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METRO photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Women need some good news right about now, after the Roe decision, and here it is: Women are more likely to live past 90. But there is a caveat. We have to be optimistic. Now, don’t poo poo this statement. It comes from a large study by researchers at Harvard University and was published in the Journal of the American Geriatrics Society.

Entitled, “Optimism, Lifestyle and Longevity in a Racially Diverse Cohort of Women,” the study deals with 26 years of data from almost 160,000 women between the ages of 50 and 79. All the participants were selected for their optimism with quantitative measures of testing. Researchers found that the top quarter of the women in the study with the most positive outlook would probably live 5.4% longer than the least optimistic 25% of participants. Further, the more optimistic women were 10% more likely to live past the age of 90 than the least optimistic cohort.

The link between optimism and longer lifespan could be seen across racial and ethnic groups. “Optimism may be an important asset to consider for promoting health and longevity in diverse populations,” states the article. Non-Hispanic White, Black, Hispanic/Latina and Asian, American Indian and Alaskan native women were in the group. 

“A high proportion (53%) of the women [in the optimism group] achieved exceptional longevity,” according to the study. “Higher optimism was associated with longer lifespan and a greater likelihood of achieving exceptional longevity overall and across racial and ethnic groups. The contribution of lifestyle to these associations was modest. Optimism may promote health and longevity in diverse ethnic and racial groups. Future research should investigate these associations in less long-lived populations,” concludes the Journal. Francine Grodstein, ScD and Laura D. Kubzansky, PhD, were the principal researchers of the study.

Interestingly, of those tested, women with higher optimism levels were more frequently non-Hispanic White with higher education levels.

This study also suggests that optimism is “just as important as exercise when it comes to longevity.” The researchers found this to be true even when other factors like depression, chronic health conditions and racial, social and economic background were taken into account. So a positive outlook on life may be just as important as fitness—or so lazy optimists would like to believe, and based on this large study, they may be right.

Stress, on the other hand, can take a toll on mental and physical health. According to an article in this past Tuesday’s New York Times, “certain types of stress can even age your immune system.”  In a study involving 5700 adults aged 50 and over, stresses like job strain, stressful life events, every day or lifetime discrimination (including sexism or ageism) and traumatic life events were cross referenced with immune cell counts from participants’ blood. Simple aging is also a stress on the immune system.

One way to prevent or minimize immune cell aging may be to minimize or do away with unhealthy habits like smoking and drinking. But all kinds of stress, we intuitively know, can effect physical health.

How do we help ourselves further reduce stress?

Taking stock of our emotions is a good place to start. Knowing and acting on what brings us joy and where we can find social support can help. “That may mean pursuing hobbies, spending time with loved ones, or unplugging from work or social media when you can,” suggests Hannah Seo, writing for the NYT. “Mindfulness practices, exercise and healthy eating habits can also help you feel good physically, which in turn can make you feel good mentally,” according to Renee Eddy, a New York City psychotherapist, quoted in the NYT.

My best defense against stress is having social support from family and friends. My son, daughter-in-law and grandson recently visited for four days, and just interacting with them was a joy. My friends call and just chatting leaves me feeling happy, not to mention more informed. 

Stresses can negatively affect longevity. Joy and optimism, we are told by current research, can increase lifespan.

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Cartoon by Kyle Horne: kylehorneart.com

A government is only as democratic as the freedom and fairness of its electoral process. 

Right now, the legislative and executive branches of the Suffolk County government are at odds over what constitutes a free and fair election. At a press conference last week, County Executive Steve Bellone (D) defended a 2017 law that created a public campaign finance fund. He said this program, which is set to take effect during the 2023 county election cycle, will restore “the people’s faith and trust in government.”

At the same time, the Republican majority intends to repeal the law, arguing the program undermines trust in government as public funds will inevitably be used to finance campaigns that some voters do not endorse. Instead, it favors using that money to strengthen public safety initiatives around the county.

While the political branches battle it out, it is worth noting that this program is not supported by tax revenue. Rather, it is supported by revenues generated by Jake’s 58 Casino Hotel, which was acquired last year by Suffolk Regional Off-Track Betting. The question that no one has asked is how OTB factors into this equation.

For eons, societies have struggled to root out vice and promote virtue among their people. It seems a fact of human nature that we are created with various flaws and foibles. Gambling, boozing and prostitution are nasty habits that will be among us regardless of the system of government that we put in place. 

