Lost in Yonkers

Getty Square in Yonkers, New York

Getty Square in Yonkers, New York

I love my childhood home — Yonkers, N.Y., a gritty industrial city on the banks of the lower Hudson River, where I lived from age 3 through the end of my college years. I’ve still got family there.

I’ve many fond memories of the place. Every time I visit, including last week, I take time to drive through my old neighborhoods in South Yonkers: Seminary Hill, where I lived in the now-razed Mulford Gardens public housing complex; Park Hill, the old Italian neighborhood, where I went to school and where my father grew up; Nodine Hill, which had many Eastern European families when I lived there; and Getty Square, where I spent many boyhood hours at the main branch of the Yonkers Public Library and  fondly remember shopping at the three department/variety stores at the heart of that old business district, Green’s, Grant’s and Woolworth’s.

Getty Square and the neighborhoods have seen better days. There’s a lot of crime and poverty. Much of the housing is rundown and dilapidated.  It wasn’t an affluent place when I lived there years ago. And it’s less affluent now.

The ethnic and racial make-up of South Yonkers had changed, too. Both Park Hill and Nodine HIll now have populations that are mostly Latino, the latest in wave in the waves of immigrants who have come to seek a better life in America — just like my Italian grandparents when they left their impoverished and isolated village of Scerni in the province of Chieti.

Deep racial and ethnic divisions in my old city resulted several decades ago in traumatic battles in federal court over housing and school desegregation and equality. Sadly, as I was reminded again recently, those racial and ethnic divisions — and the accompanying ignorance and hatred — still remain.

A few years ago, I discovered a Facebook page called South Yonkers Photos, which featured great old photos of my old stomping grounds — now-defunct movie theaters and stores, old buses I rode so frequently, buildings now fallen victim to the wrecking ball…great stuff…I don’t know who created and runs the site, but I’ve loved visiting the page and looking at the vintage images of bygone days in a city that, in a certain sense, no longer exists.

Recently, a photo of a school play at St. Mary’s School prompted a comment from someone who remembered taking part in those school plays — including one in which some pupils were painted in blackface and performed an Al Jolson number, and then had to work home through Getty Square while still wearing that offensive makeup.

Another “friend” of the Facebook site then opined (I paraphrase) that it was a good thing that back in those days African-Americans were still referred to not as black people but as “colored.” To which she added: “LOL!”

Then,  a few days ago, the proprietor of the Facebook site posted a photo of thousands of Latino people, probably Mexican, celebrating Cinco de Mayo. The caption described the festivities as taking place in Getty Square.

The clear implication was that this was a commentary on the notion that Spanish-speaking immigrants have “taken over” or “overrun” or even “ruined” our beloved, old, used-to-be-mostly-white city of Yonkers.

I posted a comment on this thinly-veiled racism, calling it insensitive at best, bigoted at worst.

The only response: The same woman who posted the commented about “colored” people replied with a sarcastic slur written in pidgin Italian!

When I checked back a few hours later to see whether the unidentified person behind “South Yonkers Photos” on Facebook had perhaps risen to the occasion, had maybe taken a stand on the side of tolerance and against racial and ethnic hate, what did I find?

I found that I’d been “unfriended” — blocked from access to the Facebook page.

Here’s a quote for these small-minded people to ponder as they seethe and stew and angrily snipe at anyone who doesn’t look like them or speak like them or believe like them. It’s the greatest commandment, the most golden of rules: “Love one another.”

Washington (Irving) and Rip Van Winkle slept here!

I’m really looking forward to a pair of upcoming events:

On Thursday, January 26th, at 7 p.m., I’ll be at the Warner Library in Tarrytown, N.Y., reading from and talking about “Rip,” my modern-day parody of Washington Irving’s “Rip Van Winkle.”

In his later years, Irving lived at Sunnyside, his home on the Hudson River in Tarrytown. Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, made famous in Irving’s take of the Headless Horseman, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” is in Tarrytown. And the Rip character in my send-up of the original works as a toll collector on the Tappan Zee Bridge, which is nearby the Warner Library.

Try to make it if you’re in the New York-New Jersey-Connecticut area. Admission is free. Books will be available for purchase and I’ll be available to sign copies.

