radio and a bullfighter poster on her wall. She had a bar with high stools, and wore clam diggers as she danced and sang around the living room. I kept expecting Trini Lopez to drop in.

Joan and George took me to the beach named after Joan. This was good since the Pryors didn't have a car.

I loved my grandparents, aunts and uncles, but my favorite babysitter was Mom. Sometimes, it was just her and me. She called me her “Cow, Cow, Boogie,” and I called her "Uncle Mommy." We snuggled on our tiny 83rd Street couch watching The Twilight Zone and Hitchcock on Friday nights after Rory conked out. Her smile stopped my clock.

I was a lousy artist, a stinky poet, and I had a stutter.  None of this disrupted me from trying to make Uncle Mommy laugh. She loved Rory and me like a freight train. Mom died today in 1998. I'm still working on stuff for her.

Conjuring Uncle Mommy, Time for a Headlock, Go Giants!

Giants playing the Packers tonight?  I'm ready, been ready for 50 years.

Doesn't always work out for the Jints and me, but for good luck I have Uncle Mommy, Teddy, and my #16 OLGC Rams blue jersey circa 1969. For double good luck I have the enormous mittens Nan knitted, and Hector the Duck who has survived three neck surgeries.

Know for sure, when the game's on the line someone's going into a headlock.

Read The New York Times story, "The Headlock That Won for the Giants" here.

Tommy & Uncle Mommy 1963

1969 OLGC jersey, Nan's knitted gloves, Hector, seat from Super Bowl XXI

Uncle Mommy charcoal by Dad and stuff

From Uncle Mommy's Cookbook: An Irish Sandwich

Tom & Uncle Mommy on Circle Line to Bear Mt. 1962

Just made an Irish sandwich: Iceberg Lettuce & lots of Hellman's Mayo on Wonder Bread. Uncle Mommy taught Rory & I how to survive when the fridge emptied before the Sloan's grocery run to 86th & York Avenue on Friday afternoons after school. New TV guide day, maybe including color pictures of Emma Peel, Elizabeth Montgomery or Mary Ann from Gilligan’s.










Murray Parker on n/e cor of 83rd St. & York Ave ~ 1966



Murray Parker’s grocery on 83rd & York filled in the food gaps during the week when Mom forced a two milk & a pack of Marlboro’s expedition. I’d be playing in the street and she’d throw money out Chickie Murphy’s apartment in the front of the building. One out of two times the coin laden money ball would whiff through my hands and smack me in the forehead. I'm a clutz.




Marvin Gaye was on my transistor radio.

Uncle Mommy: Yorkville's All-Time Best Babysitter

Pryor babysitting rule: assignment outside the Pryor apartment was only accepted by grandparents and two sisters of Patty, the anti-christs' mother. All other houses begged off.



There was one unbreakable caveat with the aunts, Ryan & Pryor-Rode grandparents: No one would watch the two of us together. The extended family agreed, "Tommy & Rory were not allowed in the same house without parental supervision."

Rory and I fought over any spot on the couch the other was in; battled over who licked the tuna bowl after Mom made sandwiches.

When Bob & Pat went out, Rory stayed with the Ryan grandparents or Barbara & Mickey. I stayed with the Pryor-Rode grandparents or Joan & Georgie.

Rory & I had our needs met at all households, but Joannie had bongos, an FM radio and a bullfighter poster on her wall. She had a bar with high stools wore clam diggers as she danced & sang around the living room. I kept expecting Trini Lopez to drop in.

Joan & George took me to the beach, and it was named after Joan. We had no family car.



I loved all my grandparents, aunts & uncles, but my favorite babysitter was Mom. Sometimes, it was just her & me. She called me her “Cow, Cow Boogie,” and I called her "Uncle Mommy." We snuggled on our tiny 83rd Street couch watching The Twilight Zone & Hitchcock on Friday nights. Her smile stopped my clock.I was a lousy artist, a stinky poet, and I had a stutter. None of this disrupted me from trying to make Uncle Mommy laugh. She loved Rory and me like a freight train. Mom died July 24, 1998. I'm still working on stuff for her.

Uncle Mommy

Fridays after work, Dad stayed downtown. Rory was in bed by eight-thirty, then heaven: The Twilight Zone and Hitchcock. TV bliss.

Gene's Tavern ~ York Ave ~1945

Quick note on today's nyg cardiac arrest victory. After traveling the world for nearly two years after his victory over the Green Bay Packers in the NFC Championship game, Uncle Mommy's Teddy bear knocked on my door right before the Falcon game. "You're gonna need me today."
.
He was right.
.
Blowing a 14 point lead forced the Giants into overtime. Luckily, we got the ball back on the coin flip. Eli moved it, and Teddy offered me his noggin for a headlock right before Tynes knocked it through the uprights for the win. 34-31.

*******************************************************

Found terrific photos taken in April 1945 of Gene's Tavern on the n/e corner of 84th Street & York Avenue. Checking on names with my Dad's friend, Walt, but the crew includes: Whitey Sherman, Allie Cobert, Richie Curley, Pete Salerno, Bob Pryor, Tommy O"Rourke, Pat Straw. On the 84th Street wall, right above the lady with white hair crossing the street, is a service memorial with the names of the Yorkville men and women who gave their lives in World War II. In April 1945 the list was not complete. Look at the stores on both sides of the avenue, the barber pole and the young guys on the bike and sitting on the bumper of the car on York. And the graffiti on the wall and in my Dad's sketch that reads, "Cameron."

Gene's Tavern had a two lane bowling alley in the cellar. My father's brother, Tom was the weekend pin boy for the place. Good tips. When Tom got too old for the job he passed it onto his younger brother, Bob, my Dad. There was a controversy over the changing of the guard on this pin boy position in 1940. They were 15 and 11 at the time, their father was in a TB hospital upstate, their mom worked two jobs, six days a week. Tom & Bob liked to settle things quickly. I'm saving that one for a longer story. It's a doozy.