BEHIND THE DOOR

Growing up in Brooklyn, there were many things that impressed me, both good and bad. Impressions came from the strangest places; often filling me with mysterious imaginary forms that filled my young mind.

It seems that most of these impressions came from older people, strangers and relatives that lived in times so far past that they seemed ancient to a 7 year old.

There was a lady that lived down the street from us, a wonderfully kind woman who was in her 50’s or 60’s, and had grown children. She was a friend of the family because she came from my grandmother’s hometown in Italy, so we thought of her and her family as our family.

In this woman’s home was a telephone, which sat in the strangest place. Being how we did not own a phone, phones were a novelty. This was a standard black rotary dial phone. But where it sat was weird to me. In this lady’s living room, in the wall was a niche, with an extended shelf that accommodated the phone. To me it seemed like the three-storied apartment building was built around this phone!

Then there was the mysterious home of Grandma Frances. Grandma owned the two-story building on Fulton Street, and she occupied the ground floor. The bottom floor was an interesting layout because it included an empty storefront, and a long split hallway that ran the length of the apartment and ended at a toilet.

It was the storefront that got my attention. It was locked from the street and had a locked side door in the first section of the split hallway. Peering through the dirt encrusted grimy windows I could see old hand tools, and a worktable. It was originally a carpenter’s shop, and the owner must have died leaving it as it was.

It seemed whenever I went to Grandma’s house, I would peer into the store and wonder what went on and who was it that had the place. I pictured an old man, with a beard, wearing an apron, something like Geppetto from Pinocchio. The mystery and intrigue of the abandoned storefront seemed to occupy my imagination, with all kinds of scenarios that played out, making up stories that had frightful endings and unknown ghosts who still occupied the store.

Then one day, the door was opened. Inside were Grandpa Ralph and Dad, cleaning it out and making repairs. Soon there were long tables and a freshness that destroyed my little world of intrigue. Dad was opening a gift shop! Olympia’s Gift Shop was soon in business, selling everything from house wares to candy, toys and Italian Ices. It was the down payment Dad would need to buy our house on Long Island!

Moving away, Grandma closed the store, and not soon after, Grandpa Ralph died. So where did Grandma hold the funeral? You bet, the store. Grandpa was laid out in the front of the store, in his coffin, dressed to the nines. The whole family gathered to say goodbye to Grandpa, and as an impressionable 10 year old by that time, I wondered if Grandpa was marked down or even on sale.