On Friday, I was sitting in the kitchen in Block Island with my ex-husband, with whom I lived for 20 years at 98 Riverside Drive. He had dropped by to give me a new book about a diary found in the trunk room of 98 Riverside (see redleatherdiary), when I got a call from a friend at 98 Riverside (sixteenth floor) that the friend who first introduced us to the building (fourth floor) had died suddenly. I put the book in my bag and left for 98 Riverside, where I am now (fifteenth floor) surrounded by trunks that I rescued from the basement.
I, too, am a writer, and I have read the book, and I am happy for the young woman who discovered the diary, and the old woman who had written it. I am sad for my friend who lost her husband, a writer, so untimely, and for myself, who lost a friend of three decades. There are hundreds of stories in 98 Riverside, and these are but two of them.
3 comments:
Claudia:
Thanks for being my friend for more than 30 years -- hopefully for many more to come. We will all miss Frank, and have wonderful memories of great times together. This is a very sad time for us all.
Debby
Yesterday, when I talked to my brother about Frank’s passing, he said that he can’t imagine 98 RSD without him, it would be like Christmas without Santa Claus. For my entire life I have known Frank, Sam and Debby. Almost everyday of my childhood I saw at least one of them, though most often, Sam. But I knew they were there if I needed them. When my mom was away, when my parents divorced, at Thanksgiving at our house and for potato pancakes at Toby’s. They were always there, inside 4D, an apartment that mimics ours on 15D and Toby, Ali and Delia’s on 16D.
When we were little Sam and I took baths together, ate at the little yellow table together, and were occasionally allowed to play on Frank’s keyboard, though only if we washed our hands first. Deb took us to the playground and to ride bikes and as we got older, I took Sam to school. Then older still, Sam was my cross-continental physics coach and I got an A. All along we all returned to 98 RSD, to Frank and Deb, Toby, and the sometimes insufferable elevator men. Our families have always been, and will always be, intertwined. I would not have it any other way.
I remember getting a call from Frank about two years ago while I was still living at 98 RSD. “Hannah,” he said, “I need to come upstairs with some shirts.” So Frank came upstairs with his shirts and explained the dilemma: He had to meet Debby and some of her friends in about an hour and the problem was that she was still at work and thus, couldn’t tell him which shirt matched with his pants. Frank didn’t much care if his pants matched his shirt, but he wanted to please Debby, still after all those years. I will always remember this simple, respectful endeavor. The truth was, neither shirt matched.
But he tried.
My heart goes out to Debby and Sam, their loss is the greatest, but then again so has been their joy.
I will miss Frank and his heartfelt laughter and I know that he will miss all of us at 98RSD.
I'm flattened. My heart is with Debby and Douglas and all of you.
I'm told that the afterlife is a really big pre-war West Side apartment, with nine coats of paint on the molding. It has an an African gray chatting somewhere.
And now, jazz.
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