Remembering her home

I was very moved by a story my next door neighbor Rob
told me yesterday. About a month ago an old woman rang
his doorbell on a Saturday afternoon. His immediate thought
was that she was a friend of his elderly tenant below him
Mrs. Klein, and probably just rang the wrong doorbell.

“Hello my name is Mary Boyle, and I’m so sorry to bother
you. But I just wanted to let you know that I actually grew
up in this house as a child”.

“This is 403 East Fourth street?”

“It certainly is” said Rob.

“You know I haven’t been back here in over fifty years”.
“The block still looks beautiful and your house looks
so wonderful”.

“Would you like to come inside and see your old
apartment, it’s really not a bother” said Rob.

“Oh, that would be a dream come true".

With that Rob helped her up the stairs and
into his apartment on the second floor.

Rob told me that the she just cried and cried
as she walked from room to room.

It was an extremely emotional experience for
her and even Rob who walked by her side.

The old woman told Rob about East Fourth street and
Kensington back in the 30’s and 40’s. About what it looked
like before the big apartment houses were built on
Beverly Road. She remembered a wonderful Church Avenue,
and so many people that grew up on our block.

Tears just streamed down her face the whole time,
because for this moment she was a child again, and
back in the home she remembered so long ago.

Rob was moved by her stories and even asked her if
she knew the Lopez family next door at 399 East Fourth.

“Oh, sure I knew them, I believe they bought the house
sometime in the late 1940’s. They were very nice people”.

Rob wasn’t sure if it was the elderly woman’s family
or maybe just a cab that waited for her out front.
Because after the old woman was done, she just got
inside a black Lincoln Town Car and drove away.

I wish I was there to meet this woman, but I must have
been away for the weekend. For I would have loved to
hear her stories about a Kensington, and a Brooklyn
that was here so many years before me.

Oh, well, I guess there’s always next time.
Because I'm still waiting for the Gordens
and the Marcus's who grew up in my house.

Ron Lopez
Mopar195@yahoo.com


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