What to Write:
I haven’t written a post in a while because to be perfectly honest I don’t know what to write about or what would interest everyone. So with the help of my daughter, I’ve decided to write stories about growing up in New York. Remembering fondly the memories of my family and friends, funny and sad. I’m going to make a concerted effort to write every week. Marking my calendar.
I’m sitting on my mother’s lap in the photo on the left. My father is in the back left-hand corner. My sisters Ann and Rose are in the photo as well as few of my aunts, a cousin and an uncle.
There is a site from the old neighborhood that I subscribed to and get emails from every once in a while. It’s called ItalianHarlem.com. I was reminded just yesterday of a priest Father Rofrano, who was in the parish I belonged to from Mt. Carmel Church on East 115th Street between First and Pleasant Avenues. It was an incredibly beautiful church. The post was on their page on Instagram. Any of you East Harlem people, you should visit their page. Wow what a blast from the past!
It brought me back to my childhood and made me remember a lot of the young girls I grew up with from the neighborhood. Most of them I hung out with went to the Mt. Carmel school. They told stories of the teachers, who were mostly nuns, and how they would be so strict. If they got out of line, they would hit them; sometimes with a ruler and other times with a slap. Today those nuns would be arrested for child abuse.
I myself went to P.S. 102 on 113th Street on the corner of Second Avenue. My mother and my sisters all had the same first grade teacher as I did, Mrs. Block. The school is still there. I wondered why I was never enrolled in the school. I asked my mother one day when I was an adult, who was not a church goer, “Why didn’t you send us to catholic school?” and she said “I never thought about it.” I went to church on my own from when I was a young girl. When I got married and had children, I sort of stopped going. Don’t know why. I guess life gets in the way with having children, etc. I’ve since resumed going to church every Sunday, well mostly, about 25 years ago. Funny how the catholic upbringing makes you feel guilty when you miss a Sunday. Feeling guilty about certain things is a pastime of being Catholic, especially if your Italian-American Catholic.
Now I’m feeling nostalgic. Hope you have a great week and until next time.
Hedy
I love all of these stories. Even though you’ve told me some of them there are so many things I don’t know or don’t remember. It will be nice to hear them all and have a place where they are all recorded. ❤️
Hey honey, I’ll try to remember some more of them to record for posterity.
Love you,
Mom
Hi Hedy – were you a ‘change of life’ child, as they used to say? The reason I ask is that in the pic of your family, other than the child standing on the chair in the middle, you are the only baby and everyone else appears much older. Your dad looks VERY tall and handsome in this photo as well. Did he appeal to many of the neighborhood ladies? You mentioned that he and your mother split up when you were quite young….
Yesterday I had a throng of humanity around my dining room table and the DIN of the voices was deafening! I had not heard so much racket since the 60’s at my grandmother’s house. And though it could have been mistaken as screaming, it was only our Italian-American/NY-NJ style communication.
I had one of my ‘Hedy’ style lasagnas which is always a HUGE hit, even tho there were tons of other dishes… The best part of today’s feasts with family is A) the men and boys clean up and do the dishes now, while she who has cooked/prepared the menu for 48 hours (ME) sits in a chair and enjoys well-deserved REST. B) the constant clouds of smoke from cigarettes, pipes and cigars no longer pervades the house. And C) – no more need to wash all those DISHES and PANS by hand….OMG when I remember all those plates, cups and saucers, glasses and the pots and pans……washing and drying between main courses and desserts……..all day long….
I am a big fan of Pope Francis and his non-dogmatic approach to modern Catholicism. What about you? I await your Ziti al Forno.
Hi Liz, I look upon those days fondly. Everyone around the table, but unfortunately in those days the women served, ate last and cleaned up. I wasn’t a change of life baby, but I was an afterthought. My sisters are 13 and 11 years older than me. They were like mothers to me also. My father challenged my mother saying that she couldn’t have anymore children, and my mother got pregnant to prove he was was wrong.
I knew you were brought up in Harlem but didn’t realize how close you were to my neighborhood.
I grew up on 112th between 2nd and 3rd. Went to Our Lady Queen of Angels. Many relatives on 108th St.
We went to Lady Queen of Angels when I lived on 113th Street and First Avenue.
Hedy – when you were a kid, where did your family go ‘down the shore’? My late my mothers family lived in the Bronx, (before it became Ft. Apache!) and my Aunts and Uncles spoke of ‘tar beach’ or, on special occasions, they took the subway to Jones Beach and told hilarious stories of riding home with wads of sand in their pants. (This was many years ago, before my birth). When my mom and dad married (his family was from Jersey City) they decided to move ‘down the shore’ which for them meant the Jersey Shore (Bradley Beach/Belmar). Growing up there in the 60s and 70s was considered ‘the sticks’ – but I think Catholic Schools were the same everywhere. Our nuns were the Sisters of St. Joseph, and some were so mean-spirited they SHOULD have been locked up! They were frustrated women who took their unnatural lifestyle out on the small, defenseless children and dared to call themselves ‘brides of Christ’!. One hideous gorgon of a 1st grade nun at St. Rose Grammar School in Belmar used to scare the kids so badly (these were 7 year old CHILDREN) they would piss themselves! When I think about it now – I know there is a special place in hell for those wretched women who tormented children simply because they could and KNEW they’d never have children of their own. On to better thoughts… – my family likes me to make pignoli cookies which I DO make once or twice a year but I find the process annoying! All that sticky almond paste and very little flour……any hints? I am not the greatest baker but I WILL make ricotta cheescake for my son who loves it. I would love to know how to make REAL Italian ice (the lemon kind we’d get on the boardwalk served in those pleated paper cups! ) I tried it once and failed hideously despite it being a LOT of work. Do you know the secret? My late Aunt Gloria made wonderful Strufoli and when I see the pics in your book – it takes me right back to her living room. She’d have what looked like a little volcano of Strufoli on her coffee table (right next to the Capodimonte brick a brac) and my hands would be sticky all day long. It was an Easter dessert if I recall correctly.
Hi Liz,
Thank you for sharing some of your history. I remember my girlfriends telling me stories of the nuns and they were scared of them. How could you terrify children that way; I don’t know.
As far as my relatives none of them came from the Jersey Shore. My ex-husband’s family loved to go to Golden Beach in the Bronx. As far as tar beach, this was the top of tenement building where the roof was paved with tar. It was extremely hot up there. I remember my sisters taking heavy blankets up there because they heat from the tar would come through.
As for Pignoli Cookies, I do have a recipe but it’s not that sticky because the secret is to have a bowl of warm water to dip your fingers in between rolling the cookies. Strufoli are traditionally made at Christmas time, but also on Easter. As for lemon ice, I never made it. You can probably google it and get a good recipe. Do you belong to Facebook? There are Italian Groups who post recipes on there all the time. Someone would have to know a recipe. Let me know if you want to know the specific groups.
Thanks for your support.