Soon after spring’s sprung — on Saturday, March 31, at 2 p.m., I’ll be a guest of the Washington Irving Inn in Tannersvlle, N.Y. right in the heart of the Catskills, where ol’ Rip Van Winkle took his fateful nap. I’ll be reading from “Rip,” and talking about about both Washington Irving and how I came to write a parody of one of his most beloved and famous works. The inn’s website is www.washingtonirving.com

To read more about the book, visit www.blackangelpress.com

To order the book (either the actual book or the Kindle edition), go to http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_11/180-2933089-2944910?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=digiovanni+rip&sprefix=digiovanni+%2Caps%2C248

 

 

Don’t get caught napping! “Rip” now available as Kindle edition

Hooray! My short novel, “Rip,” a 20th-century parody of “Rip Van Winkle” (Rip is a toll collector on the Tappan Zee Bridge in Tarrytown…he and his ne’er-do-well friends, the Sleepy Hollow Boys, do battle with a group of feminists who take up the cause of Rip’s wife….) is now (finally!) available as a Kindle edition.

Here’s the link to obtaining a million dollars worth of laughs for just $4.99….That’s less than a Big Mac Meal….Way less than going to the movies…Less than (can you believe it?) the Sunday New York Times…In other words, don’t get caught napping like old Rip Van Winkle — buy your Kindle edition now!

http://www.amazon.com/Rip-ebook/dp/B006VOS6AU/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1326222972&sr=8-2

A bookish boy returns home

Yes, I was a bookish boy. And I was a baseball boy, first baseman and outfield in the Park Hill Little League. That’s why, when I was 9 years old and discovered the majestic old main branch of the Yonkers, N.Y., Public Library, at the corner of North Broadway and Nepperhan, I naturally gravitated to shelves where I was soon afflicted with my first reading addiction: a series of old, 1950s-vintage sports biographies of New York City baseball stars for the Yankees, Dodgers and Giants.

The Dodgers and Giants were long-gone to the West Coast, but these books had stayed behind. I read biographies of famous Yankees like Yogi and Whitey, as well as Monte Irvin, Carl Furillo, Pee Wee Reese, Duke Snider (I still remember that he owned an AVOCADO FARM in California), Whitey Lockman…the list goes on, and I’m sure it still brings a twinge to the heavy hearts of jilted fans of the “Jints” and “Dem Bums” of those exotic mythical lands called Coogan’s Bluff and Flatbush.

I devoured each and every one of several dozen sports biographies. Then I moved on the books about the history of Yonkers, which fascinated me then and still does now, with its Dutch origins and its hardscrabble industrial past, with its waves of immigrants and its majestic setting on the Hudson River, my City of Seven Hills, with its glories and its tragedies, where my ancestors are buried, my City of Gracious Living.

And then I discovered the library’s fiction section — thousands of novels! — and my whole world changed.

Last week I had the pleasure and honor of giving a reading at the main branch of the Yonkers Public Library, offering excerpts from my novella “Rip,” signing copies, answering questions about my writing, and meeting some very nice people.

It’s not the library I grew up with, a majestic granite structure, built with Carnegie money, which was torn down for a highway expansion. The new main branch is a shiny new four- or- five-story state-of-the-art facility, complete with huge windows offering stunning views of the Hudson River and its Palisades.

But my visit still conjured memories of dark winter afternoons when I’d leave the library with an armload of books, heading home for supper, walking a few blocks up Nepperhan past the Polish Community Center to Elm Street, then trudging four blocks up steep Nodine Hill, the city water tower looming at the crest of the steep incline, passing grocery stores and dry cleaners and pizza places and the hardware store and the bread bakery, until my books and I reached Oliver Avenue and home.

I made that walk and carried books away from that old library so many times that I really can remember every step along the way — but not once, I’m certain, did it ever occur to me that I might write books, that people in my hometown might want to hear me read from my books, ask me about how I wrote them, ask me to sign copies…I never imagined that someday one of my books would reside on a shelf at the Yonkers Public Library…Maybe even now there’s someone walking home with an armful of books on a dark winter afternoon, and maybe one of those books is mine.

Great writing! Great price! Great holiday gift!

My novel “Rip,” a parody of Washington Irving’s classic “Rip Van Winkle,” is available at these locations:

Nighthawk Books, 212 Raritan Ave., Highland Park, N.J.
Book Garden, 26 Bridge Street, Frenchtown, N.J.
Half Moon Books, 35 North Front St., Kingston, N.Y.
Whimsies Incognito, 35 South Broadway, Tarrytown, N.Y.
Market St. Market, 95 Market St., Lowell, Mass.

If you don’t live in the vicinity of one of these stores, you can order “Rip” online:

Great holiday gift (perfect stocking stuffer for the readers on your gift list)! Great price (just $12.95)!

Amazing! My book’s on Amazon!

My novella “Rip,” the funniest book since Dick Cheney’s autobiography, is now available for purchase through Amazon! (It’s only available in print form at the moment; Kindle edition should be available within a few days).

It isn’t just a great work of humor/satire/parody/stock market tips/advice to the lovelorn/travel writing/political analysis/historical fiction/zombie lore/fashion forecasts.