Using gambling revenues to finance grassroots campaigns seems to be a noble end. This is not much different from a real estate developer contributing monetarily to a community to compensate for the potential losses incurred during the buildout. Attaching a just cause to an activity like gambling appears to be a worthwhile undertaking. Bellone himself said, “I can’t think of a better way that we can utilize those dollars.” 

However, if we are going to stake our democracy and the integrity of our elections on this public campaign finance program, we must demand much greater transparency from the institution that will be supporting it, Suffolk OTB. As recently as March, a local activist referred to OTB as “a known patronage mill.” 

There are still far too many questions yet to be answered by OTB. What percentage of its revenue will be used to finance elections? What is the leadership hierarchy? How many people are employed? What is the process for securing employment there? How does the power source of our democracy still not have an “about” page on its website?

It is a giant leap of faith on the part of voters to expect a gaming parlor to act in the best interests of the people. Attempting to power democracy through gambling is a high-risk maneuver that requires much stricter oversight on the part of the administration. The only way this can be possible is through frequent hearings, press conferences and financial disclosures from OTB. 

The fact that there is friction between the political branches in Suffolk is a good thing. As the county executive and Legislature quarrel over the future of public campaign finance, there are important questions that the public needs answered. For any of this to work, we the people need to be constantly briefed about OTB’s various dealings. This is a basic principle of democracy.

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The White House. METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Dear President Biden,

In an ideal world, everyone would be rooting for you. After all, as the leader of the country, your success is our success.

That’s certainly how the late George H.W. Bush (41, not 43) felt when he left a supportive note for Bill Clinton, the politician who defeated him.

We don’t live in that world. People are actively rooting against you, many of them American and many of them eager for power, influence and opportunity. Against that backdrop, I’m sure it’s challenging to get out in front of any story or narrative. You can’t control gas prices, right? You can’t control the weather, the global economy, the war in Ukraine or anything else that’s casting a pall over the nation and the world.

And yet, your job requires a certain level of messaging, communicating and leadership. You might not feel you can do much about the litany of problems you face — Republicans won’t let you, inflation is cutting everyone’s pay, and Covid continues to make people sick.

But here’s the thing: you need to get out in front of something. You need to step up and tell us how things will get better. We want to believe you because everyone wants happier days.

That starts with you. In the midst of some heated tension with the Soviet Union, Ronald Reagan offered the country the kind of reassurance that you haven’t provided. Despite the collection of nuclear missiles pointed at us, Reagan suggested that we were safe and should sleep well.

Look, I get it. People pounce on every syllable you say that might be a bit hard to follow. You’ve had a long history of verbal gaffes. But you can’t let fear of saying the wrong thing keep you from saying anything. Americans see you periodically, but you rarely tell us anything memorable or offer us a digestible helping of hope.

Your administration as a whole seems to be following your lead. No one in your cabinet has given us the sense that things will get better soon or, for lack of a better phrase, “you got this.” You have the largest bully pulpit in the world. The press follows your every move. Use that to your advantage. Seize the narrative. Give us a Project Hope or a positive message. Celebrate Americans doing good for their country.

The talking heads on both sides have given Americans an enormous dose of anger every day. It’s become an outlet for their energy and a way to keep Americans glued to their screens, waiting for the latest outrage and the newest opportunity to be disgusted by the other side.

When you ran for office, you assured us that we would return to normalcy and that you’d bring some measure of civility and decency back to the oval office. Here we are, the clock is ticking, and the anger machines from our two parties are in full gear.

Show the kind of leadership the situations demand. You don’t have to solve everything at the same time, but give us a regular update or an idea of what you know will work.

We need you to show us you have ideas we can support and that you have a plan you’re putting into action.

I understand your plan is to run for office in 2024. Why? How would that help the country? We know Republicans in the house, outraged on behalf of the two impeachments of your predecessor, may launch a host of investigations into you and your son if, as expected, they take the majority in the upcoming midterms.

When that process starts, being angry and outraged will only throw your own fury on the fire. We, and you, need positive and effective leadership now. Talk to Americans, share your plan for a better today and tomorrow. We need you to succeed. While what you’ve done so far might be undervalued and undercovered, we need visible wins. Break this pattern and give us reasons to believe in you and in the future.

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Pexels photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Ah! It’s summer. 

Yes, there are miserable things happening that we are accosted with in the daily news briefs: congressional hearings, COVID numbers, climate change, warfare, inflation, gasoline price spikes, and so forth. But there is something magical about summer. Maybe it’s a carryover from our school days, when classes and homework ended and we could think about a trip to the beach or lounging in bed in the mornings, that make us feel the specialness of the season.

