tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8938111885824771622.post2844014021540695008..comments2023-11-02T04:23:14.216-07:00Comments on IT WAS <br> HER <br> NEW YORK: Sunday Memories - A Visit from Another Her New York: "It Looked Chaotic But It Was Quite Organized."c.o. moedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04842423601233807880noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8938111885824771622.post-83346752185993193742009-08-21T13:34:07.418-07:002009-08-21T13:34:07.418-07:00Thank you and thank you for visiting!Thank you and thank you for visiting!c.o. moedhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04842423601233807880noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8938111885824771622.post-39361047624414085412009-08-19T10:14:34.919-07:002009-08-19T10:14:34.919-07:00Thank you for sharing! It's sad that the barg...Thank you for sharing! It's sad that the bargain district is fading away.Bowery Boogiehttp://www.boweryboogie.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8938111885824771622.post-65222548113498515712009-08-19T08:08:35.585-07:002009-08-19T08:08:35.585-07:00From Charles in Cincinnati, Ohio who couldn't ...From Charles in Cincinnati, Ohio who couldn't get google to allow him to post. Thank you so much, Charles.<br /><br />Irene's remembrance of a particular store reminded me of youthful visits to my Grandpa Goldzwig's clothing store in tiny Miamisburg, Ohio: "Fashion Dress Shop". Modest and completely old-fashioned, it's storefront was one link in a chain of old buildings along a business street unchanged for decades. One highlight of every visit to see Grandma and Grandpa at their store was a lunchtime excursion to an old restaurant around the corner.<br /><br />The store was not well lit and I paid no attention to the clothes. My brother and I would snicker at the nude torsos on the countertops that displayed the latest bras, which in the midwest probably meant a year behind anything then seen in New York. Grandpa Saul always stood straight and almost motionless, a cigar or pipe usually near at hand. <br /><br />Years later I inherited the standing chrome metal ashtray from the shop and took it with me when I went away to college in St. Louis. Grandma Rose, shy and nervous, showed us the cash register, always a hit with kids. We were even more taken in by the ancient green safe that was tucked away into a dusty corner. I imagined what riches were surely locked away inside it. In old stores like this one, footsteps echo and silence hums. The merchandise stands at attention, quiet and obedient, never shouting with outlandish colors or patterns. <br /><br />It never seemed too odd that my Grandpa owned a woman's clothing store. He was too honest, too elegant, too quiet and polite and handsome to invite inappropriate comments from a young boy enthralled by the differences between the sexes. I don't remember when they left their business behind them. I was too preoccupied with oil painting and art films and my own neurotic responses to what I saw as a world spinning into confusion. That simple, quiet store was a remnant, a part of my family history that lies out of reach and almost out of mind.c.o. moedhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04842423601233807880noreply@blogger.com