ABSTRACT
We moved into that apartment on East 86th St. in Manhattan before I was born, which was on an exceptionally snowy February evening in 1948. Of that I have no memory other than my parents recounting the story again and again. We stayed there until I was about two and then moved to 85th St. between Park and Lexington Avenues. For those whose image of the Upper East Side is of upscale boutiques, shops, and brownstones, the area where I grew up was quite different. It was mostly an immigrant community made up of Germans and Irish who had come to New York over the preceding century. My images are of dust and darkness, especially as we turned east for the EL (elevator trains) that ran on Third and Second Avenues and that obliterated the sun. We lived on 85th St. until I was twelve. Some of my images and recollections…
Mr. Reddy, the tailor, worked down the street; and once, I was playing in my dress pants, despite my mother’s admonishments, and tore the knee. I secretly went to Mr. Reddy who sewed them up, charging me 25 cents (a significant sum for a 7-year-old). Horn and Hardart, a new type of restaurant in the 1950s, was on 86th and it was a big treat to go there for dinner. My sister, mother, and I would go. Nancy and I were each given a stack of nickels
(maybe 8 or 10) and we were able to retrieve the dinner from an endless source of gleaming white and glass vending machines which lined the walls and held foods of all types. The food was behind glass doors which slid open when I put a nickel in the slot. It was very exciting. The restaurant was the precursor to the vending machine. What an amazing treat for a kid: a whole restaurant that was a vending machine! There were other places on 86th St. but we weren’t allowed to go-The Papaya King (which is still there) was off bounds because my mother alleged that it was dirty. The same was true for the 15-cents-bythe-slice pizza place which today sells the same slice for $3.75. The price of pizza was suspiciously linked, so it seemed, to the price of a trip on the subway. When I was eight I had saved up my allowance and one Saturday bought a slice and washed it down with a 10-cent drink from the Papaya King across the street. Heaven!
