Yorkville Stoops to Nuts

Sunday, March 15, 2015

Things You Make Inside A New York City Apartment

"Bob, clean the table off, we're gonna eat in five minutes."

It's 1939 inside 2S at 1582 York Avenue, Bob (Dad), 10, took his art stuff to the front room facing the avenue inside the railroad apartment. On the linoleum floor he laid out his paper, crayons, pencils and the metal sharpener his Uncle Joe gave him. Uncle Joe worked in the newspaper business and sometimes brought home supplies for the kid. Bob sat cross legged and restarted his sketch of a tree while ignoring his mother's order to, "Get in here and eat!" He had to draw those leaves just right.

I miss my father's curiosity and his ability to make something out of nothing. Wherever he was he find a tiny space for his studio.

In 1957 in our small place at 517 East 83rd Street, he took over one corner near the window in our so-called living room immediately starting a new war with my neat freak mother. Things he made there continue to fascinate, inspire and please me. "There is always something to do, something to make," my favorite lesson from Dad; a Yorkville man to the day he died.

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.

Pictured above is a 1939 grammar school Honor Roll from the Yorkville Advance newspaper; and below are pieces of art Dad made in our 83rd Street apartment (the dollhouse was finished in our Sunnyside home) and Dad and me on the Drive in 1956 inside Carl Schurz Park.

Saturday, March 14, 2015

Beautiful Day

New York City slipped the grip of mean winter last Wednesday the 11th. Walking down Fifth Avenue through Washington Square Park I spied the result of two seasons meeting head on. Freed from cabin fever, students and others played hooky from class and other responsibilities around the fountain. The warmth of the sun melted the snow into mushy dirty piles and broad reflective puddles. The sun light sent arcs of color through the tree branches on Thompson Street trying to wake up the buds and creating a fire escape fashion show.

Many years ago, my father died on March 11th, he would have loved this NYC stroll with his Yashica 44. It was a beautiful day.

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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.

Monday, March 9, 2015

Dad's Paper Route

Mom & Cowboy Bob on 12.31.67

"The royal ass has been wiped!" Mom announced from the bathroom to Rory, me and our neighbors in the air shaft. In the kitchen, Rory and I drank Tang and ate burnt toast with lots of butter. Dad moaned to himself late for work in their bedroom.

Every morning, after Dad went to the bathroom, Mom examined how much toilet paper remained when he was done. If the household product was in a cardboard roll, Dad was out of control; Silver Foil, Wax Paper, Saran Wrap, TP, or paper towels. If he washed dishes of course he'd put too much soap in the sink and the bubbles exploded like a Las Vegas casino's fountain.

If the table needed drying, Dad swung out a roll of paper towel as his lasso, "Yahoo!", Cowboy Bob screamed. Around and around the roll would go, paper filling the kitchen sky like Chinese New Year. Mom went friggin nuts. Rory and I ducked.

All of it, came out of Mom's house money and the money never went up. Year in, year out, Mom made her case and Dad kept the allowance where it was, and he continued using the soap and paper products like he was auditioning to replace Shirley Booth in Hazel.

One rainy afternoon when we were pretty young, he gave Rory and I a lesson in wiping our butts. I kid you not, and Mom put him up to it because at the end of each day our underwear didn't smell that good sometimes.

Rory in 83 St tub

We sat on the edge of the tub, Dad took his position on stage at the front of the bowl.

"You see what I'm doing with my hand? See the way I'm rolling the paper around and around? That's what you do before you wipe. Cover your hand like a Civil War bandaged wound, only then, go in and finish the job."

Rory and I humored Dad with a quick nod, then gave each other a quicker look that said, "He's out of his mind."

Mom came in the bathroom at the end of the lesson, saw Dad's hand and said, "If you use that much much paper, I'll kill the three of you."

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If you would like to 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.

517 East 83 St bathroom in 2R in 2008, we lived in 4R

Friday, March 6, 2015

Bliss in Central Park

Alone in Central Park yesterday, I walked for hours astonished by the beauty of the snowy landscape. I kept saying to myself, outloud, this is the greatest movie set ever, but it was real. My hands were frozen from taking off my they were wet anyway gloves to take photographs. My feet were numb. I foolishly wore a pair of twenty-four dollar Modell's not really waterproof boots with a single pair of my daughter's socks.

It didn't matter. I felt bliss.

My five senses were treating the park like the best amusement ride they ever rode. I slipped and fell and tasted the fresh snow stuck to my face and pushed myself up and grabbed what looked like fake landscape. I heard silence on the lake, I saw kids on sleds hooting at each other and squirrels and birds frantically looking for food, I've already told you I talked to myself and two strangers.