It’s also only $12.95, about the price of a large pizza (without toppings), which means “Rip” is the perfect Christmas gift for your more bookish friends, who will (if they find my book under their tree or in their stocking which they’ve hung by their chimney with care in hopes that Nicholas DiGiovanni’s “Rip” will be there) think that you are right on the cutting edge of American, nay, world literature.

They will be wrong, of course, but let’s indulge them (and me) in this nice fantasy!

Here’s what Black Angel Press publisher Steven Hart had to say about “Rip” —

RIP VAN WINKLE MEETS THE SIXTIES (AND FEMINISM)
IN A HILARIOUS RETELLING OF WASHINGTON IRVING’S VENERABLE TALE

Imagine Washington Irving sitting down for a friendly drink and spinning yarns with Kurt Vonnegut and Thomas Pynchon, and you’ll get an idea of the flavor of Rip, Nicholas DiGiovanni’s satirical retelling of Irving’s venerable story about ne’er-do-well Rip van Winkle.

DiGiovanni brings Rip van Winkle into the Sixties, finds him gainful employment as a toll-taker on the Tappan Zee Bridge, and makes his long suffering wife a charter member in the feminist movement just starting to sweep the country.

There’s a lot more packed into this story, but you’ll just have to read it for yourself. Suffice to say that once you’re done, you’ll understand why novelist Christian Bauman (In Hoboken, The Ice Beneath You) calls DiGiovanni “a master storyteller.”

This handsomely produced Black Angel Press edition includes the full text of Washington Irving’s original tale, giving readers the chance to savor two great storytellers at once.

Visit www.blackangelpress.com and you’ll find a link to order the book through Amazon. You’ll also find links to “About the Author,” “About the Book” and “About Black Angel Press,” as well as information about other Black Angel titles.

Is it tweeting on Twitter or twitting on Tweeter?

As part of marketing plans for my novellas “Rip” (a modern-day parody of “Rip van Winkle”) and “The Dogs of Arroyo” (a spooky and surreal parable set in Puerto Rico) which both have a publication target date of November 15, I’ve started a Twitter feed.

So, if you’re a tweeter or a reader of tweets (to paraphrase either Shakespeare or Groucho, I forget which), and would be kind enough to “follow” my tweets (does that sound funny to you, too?!), you’ll find updates about the status of both projects — and other writing-related matters — at @nidigiovanni as well as at @vcca, which is the feed for Virginia Center for the Creative Arts, which has kindly offered (and has already begun) to publicize the books, which are being published by a new independent publisher, Black Angel Press.

More information is and will be available, too, via this blogsite as well as at kickstarter.com and blackangelpress.com

Off to a pretty good (kick)start

Don't let this happen to me -- awakening from a long and troubled slumber to find that not enough people pledged to help support publication of "Rip," my hilarious modern-day "retelling" of Washington Irving's classic "Rip van Winkle!"

Just four days after launching my kickerstarter.com project — seeking $1,200 in funding from backers to publish my novella “Rip,” a satirical (and incredibly funny and remarkably witty) modern-day “retelling” of Washington Irving’s classic “Rip van Winkle” — we’re already just shy of 20 percent of the goal.

Thanks! Please keep on pledging…or consider pledging if you haven’t yet…especially if you’re the trend-setting type who likes to get in on the ground floor of publication of what will someday be hailed as an literary classic so that you can brag about it about it at fancy cocktail parties or at informal neighborhood barbecues (I don’t care which platform you choose, just so you talk about the book).

You can be part of American literary history by pledging as little as $1, although I’d encourage would-be backers to pledge at least enough to earn one of the pledge “rewards” which range from a copy of the book to a signed copy of the opening pages of the manuscript to having a minor character in the book named after you (I’d recommend having your name assigned to one of the toll collectors who work with Rip on the Tappan Zee Bridge in Tarrytown — or perhaps one of the feminists who take up the cause of Rip’s wife).

Here’s a few things to keep in mind. Payment of pledges is safe and secure. When you click on the tab to make a pledge, I’m told, you’re asked to create a kickstarter “account,” which basically means entering your email address (so you can be notified when the funding goal is reached and so you can receive your pledge “reward”) and a user name. After that, the payment via credit or debit card is through an account I’ve set up with Amazon with kickstarter.

Your card is not charged or debited until the funding goal is reached – if it’s not reached, then all pledges are wiped off the slate and I will head off to the Catskill Mountains with my trusty dog and my blunderbuss, and I will drink a mysterious grog forced upon me by little Dutchmen, and I will sleep for many years and then awaken to find that my incredibly funny and remarkably witty novella “Rip” still hasn’t been published.