Come with me, then, as we do some time travel to my elementary school years, and I tell you what summers were like for me.

From first to fifth grades, my mother would visit my teachers in mid-May and get their lesson plans for the rest of the semester and the beginning of the next. She would then take me out of school, and I would not return until mid-September. We would travel to some rustic shack in the Catskill Mountains, a different one each year, where we would spend sixteen weeks in “the fresh air.”

My parents, you see, did not appreciate urban living in the summer, when I recall it used to get hotter than now. Air conditioning only existed in movie theaters, ice cream could only be purchased in bulk from drug stores with freezers, and to get a breeze, one would have to drive really fast along Manhattan’s East Side Highway with all the windows open—that is if one were lucky enough to get a ride in a car. 

My dad grew up in the mountains, my mom in Corona, Queens, which she said was so countrified that there were cows on the road when she walked to public school. They keenly felt the inevitable pollution in the summer air and planned the escape for us children and my mom.

It was lonely for me, fresh air not withstanding I would read a lot. Generally, there would be a farm or two within walking distance, and only occasionally was there a child to play with, only my sister, who was two years younger and had Down Syndrome. But my dad and sometimes my much older brother would come up and stay with us on the weekends, and then the pace of life would pick up.

My dad and I would traipse across meadows and climb hills, for the exercise and just for the fun. Sometimes we would see cows grazing, and they would look at us lazily as we went by. My dad always reminded me to stay alert for the presence of a bull and also to watch out for any snakes that might be sunning themselves at the base of the low stone walls that separated the meadows. Should we see a bull in the distance, we should look to climb a nearby tree.

Often we would find wild blueberry bushes, and we carried containers to bring some back to the rest of the family. We picked the berries in the classical way: one for the pot, two for the mouth, one for the pot, two for the mouth. As we moved around each bush, I enjoyed the warm sun on my back and the smell of wheat and grass carried by the soft breezes that caressed us on their way past. 

When it was time to return, I would wait for his suggestion that I lead the way, and it always came. My dad hoped I would develop a good sense of direction, especially when the terrain looked the same all around us. He would show me nature’s clues, like moss growing on the north side of tree trunks, as a help to finding my way.

One time I remember getting up early enough to watch the sun rise from the top of the nearby hill. I had never seen the sun rise before then, but the real treat was just being with my dad.

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METRO photo

The warm weather is here and that means more people are walking outside while others are taking to the streets on their bikes.

In some recreational areas, including several in our own backyards, walkers and bicyclists share the same paths. Sometimes the mixture can be a recipe for disaster.

Unfortunately, many on bikes pedaling at high speeds seem to be more concerned about quickly getting somewhere than about taking proper precautions to ensure pedestrian safety. Electric bikes have only compounded these issues.

It’s not uncommon to hear of someone taking a leisurely stroll and then being hit by a bike, thrown to the ground and ending up needing medical assistance. One walker on Trustees Road at West Meadow Beach recently needed stitches after being hit by a bike.

When sharing the road with cars, bikers know to stay to the right, ride in the same direction of traffic, be no more than two abreast and transition to single file when a car is passing. However, many seem to forget there are rules to follow when on a path without cars.

A general rule of thumb is for bikers to keep to the right. When this isn’t possible, if a person on a bike sees people walking ahead, especially if their back is turned to them, it’s common courtesy to not only slow down but also to say “on your right” or “passing on your left.” A better solution is to have a bell on the bike so you can alert people when you are coming down the path. 

Bicyclists should also avoid riding on sidewalks. One reason is that drivers aren’t expecting a person on a bike to be on the sidewalk, and sometimes can be caught off guard when someone comes pedaling onto the road.

Taking care when on wheels doesn’t stop with bicycles, as skateboarders should also use caution when sharing space with pedestrians.

Most importantly, bikers should take advantage of the designated bike paths that are opening up throughout the county. These paths provide bikers the necessary space to pursue their pastime in peace and comfort, reducing the risk of a critical biking accident on our roads. 

No one should come home injured due to the carelessness of another. Elected officials should continue working to ensure shared recreational areas are safe by adding bicycle paths to keep bikers to the right or adding speed bumps to slow down those on wheels.

Warm weather may be perfect for getting outside and having some fun, but the fun ends when someone gets hurt. Just a little bit of care and remembering public paths are meant to share can make for a better and safer day for everyone just trying to enjoy some recreational time.

And bikers, before you head for the road, don’t forget to put on your helmet!

