Thursday, January 11, 2018


Years ago, growing up in Brooklyn, Mom and Dad took the time to teach me my address and our downstairs neighbor’s telephone. It seems of the three tenants in the apartment, only the middle floor tenant had a phone and so any phone messages were filtered through that tenant.

If you needed to get a doctor to call back, you gave the phone number of the lady who would call us down to answer our call. Sometimes we would go down to her apartment and make a call or go to the corner candy store and make it through a phone booth.

Recently I was thinking of those times and the phone number came back to me for some reason. I wondered if that number was still in use in Brooklyn and decided t call the number and see.

So, I dialed the number and waited, finally someone answered.


“Hello. I know it’s been 62 years, but are there any messages for me?”


“Never mind”

I guess there weren’t any messages for me after 62 years.


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