In the South Bronx, my building on Bathgate Avenue was a veritable UN of European immigrants: Slovaks, Poles, Germans, Italians, Jews, you name it. All the latter 19th century leftovers…
I could tell where the families came from as I ascended the multi-story stairwell by the smells of the food and the screams of the kids…and the parents chasing us.
The outside world for me in the late ‘40s was mostly Puerto Ricans filling the spaces of earlier groups moving to the suburbs. For a long time, I thought my name in Spanish was “Pinche Flaquito.” For us kids, most of our play was secured “Up On The Roof“… more…