To read more about the project, visit http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/858629110/publication-of-rip-a-parody-of-the-rip-van-winkle

Journey through the past

The two of us were driving through the streets of Trenton, New Jersey, traveling back in time. In the state capital’s once-thriving shopping district, what were once busy and popular department stores were now cut-rate dollar stores catering to the city’s poor population. Many of the stores were closed or even boarded-up. Many of the buildings were in disrepair but some retained the fading aura of past glories, which my companion recalled vividly and fondly. The afternoon sun glinted off the state Capitol’s golden dome and reflected on the scene below.

Where you came from is just as important as where you are and where you’re going — maybe more important.

The year I was born, my young father was serving in the U.S. Air Force, stationed at Maguire AFB adjacent to Fort Dix. I was born at the base hospital. My father and mother brought me home to their first apartment together, on the third floor of a house on what was then a nice street in a nice neighborhood, West State Street.

I’d never seen the house. My mother still remembered the address. Here’s the house on West State Street:

My first home on West State Street, Trenton, N.J.

When I telephoned my mother that day she recalled taking a bus from this house to a downtown department store to buy her young husband a Christmas gift — a rod and reel! She even remembered that the reel was green — for what’s truly important can always be seen, clear as clear can be, even through the foggy ruins of time.

After a few months of hearing my “I’m hungry!” crying and “”Change me!” wailing, the homeowners asked my young parents to find other accomodations. So they moved to the second floor of a four-apartment building on Greenwood Avenue just over the Trenton border in Hamilton:

My second home on Greenwood Avenue near Trenton

My mother remembered that two women of questionable morals lived in a downstairs apartment. It was and still is a busy avenue in a not-very glamorous neighborhood. There was a gas station across the street; now there’s a laundromat. But there is where my young mother and father celebrated their first Thanksgiving and first Christmas.

Both places are now in crumbling or already crumbled neighborhoods. The streets are dangerous at night. The people who live there are poor. But I hope and believe that in those homes love and dreams still abide.

Where you came from can determine where you’re going. It’s important to go back there once in a while.

Manifesto

Nighthawks by Edward Hopper

MANIFESTO
It feels like you’re buried beneath the rubble of your own ground zero. It feels like you’ll never get out. It feels like if you breathe too deeply or even twitch a muscle, even blink, that the rubble may shift and crush you.

You are aware of heroic rescue attempts. You appreciate the effort. Now you think they should go home to their families and friends, save themselves before they themselves get hurt.

From the rented second-floor apartment in the wilds of New Jersey you can hear the Turnpike’s endless hum and the mournful horns of trains speeding down the NJ Transit tracks….The woeful horns and droning hum are a mocking fanfare trumpeting the arrival of love…the finale is discordant and flat and empty and unbearable…like the pain of remembering great love that suddenly vanished — but not without a trace.

Shall you tell of when hope floated on the horizon, when love whispered “Hey, I’m still possible,” when tenderness and affection and two souls recognizing each other were not a fantasy or wishful thinking and these things were suddenly recognizable again even when they seemed beyond recognition, whenthe universe once again revealed its great secret — that a loving embrace and two hearts beating in close proximity hold all the answers to life’s mystery, that the answer might be revealed in a kiss.

Shall you say whether this was decades ago? Or just months ago? Or just last weekend? Or next weekend? Just months from now? Decades into the future? All of the above?

You are tired of hearing your sad laments filling the airwaves every time a passing car zips by with windows down and music blaring…
Here are the songs you keep hearing:

Behind every beautiful thing there’s been some kind of pain…Ain’t looking for nothing in anyone’s eyes…Don’t even hear a murmur of a prayer…It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there…
My love for you is like a sinking ship/My heart is on that ship out in mid-ocean…

Mix in “Girl From the North Country,” Van Morrison’s “Someone Like You” and Andy Williams singing “Moon River” and you’ve got something to listen to when you’re in that late-night mood and there’s a brilliant half moon in the starless sky and a truck horn blares and it’s three in the morning and two riders are approaching and the wind begins to howl and it makes the lights flicker and you hear a door open and footsteps on the stairs and you wonder if it’s someone coming for you and you hope someone’s coming for you but you suspect there’s no one here for you and you finally stop listening and finally stop hoping and finally fall into the sleep of the sleepers, which is a restless farewell but also a great escape.

There’s a glimmer of light through the rubble — perhaps the light from a rescuer’s lamp — but now the light’s gone dim…let the lighted lamp pass…you’re tired of calling for help and saying “Here I am…come back…I’m over here…” Either you’ll dig your own way out of the debris. Either the one you hope will search for you will pull you from the rubble. Or perhaps you’ll abide and reside amid the rubble for the rest of your rubble-strewn days.

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