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| Pell Street, Chinatown, N.Y.C. |
http://www.positivelygina.blogspot.com/2012/06/tenement-life-part-1.html
http://www.positivelygina.blogspot.com/2012/06/tenement-life-part-2.html
Rhonda, of course, was right in front of the building when I arrived. One good habit we both share is always being on time...lol. It was great to be back in the old neighborhood for a carefree day of walking, chatting, and anticipated eating.
I wanted to go into my old building just to take a look, and Rhonda backed me up and said we should go in. The outside door was locked, but within a minute or two, a family went into the building with their keys, and we followed close behind and got in.
We headed down the small hallway to the mailboxes on the left wall. I couldn't believe my eyes, and Rhonda was also mystified, because my grandmother's NAME was still on the mailbox of my old apartment - 3A. I left that apartment when I was 18 or 19, and my grandmother passed away in 1990!
Even the black marker writings of "3A", and "DeLorenzo" were in my grandmother's handwriting. At first I was upset, but then I realized that my grandmother, Anna, is really leaving her legacy in this building, in a way...lol.
Even stranger was the fact that all 17 of the boxes were unlocked and seemingly unused.
The small and narrow ground -floor hall of the building was in shambles. It was dirty and grimy, and the small area underneath the stair-well was loaded with discarded papers, boxes, brooms, mops and rags. Memories floated around inside my head of all the times I hung out down in that lobby with my boyfriend, for "5 more minutes" of freedom before I had to go upstairs and back to "prison".
It was much cleaner and better-kept back then, though. Why is it that things always seem to be worse when you check back many years later, and never better?
I thought it would be a good idea to make the climb up to the third floor where my apartment was, and Rhonda agreed that we should. The stairs were covered with ugly, bumpy metal treads that click clacked with every step. More memories of flying down those steps, two or three at a time, jumping, even, just to get outside or get an "absent note" out of the mailbox before my grandmother got to it.
One apartment door we noticed on the second floor had an extra gate/door installed on TOP of the regular apartment door, which seemed like a definite fire-hazard to me. There were hand-written signs posted in Chinese, and the landings looked like they hadn't been mopped in ages.
We got up to the third floor, both of us huffing and puffing for air, and approached the door of Apartment 3A. Directly above the door were several colorful red and yellow Chinese wall hangings, which I assumed stood for "Good Luck" or something similar. I came this far, so I figured I'd at least try to see if the present tenants would let us in for a look around.
Rhonda gave a good rap on the door and a woman inside shouted something in Chinese...(who is it?) Unfortunately, we couldn't reply in Chinese, so we just knocked again a couple of more times. A teenage boy opened the door, with an older woman behind him, and a small boy of about two or three years old holding on to his leg. "Do you speak English?" , we asked. He smiled and half-heartedly nodded his head.
"She used to live here when she was little", Rhonda proclaimed, pointing to me. "I used to live here when I was little!", I chimed in...as if MY English would be more comprehensible to them than Rhonda's! [[laughing right now]]
http://www.positivelygina.blogspot.com/2012/06/tenement-life-part-2.html
Rhonda, of course, was right in front of the building when I arrived. One good habit we both share is always being on time...lol. It was great to be back in the old neighborhood for a carefree day of walking, chatting, and anticipated eating.
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| 93 Madison Street |
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| "DELORENZO" still there, after 22 years! |
Even stranger was the fact that all 17 of the boxes were unlocked and seemingly unused.
The small and narrow ground -floor hall of the building was in shambles. It was dirty and grimy, and the small area underneath the stair-well was loaded with discarded papers, boxes, brooms, mops and rags. Memories floated around inside my head of all the times I hung out down in that lobby with my boyfriend, for "5 more minutes" of freedom before I had to go upstairs and back to "prison".
It was much cleaner and better-kept back then, though. Why is it that things always seem to be worse when you check back many years later, and never better?
I thought it would be a good idea to make the climb up to the third floor where my apartment was, and Rhonda agreed that we should. The stairs were covered with ugly, bumpy metal treads that click clacked with every step. More memories of flying down those steps, two or three at a time, jumping, even, just to get outside or get an "absent note" out of the mailbox before my grandmother got to it.
One apartment door we noticed on the second floor had an extra gate/door installed on TOP of the regular apartment door, which seemed like a definite fire-hazard to me. There were hand-written signs posted in Chinese, and the landings looked like they hadn't been mopped in ages.
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| Hallway of 93 Madison Street, leading outside |
Rhonda gave a good rap on the door and a woman inside shouted something in Chinese...(who is it?) Unfortunately, we couldn't reply in Chinese, so we just knocked again a couple of more times. A teenage boy opened the door, with an older woman behind him, and a small boy of about two or three years old holding on to his leg. "Do you speak English?" , we asked. He smiled and half-heartedly nodded his head.
"She used to live here when she was little", Rhonda proclaimed, pointing to me. "I used to live here when I was little!", I chimed in...as if MY English would be more comprehensible to them than Rhonda's! [[laughing right now]]
PLEASE STAY TUNED FOR PART 2 OF CULTURE SHOCK! YOU'LL FIND OUT WHAT RHONDA AND I DISCOVERED AFTER WE WERE GIVEN THE TOUR OF APT. 3A...
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