Harriet Schulman

Harriet Schulman

My next door neighbor Trudy was my best friend. Her mother was Italian and her father was Jewish. They invited me to their apartment for Christmas. I was about five years old. I came in my pajamas and tiptoed in. There was a gigantic Christmas tree. Real. With huge globes shining. Adopted by this Italian family, Uncle Joe, Uncle Charlie and Ben were pleasantly drunk. They had tinsel and decorations. All very large for a five-year old. Grandma Rota all in black came to cook for the party. Lasagna with real parmigiana and flowing red wine. They played Peter and the Wolf on their phonograph and I got a present from my Aunt Rita — “ballet shoes.” I was ecstatic. It happened again the next year. This was all in a fourth floor tenement in the Bronx.

Volume 1, Issue 2 | Winter/Spring 2018 | THE BEACON 17

Deborah Boomer

My grandma Winnie used to tell me tales of the excitement that is New York City. The art, the people, the sites, the sounds. Flying there for the first time and seeing the infamous skyline, I was surprised just how many people were compressed within such a small area. It was my first visit, but also my new home. After 13 long years of night school to receive my bachelor’s degree in sociology, and working 40–50 hours per week at my job with the phone company, I was ready for a change — a new way of seeing the world. With my limited savings I made a reservation at the YMCA on 34th St. and decided I would live there while I got my bearings. It was cheap — $16/night — and I liked it that way. I spent the first few days walking everywhere. I quickly learned the subway system which was such a joy. Walking just half a block I could stumble upon a subway station, go down the stairs and find an amazing world below the streets of the bustling city. Talented street musicians frequented the waiting platforms and each busker made me feel blessed with music. Who needs to buy tickets for the orchestra? Initially, I had wanted to play tourist for a few weeks, but after only several days I found myself looking at the “help wanted” jobs in the paper. I stumbled upon a listing for an entry level job in a local art museum and decided to give them a call. Right away I was scheduling an interview; not for the museum job, but for a position as marketing clerk. During this short time frame, I had found a women’s residency run by the Salvation Army; however they wouldn’t let me rent a room until I had a steady income. Once that was in place, I left the YMCA and jumped ship to the residency in Greenwich Village. If you’re still following along, this 34-year-old young woman from Spokane, Washington, had uprooted to the opposite side of the country, found a good paying job, a roof over her head, and quickly began to feel at home. I surprised even myself how soon everything seemed to fall in place. So the adventure began. Every other Friday, I would collect my paycheck and go directly to Times Square to purchase a discount ticket to see a Broadway show. I saw Cats, Penn & Teller, American in Paris, A Chorus Line, Sunset Boulevard, The Nerd, and Dream Girls (one of my favorites). I took walking tours of Harlem, The South Bronx, and the Lower East Side and attempted to see the inside of the Apollo Theater, until my group was stopped at the front doors and told they had “just vacuumed the floors.” Code for “buy a ticket.” I saw Shakespeare in the Park — Central Park that is — and was just in awe of the culture I was exposed to in such a short period of time. New York changed me. The ability to experience so many things that I had seen

18 THE BEACON | Winter/Spring 2018 | Volume 1, Issue 2