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METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Even as I type this, I’m sure my mom, and the parents of people in their 40s and 50s, are going to laugh.

You see, my daughter turned 21 recently. For me, her age comes as a bit of a shock, a take-stock moment and a time warp enigma.

I get it. She’s lived 21 years, but, somehow, her reaching that age seems to have happened suddenly.

I know it’s not all about me, but it is in this column, so, hang with me for a few more minutes.

I don’t remember many of my birthdays when I was younger. At her third birthday, I’m pretty sure I didn’t stop and say to myself, “When I turned three, I was wishing with all my might for a Big Wheel.”

That probably was what I wanted, but I don’t remember thinking that. In fact, I don’t recall other landmark birthdays all that vividly, even though my parents invited my friends over, sang to me, and insisted that I make a “really good wish” before I blew out the candles.

What I remember from that age was my ambivalence. I was uncomfortable with all the attention, but I enjoyed the excitement of opening new presents. One year, all I wanted was basketballs, so I got three of them from my obliging social group.

So, back to our daughter. She earned this milestone birthday, leaving behind a trail of bread crumb memories.

On the day of our daughter’s birth, my wife insisted that I stay with her in the hospital no matter what was happening with my wife, so that we brought home the baby that had been “cooking” as we called it, for all those months.

It wasn’t hard to find our daughter, who has a distinctive birthmark and was exactly twice the weight of the baby next to her in the pediatric unit.

She went through numerous stages on the journey from that first miraculous day to now. When we moved out to a suburb from Manhattan, she took a walk through a nearby wooded path. An inchworm dangled from a tree and landed on her small, thin outstretched finger.

She carried it, slowly and carefully back to our house, offering to show this miracle to our new neighbors. Having lived their entire short lives in the suburbs, they didn’t relate to this city girl’s fascination with small samples of nature and returned to their driveway activities.

She took us with her on a journey that included brief visits to ballet studios (that ended abruptly) and to gymnastics floors (that also didn’t take). We spent considerably more time on hot softball fields and in confined volleyball gymnasiums, where ear-piercing whistles blended with teams celebrating the end of each point.

We also attended numerous concerts, including jazz bands, where she overcame stage fright to play a tenor saxophone solo.

We went through phases where nothing I said was right, funny or even worth sharing. The silent treatment, the lack of communication and the dubiousness with which she interacted with us helped prepare us for the moment when her younger brother exercised his own need to push us away and assert his independence.

So, here she is, at 21, driving a car, preparing for her senior year of college, making friends, gainfully employed during the summer, and filled with so much of the same wonder that defined her earlier years. In fact, these days, instead of carrying inchworms on her now manicured hands, she maintains several ecospheres filled with snails on a small table in her room.

When children act out, parents sometimes caution them that they may one day have a child just like them. In her case, I certainly hope so. I couldn’t wish anything better for our now 21-year-old.

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METRO photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but I tested positive last night for COVID,” was the text message from one of our staff in Wednesday’s morning mail. “My sister tested positive, and I was not feeling good so I tested. I am figuring I will work from home the rest of the week and should be OK to return Monday … I just have a headache and a really bad sore throat. No cough. [Not to worry] I wore my mask [this past] Monday and Tuesday at work because I was not feeling good.” 

These are the two ways the landscape for businesses has changed. 

First, at any moment, COVID can alter the day’s lineup. The wildly contagious coronavirus can attack anyone, even those who have been vaccinated, those who have also been boosted and those who have already suffered with a previous bout of the disease. No one is safe, unless they have stayed in a cave alone for over two years, and hence no establishment or sports team or orchestra is immune from shake up on a daily basis.

The second change is made possible by the ability to work remotely. Not every worker can do so. Conductors cannot drive trains remotely, sanitation workers cannot clean remotely and surgeons cannot remove an appendix remotely. At least not yet. But many jobs do lend themselves to being discharged from afar. And this has led to some unintended consequences.

Workers have discovered that they sometimes enjoy doing their jobs from home. Yes, they might miss the socializing that is a part of the office scene. And they might feel like they can come up with new ideas better in an in-person gathering. But they really like working on their own timetable, with time out for a walk or to throw in a wash. Of course, the typical work schedule is altered. They can sit at the computer well into the night, with no separation between work time and free time. And they can be with their families more, for better and worse. 

So some in my office, who can perform their jobs from home, are asking to do that. In fact, they are requesting and getting software that enables access to their desk computers at work. They can then tap into the key items they need to complete their tasks. That also suggests they are still there. Which reminds me of the early days, when I worked at a large corporation, and we might leave a few minutes early but hung our sweaters on the back of the desk chairs to give the impression we were returning. 

