The Old Lady in the Window | Philip A. Farruggio

Philip A. Farruggio -- World News Trust

Dec. 22, 2014

For baby boomers like this writer, 50 years seemed to have gone by so quickly.

It's amazing how certain memories linger there, just hoping to be reignited with the flame of nostalgia. Whenever the late autumn chill hits me with its gray indifference, I always think back to my paper route in the fall of '65.

In those days there were a myriad of newspapers in New York. The mornings offered the choices of the NY Times, Herald Tribune, Daily News and Daily Mirror. Then, in the afternoons the late papers came out: The NY Post, Journal American and World Telegram & Sun... the latter being my paper route choice.

I started out at 12-years-old working for the NY Post, but the local delivery store near my house switched two years later to the World Telegram & Sun... so I did too. Who cared what paper I delivered, so long as I could keep the best route of them all. I say "best" not because it was the easiest (the ones with lots of apartment buildings were the easiest), rather because it covered Bedford Ave., which had a preponderance of beautiful one family homes.

Coming from the mindset of one who lived as a "renter," it was nice to see how the "better folks" lived in their single-family homes with well-kept little gardens in front. I guess it was the dreamer in me gliding by and fantasizing of coming home to one of these places each afternoon.

I had a big Schwinn Black Phantom bike, replete with a shock absorber over the front wheel. It only had one speed, not those fancy "racers" with three speed gears that were so popular. It was such a soft and pleasant ride (especially after I purchased a larger seat) as I floated through the streets each day.

Sitting here now writing of such memories, I can almost inhale the feeling of being so free and unencumbered by the restrictions of adulthood that most 15-year-old-boys felt. My parents did not indulge me with cash (we called it an allowance in those days), so I looked forward to earning my spending money with the paper route.

My route was the largest of them all, and the better I did on reliable service the better the tips on collection day. This meant getting the paper onto the top of the stoop as close to the front door as possible. Of course, being human and being 15, the cheapskates did not get that same service from me. They would have to go down the steps and retrieve their paper wherever in the hell I chose to throw it.

Oh yeah, I forgot to relate to you my reader, that each day, at the paper delivery store, we would all sit and fold our papers up before loading our sacks... so as to let them fly from our bikes to the stoops or doorways.

Late autumn in Brooklyn, N.Y., could get real chilly and damp if the sun escaped for the afternoon behind those gray monstrosities. The wind, as my friend Johnny Joseph's father would say, was really whipping as I went through my routine.

We didn't have the luxury in 1965 of having headphones (ear buds) to listen to music as we travelled about. We had our own thoughts to accompany us as we did our tasks alone. I liked that. I liked to be with my own "best friend"... me, as I went through the route, but halfway into it I did miss the camaraderie of someone else's company.

Well, one afternoon  I found it when I came to the house of the "old lady in the window." She would always be there, sitting by her front window as I pulled up on my bike. She looked as old as my grandmother, always with a cigarette in her hand, smiling my way. I would push down the kickstand and bring her paper up to the door.

At first, when I initially began with the World Telegram, I would just drop the paper at the doorway. Then, as time went on, she would open the door and take it from me, always with that smile and a nice "Thanks so much."

Finally, on this cold and clammy late autumn afternoon, she invited me in. She told me to have a seat and warm up a bit before continuing on my route. I took my beanie cap off and opened my winter coat a bit. She sat back down and continued to look over a crossword puzzle from the newspaper, as she puffed on an unfiltered Chesterfield cigarette.

"I like the Telegram's crossword puzzles, especially the Sunday ones," she said. I told her I really never got into crossword puzzles that much, and then dared to bum a cigarette. "Sure, why not? " she answered, and carefully took one out of the pack on the table, handing it to me. She held up her lighter and flicked it until I could ( clumsily I might add ) light up.

We sat there, for seems an eternity, just chatting about different things of no real consequence, until I finished my smoke. It was time to get back out to reality. She asked if I would like "one for the road" and I declined. Perhaps we both knew that I really didn't smoke, but she made me feel so important by that question. I waved from the bike and continued on my way.

Over the next few months, as the winter really set in with its anger, I would find myself stopping in to visit with her almost every afternoon. She would now have cookies for me to eat and, "Go ahead Philip, take a few for the road too."

We would sit there, smoking her Chesterfields, sharing things about each of our lives: Her children who were living far away, and my family and friends. She would always ask me to help her with the crossword puzzle when she encountered something that stumped her.

"My, you are pretty smart aren't you? You must be good in school Philip." I told her I was pretty good in school and expected to go to college. She smiled and told me, "I hope you are a reader Philip. A well-read person is one of the great virtues in life."

Leaving that front room of that house became more and more difficult for me on those cold winter days. I had met an adult who treated me, not as a 15-year-old,but as a peer. Imagine, someone older than my parents who saw me as an equal to her in every way!

Well, my school year finally ended, and with it my paper route. I was now 16 and able to get better-paying part-time jobs. My youthful foolishness caused me to forget about the old lady in the window... for awhile.

The next winter came upon us with a vengeance. One January night a blizzard hit Brooklyn and everything was under one foot of snow. The next morning Big Frank and I set out to earn some bucks by shoveling snow. We worked our way off of our block and set out for where the "rich people" lived, Bedford Avenue... where my paper route had been.

As we shoveled our way up that street, we were across from the old lady in the window's house. It was a beautiful sunny blue sky afternoon and she was not there sitting where she always sat at that time of day. I crossed the avenue and stood  gazing at the window. The venetian blinds were down.

A man appeared in the doorway of the house next door. "Can I help you son?" I asked where the old lady in the window was. "Oh, yeah, well, she passed away a few months ago. I think she was a chain smoker... it finally killed her I guess."

Big Frank yelled out to me "Are we gonna work or what!?" I just stood there, crying like a baby. My dearest friend was gone!

PA Farruggio

December 2014

(Philip A. Farruggio is son and grandson of Brooklyn, NYC longshoremen. He is a freelance columnist (found on Nation of Change Blog, Truthout.org, TheSleuthJournal.com, Worldnewstrust.com, The Intrepid Report, The Peoples Voice, Information Clearing house, Dandelion Salad, Activist Post, Dissident Voice and many other sites worldwide). Philip works as an environmental products sales rep and has been an activist leader since 2000. In 2010 he became a local spokesperson for the 25% Solution Movement to Save Our Cities by cutting military spending 25%. Philip can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.)