A Bronx Tale

A very young me in The Bronx

It’s hard for me to write a paean to my hometown. I left The Bronx in 1982 after spending my formative years there. It was not a time of glory days for the borough. It was the aftermath of ‘the burning of The Bronx’, which was a phrase coined by television sportscaster Howard Cosell during the 1977 World Series. This was an era of urban decay and abandonment when landlords, politicians, financiers and the rest of the privileged watched as a once vital community was reduced to ashes. Most of the middle class vaporized and blew away, like the smoke from the smoldering tenements. My husband, myself and my then 1 year old son sought greener pastures after witnessing a shooting less than 25 feet from where we stood.

I was angry at The Bronx.

My children would not get to experience the joy of playing stick ball and 2 hand touch in the street. They would not get to call up to the window, “MA! Mr. Softee!” and have a Kleenex full of change thrown out the window barely missing their heads in order to reap the reward of a hot summer city night.
I cultivated a new identity for myself that made me a “New Yorker” but not necessarily a “Bronxite”.

Time heals all wounds.

On our holiday journey we rewired some Bronx connections by visiting 2 of my oldest friends (OK, long-term friends. I wouldn’t want to offend them) and 1 of Don’s Navy buddies and his lovely wife. The common thread being they are all from The Bronx. We even walked the streets of the good Ol’ Bronx and contributed to the local economy. We drove through the old neighborhood and showed Damian where it all began. He was less than impressed.
Anyway, indulge me while I present a little Bronx history for my unfamiliar readers. What? You gotta problem widdat?

Arthur Avenue back in the day.

First and foremost: it is always THE Bronx. Like it’s always THE Universe, THE Cosmos, THE Heavens.
It is the only New York borough that is primarily on the mainland and it has the largest amount of open space in the form of park lands. It is home to the largest park in NYC (no, it’s not Central Park it’s Pelham Bay Park which also contains Orchard Beach where we spent many a hot summer day), The New York Botanical Gardens (which contains a patch of the original hemlock forest that once covered the entire county), The Bronx Zoo (the largest urban zoological park in the entire U.S. and my personal favorite) and the largest open-air church (Yankee Stadium).

Practicing our religion at the “old” church.

My family has a long Bronx history. In 1924, my then 3 year old grandfather relocated to The Bronx from Louisiana when his parents bought a house in the Westchester Square section for $7400. The house on Edwards Avenue remained in the family for 82 years and today descendants still live in the area. When my family settled, West Farms actually contained farms (not hookers, like I remember). It was a rural area that supplied the markets of NYC. Bootlegging was big since most of the illegal liquor sold in Manhattan speakeasies was smuggled in through The Bronx.

Prohibition

The dividing line between east and west in The Bronx is Jerome Avenue, which is actually an extension of 5th Avenue in Manhattan. I came from the east side and Don from the west side. Don grew up in the Kingsbridge section which actually contained a bridge at one time. The bridge was built in 1693 and was a key toll road between Manhattan and access to New England. East and west united in 1977.

Santa Maria Church 1977

The Bronx is a cultural mecca and many famous people in the arts and entertainment industries call it their birthplace. (Look it up, whydoncha?) The Hip Hop culture phenomenon as well as the “Bronx Cheer” originated here.

Graffiti art

Einstein shout out

Break dancing

The Bronx Cheer

On the way to my sister’s house we stopped to visit my long-time friend and mentor, Joanie Moran. Joan lives in the Pelham Bay section of the Bronx and is still one of the coolest adults I have ever met. She was my next door neighbor growing up on Frisby Avenue. I used to babysit her kids (who now have kids of their own) and when I had my own kid (Steven) we used to make the long trek to the Castle Hill Beach Club on foot in the summer. She bakes the best chocolate chip cookies on the planet and had a batch ready for me upon my arrival.

The day I left my sister’s home in Long Island we traveled up to Connecticut to re-connect with my childhood friend Donna Bacchiocci (nee Bandanza). Donna and her husband Jim live in a quiet community and spend lots of time with their large family. The girly-est girl I ever knew now bow hunts and fly fishes. When we came to her home she was dressed in a flannel shirt, cowboy boots and big silver belt buckle. She looks exactly the same as when we were in high school together. We had a wonderful lunch of lasagna and moose cutlet parmesan (tastes like veal, no kidding).

“Have you seen a flying squirrel?”

Our Bronx eating saga finally ended when we met up with Don’s Navy buddy from Morris Park, the fabulous Reno Righetti & his wife, Donna. We decided to visit the Little Italy of The Bronx, Arthur Avenue. It is home to some of the finest eating establishments in all of New York City.

Same view as the photo earlier in this post.

Arthur Avenue is also the home of ‘street seafood’, which my husband and the Righettis can’t seem to resist.

No one died.

While strolling the streets I began to experience a real sense of deja vu. The Christmas lights and decorations still festooned the streets. The cold air cleared my head. I used to come here as a child of Damian’s age with my paternal grandmother to go to the markets. My Grandma Betty lived on E. 183rd St. and 3rd Ave. and we would cross the street and walk alongside the stone wall that encircled St. Barnabas Hospital. That stone wall is still there and that visual cue unleashed a torrent of memories. Donna Righetti grew up near the other end of Arthur Avenue and she validated my recollections by pointing out which shops still existed from that time. Surprisingly, there are quite a few. Of course Don couldn’t resist purchasing some sopressata and provolone ‘for the road’. My plate was already full with the wonderful childhood memories of time spent with my father’s mother, a truly extraordinary woman.

Our dinner at Pasquale Rigoletto Restaurant was delicious. This is an old school Italian-American restaurant like I used to visit with my parents when I was a kid. The waitstaff is all male and our server was very attentive. Damian gave it 4 stars based on his spaghetti carbonara. Numerous phone calls to and from my sons back home trying to solve long-distance problems and Damian’s ensuing boredom after dinner created some dining chaos. The Righettis were most understanding of our situation and seemed to have a good time despite our questionable company. We parted was with a promise to have another collaboration when the warm weather returns.

You can’t escape who you are.

I’ve made my peace with The Bronx. I hope it accepts my apologies.

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