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Dear
Marty,
I have been receiving your newsletter for the last few years and I am
thrilled, no end, when I read about Far Rockaway, Edgemere, and Arverne.
The nostalgia touches my heart and I cannot help but smile.
Your picture of Ms. Craft was a "rip." Everyone who attended
the high school knew these teachers, their abilities, and their foibles
(of course, we were perfect). The amazing thing about the Rockaways was
its suburban nature amidst the image that we lived in the largest urban
center in the US. My friends and I would walk from deep in Bayswater to
my house on New Haven Avenue at 12:00 at night, never thinking that it
was unsafe. When we got to "The State Diner" someone we knew
would be outside or inside, and we would chat for awhile and then walk
the rest of the way alone.
I lived in Arverne first, and my grandparents lived on 72nd Street. My
grandfather would walk to the shul on 67th Street in the early morning.
When I saw the picture of the shul, I could picture my grandfather leaving
the shul with his wide brimmed hat after a morning minyan, carrying the
blue-velvet bag that encased his prayer materials. I was walking to the
grocery store on Rockaway Boulevard for my mother when I saw him leaving,
and we walked together towards the grocery. I still have his siddur, and
I remember feeling so close to him at that moment.
I moved to New Haven Avenue when I was 14. I met my first husband in the
PS 215 playground after school. We were both 15 years old. We were loyal
Rockaway citizens, and we lived on Beach 9th Street and Caffrey Avenue
intending not to succumb to "white flight." But when my mother
was robbed in our own home and my daughter's bicycle was stolen from my
porch, I "gave in" and moved to Lynbrook.
I will never forget the days when my father and I would walk from New
Haven Avenue to Central and Mott to get the Sunday paper on Saturday night,
talking about the next week's activities and reviewing the week that had
passed. What innocent bliss! We would pass all the stores on Central,
closed of course, and I would window shop as we walked and talked.
Thanks Marty for the opportunity to remember and enjoy. I marvel at your
perseverance.
Marsha(Cohen)Menahem, Class of 1961
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