Growing Up Bank Street

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Оглавление
Donna Florio. Growing Up Bank Street
Growing Up Bank Street. A Greenwich Village Memoir
Contents
Foreword
1. Six Blocks of America
2. Opera on Bank Street
3. The Frydels
4. Mr. Bendtsen
5. Mrs. Swanson and the Browders
6. John Lavery
7. Grace Bickers
8. Lena
9. Sabine
10. Sid Vicious
11. John, Yoko, Rex, and Many More
12. Al
13. John Kemmerer
14. George and Gloria
15. Jack Heineman Jr
16. Jack and Madeline Gilford
17. Auntie Mame: Marion Tanner
18. Bella Abzug
19. The Jester, the Bishop, and the Eavesdropper
20. Stella Crater
21. Yeffe Kimball
22. Billy Joyce
23. Marty, Roz, and Marty’s Harem
24. The Many Kinds of Friendships
“You’re My Kind of Catholic” Friendships
“Old Village” Aristocracy Friendships
“The Old Country” Friendships
“Hell Hath No Fury like Bank Street Mothers” Friendships
“We’re So Cool” Friendships
“Standing One’s Ground” and Friendships
“Companions in the Arts” Friendships
“Just Because We Hit It Off” Friendships
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Works Consulted. Books
Articles
Oral Histories
Government Reports
Website
Film
Play
Archival and Unpublished Material
Index
About the Author
Отрывок из книги
Donna Florio
Washington Mews Books
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Tom and other grizzled Bank Street men leaned against number 51’s concrete stoop, passing the time. Regulars included Joe, a retired dockworker, and Mr. Hanks, who had been a fireman. They nodded to their neighbor, Tish, the nightclub performer, but rolled their eyes behind his back as he walked away. The commercial space on that corner was a tie-dyed clothing store in the 1960s and later a vegetarian restaurant. The old men disapproved of both businesses. Those dirty hippies do drugs, they fumed to my father. The old men didn’t want us bothering them, so they’d shoo us down to play spots like in front of the wallpaper factory at 59 Bank.
Since most Village kids under ten weren’t allowed off their block, after-school play groups were arbitrarily defined by address. We got excited when coal trucks pulled up to deliver their wares or when horse-mounted police officers rode by from the stable a few blocks away. We’d pet the horses, and sometimes I’d ask if I could sit on one, but the policeman always said no.
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