It was like one of those timing routes you hear about in the NFL–the one where the quarterback fires the ball to a spot on the field, perfectly meeting the receiver. We left Connecticut, drove to LaGuardia Airport and about three minutes later picked up Melissa, my niece flying in from Milwaukee.
Not much traffic today. The trip was a breeze in both directions.
On the way back I asked Melissa if she wanted to see where her mother and I grew up? It wasn’t for Melissa. I needed to return to the scene of the crime.
It was a cold day and this isn’t an out-of-doors kind of neighborhood under the best circumstances. The streets were full of cars and empty of people as I slid Helaine’s 4Runner to the curb–a space reserved for me by a fire hydrant (I was only staying a few seconds–no citizen’s arrest, please).
The apartment complex, originally built for electricians in Local 3, is called Electchester. This building, one of a few dozen in the complex, is 55 years old. There is neither warmth nor humanity in this stark, brick architecture.
The wall air conditioners you see were added decades after we first moved in. In the summer it was brutally hot with open windows and the added bonus of low flying planes on the way to LaGuardia.
Heading up Jewel Avenue past Pomonok, the city housing project across the street) the buildings looked smaller than I remembered them. I suspect ‘smaller’ is a common complaint when adults return to childhood haunts.
We didn’t go inside. Outside is friendlier.