1980-85
196 Prince St., second floor front. (Upstairs from the landlady, Mrs. Ermelino.)
Writer.
I wasn’t there in the ’70s, but I missed it as soon as I had to leave. I moved uptown after five years, when the rent finally began to catch up to the wonderful locale. Prince was, and still is, my favorite street in NY.
Those infuriating car alarms! And the tourist crowds even then were thick as spawning salmon on weekends.
My landlady, Mrs. Ermelino, leaning out of her window on a little pillow, yelling at people who wouldn’t clean up after their dogs: "Hey! You! Why don’t you go back to Jersey!"
Coming to live in New York was a dream, and I hoped to be published. I intended to give it a year. After eight years, and four books, I came back south to be closer to family. I’m so glad I had the nerve to move to New York, and the sheer luck to live in SoHo, but it frightened my family to death.