One staffer even asked if she could borrow a desk chair from the office. She says it makes her feel totally comfortable when working in her house. It used to be that workers tried to transform their office space into reminders of home, with photos, pillows, plants and the like. Now we have the opposite. Employees are transforming their home workspace into their offices.

As you can tell from the text I quoted, we have no expectation of sick days. We assume that if we are conscious, we can still produce whatever we are responsible for producing. Where before we might have had food trays brought to us in bed, now we have our laptops perched across our midriffs if we remain horizontal.

What will happen next?

For some, working remotely is a dream come true. My oldest grandson has a terrific job that can only be done remotely, and he feels immense freedom to live anywhere he chooses. That’s not so different from when I had just graduated from college and decided where I wanted to live, knowing that wherever I moved, I would be able to find a job because there were more jobs than people to fill them in the 1960s. For others, a hybrid work week seems ideal: the best of the office for two or three days, and no commuting the rest of the week. Only those with no choice may be peeved.

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Photo from Facebook

A growing divide has emerged between the people of the North Shore and the Long Island Rail Road, and it is time for the local community to bridge this gap.

In board rooms and public meetings throughout this area, local officials today express similar frustrations about their various dealings with this public railroad company.

On Monday night, Port Jefferson Village trustee Bruce Miller described the complications that arose during a recent meeting with LIRR reps as neither party could agree on a common path forward. A day later, Brookhaven and state officials traveled to Stony Brook train station, echoing the decades-old call for the electrification of the Port Jefferson Branch line.

Local elected officials are most familiar and best equipped to handle the plights of their constituents. Yet in communities throughout this area, our leaders are meeting resistance with LIRR, whose leadership changes too often. While LIRR rightly devotes much of its energies to the more heavily traveled Ronkonkoma Branch, the residents of the North Shore pay taxes and have an interest in this company, too. 

LIRR officials should be aware of the frequency of riders who travel inland to the main line in the center of the Island. This suggests residents here are rejecting the railways in their own backyard for a longer drive to the train station — albeit a faster and more direct  commute into Manhattan. The unintended consequences of this are greater congestion on our roadways and more pollution generated by cars. This burdensome commute impairs our quality of life, costing us more energy and placing unnecessary strain on our physical and mental health.

For decades, the people of this area have asked LIRR to electrify the Port Jefferson Branch. Today, as the cost of diesel fuel surges exponentially due to inflation, this transition is more necessary than ever before. Despite the preponderance of evidence that electrification will reduce air and noise pollution, that it will cut costs for the railroad and the taxpayer, and that it will deliver a better ride for the people of this community, electrification has been nothing more than a pipedream.

There is no better time than right now to electrify the line. With a flood of infrastructure stimulus cash from the federal government, the opportunity is ripe for the taking. We must thank our representatives who are fighting to secure a better ride and remind them to keep applying the pressure. 

At some point, LIRR must soon give in and when it does, it will be for the better.

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Wedding. Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We’re finally here.

These poor couples have had to wait for days, months and years to tie the knot in front of family and friends. It’s such a relief that we can all gather again, celebrating the love that binds two people forever and that may, if it hasn’t already, lead to children.

It seems that the list of dos and don’ts for weddings has changed, just as so many other parts of modern reality have altered the way we go about our lives.

Here are a few of the dos and don’ts, starting with the don’ts.

— Cough. Ever. If you have to cough, swallow it or make it sound like a strange laugh. No one wants to hear a cough, least of all at a wedding. Go outside to cough. Cough in the car. Cough into your hand like you’re saying something private and being discrete. Go to the edge of the parking lot and cough.

— Chew with your mouth open. No one wants to see the food you’re eating, especially not in the third year of COVID-19.

—  Point to the food and say how much better you could make it. Look, we know that you’ve lost a step on your social graces from being home so often. We know that you’ve spent a great deal of time cooking meals to your satisfaction. We know that you are a great admirer of your own food, your own voice, and your own way of doing things. Appreciate that someone else has made the food and will clean it up and that they do things differently than you do. You can have food you know you love as soon as you walk back into your fortress of solitude.

— Talk about politics. You’re not going to convince anyone who doesn’t agree with you already of your views. So, why bring it up? This isn’t the time to try to make a reasoned argument with relatives who only share genes and nothing else. Smile if they bring something up you find disagreeable.

