Their father grew up next door to our father on Henry Street. Tenements. Not the hip, over-priced, badly renovated, tons of cache tenements of today but the rat-filled, roach-saturated, filthy, over-crowded tenements of then.
Their great-grandfather and grandfather had the stables. They were the blacksmiths. Our grandfather was pro-union but there's speculation it was just an excuse to be self-righteous and punch someone not related.
After the co-ops were built and the tenements disappeared, our parents all got new fancy apartments down the street from one another. Elevators, no rats, less roaches. Trees were planted too.
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.