Working Life

Brooklyn 3 was a neighborhood of working people and there wasn't anyone who didn't work. You could see all the people without jobs you wanted walking around from the mental hospital and if that didn't encourage you to go to work and be grateful, nothing would.

Everyone knew where everyone worked. On our street, 878 Clarkson owned a produce business. 880 was us and our father ran a print shop at Pan American. 882 was shipping and receiving. 884 worked for the phone company; 886 at the Navy Yard; 888 were two secretaries; 890 worked in cargo at Idlewild airport; 892 was a cop.

888 was a household of two sisters, their two adolescent children, and the women's father. The sisters worked as secretaries in the city. Their father was retired and minded the house. This was an unorthodox lineup, but driven by necessity, and we all knew what that was.

We were particularly proud of our father because he worked in the city, for a big company everyone knew, in an office. He was the only guy on the block who wore a tie to work, unless you count the cop.

In those days Pan Am's offices were in Long Island City. In 1963, they moved to Manhattan, a gigantic building with their name on top. It meant prestige although to my father I think it meant most notably a shorter commute.

When he came home at night we kids would shout and run to the door and ride his legs and feet around. My mother never got the opportunity for that kind of greeting which of course is emblematic of the kind of deal women got. The men might have complained about work but you did not hear of them offering to trade places.