— Complain about the weather. The bride, groom and the extended family have no control over the weather. If it’s too hot, get a drink. If it’s too cold, shift back and forth from one foot to the other or bring a sweater. The weather is either perfect, dramatic, lovely or dynamic.

— Talk about your own wedding. If people were there, they remember. If not, they don’t need you to compare what’s going on to what you did. Your wedding may have been lovely, but you’re not there right now.

— Point to someone else’s mask and ask them why they’re wearing it. Do whatever is comfortable for you. Don’t tell anyone else what to do because, well, that doesn’t work and it gets people angry. They do their thing, you do yours.

— Binge watch shows while you’re waiting for the ceremony to start. Yes, the invitation said the party would start at 7 p.m. and it’s now 7:18 p.m. So what? You’re there to celebrate other people and to witness this lovely moment. Netflix and other shows can wait. Live your life.

— Show pictures of your pet. Many of us added dogs, cats and fish, particularly during the pandemic.

Okay, so, here is a short list of dos:

— Give other people a chance to talk. Silence, periodically, is okay. You don’t need to fill every quiet moment, if there are any, with your opinions, thoughts and experiences.

— Ask someone to dance who seems eager for a partner. Grab your mother-in-law, your brother-in-law, or your something-in-law by the hand, lead him or her to the floor, smile, and appreciate the chance to dance.

— Remember that you won’t have to see many of these people until the next blessed event, whenever that is.

— Thank the bride, groom and their families for a lovely event. Even if you hated it, you’ve got some good stories to share and you gave your wonderful pets a short break from you.

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Pixabay photo

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Medical scientists released fantastic news Sunday that made me think of my father and weep. In a small trial of 18 patients with rectal cancer, who took a particular drug, the cancer totally vanished. My dad died of rectal cancer in 1975.

Dr. Luis A. Diaz Jr of Memorial Sloan Cancer Center was an author of the paper published in The New England Journal of Medicine explaining the results, according to The New York Times. He said he knew of no other study in which a treatment completely obliterated a cancer in every patient.

“I believe this is the first time this has happened in the history of cancer,” the NYT quotes Diaz as saying. The trial was sponsored by the drug company GlaxoSmithKline. My dad and all these other patients faced chemotherapy, radiation and surgery with possible colostomy bags as treatment for their cancer. Unlike my dad, with the benefit of the new drug, dostarlimab, 47 years later, they all seem to be cured, although only time will tell. So far, it has been three years. And none of the patients had “clinically significant complications.” The medicine was taken every three weeks for six months and cost $11,000 per dose.

“It unmasks cancer cells, allowing the immune system to identify and destroy them,” according to the NYT.

I guess we are thinking of our dads this month in particular since Father’s Day is coming quickly, and we need a gift for the occasion. This incredible breakthrough seems like the ultimate present for any fathers suffering from this disease, and of course for anyone else, too. But it has come too late for my adored dad.

My father, born in 1904, came to the City from the family’s Catskill dairy farm when he was 13. One of 9 children, “the middle child,” he would like to distinguish himself by saying he was sent off by his father to build his life since he was now considered an adult. He liked to tell us stories about his total ignorance of urban life.

A favorite concerned the boarding house in which he first rented a room. It was in a brownstone a block away from where his next older brother lived in Brooklyn. He had only shortly before arrived, had dutifully sat down to write a letter home explaining his new circumstances and had gone out as instructed by his landlady to mail the letter in the mailbox on the corner. Deed done, he turned around to return, only to discover that each building looked the same. He had no idea which held his room. Ultimately someone came out to find him.

He quickly found a job delivering packages to various parts of the city. But that proved a puzzle. He had a map and was able to figure out his destination for each delivery. He rode the buses so as not to lose his sense of navigation. But he could not understand why one time the bus would go where he wanted but other times would turn off and head in a different direction. So to be sure of winding up where he needed to go, he ran. He ran all over the city until he was fired. He was deemed to be too slow.

Another early instance of having arrived in an alien world happened when he followed his brother into a tiny room in a tall building. Surprised when the doors slid closed behind, he could feel the floor drop beneath his feet. Bending into a crouch, he prepared to cushion the shock of the landing when he realized the others in the space were staring at him. He was in his first encounter with an elevator.

Of course, he was the constant victim of teasing in the next office in which he worked. He still remembered when the office manager gave him a folder to bring to the stationery store down the block. Wise now, he retorted, “I’m surprised you would try to trick me, Miss Murphy. I know every store is stationary.”

My dad went on to become a successful businessman in Manhattan. But that’s a story for a different day.

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