We were the first in our building to have a color TV. My father won it in a sales contest. On July 20, 1969 we sat in our living room with Freddy Sacco and his parents to see the moon landing. I remember Mela Sacco crying "they're on the MOON". I don't recall why watching that on a color TV was important. But I do remember the status. The first night of color, the Saccos were in our living room waiting to see "the peacock"...Chanel 4 .... Vivian and Marie would bring their kids upstairs to watch cartoons in color, The Wizard of Oz was a multi family event....
Does anything hold that wonder these days? That element of excitement? We've gained so much, but lost twice that,....We expect, no, we DEMAND technology to advance at light speed. We buy $500 phones every two years (hell, TMobile lets you upgrade every SIX MONTHS) because its taking too long to load YouTube. The bells and whistles are almost meaningless, a blur of technology that can't even keep up with itself.
If not for the internet I would never have seen or heard from many of you again. I would never have met some wonderful people all over the US and abroad.
But I long for just one more night of wonder in that fifth floor walkup with the Saccos....watching color TV and waiting for the peacock.

I used to walk around the neighborhood ….after the clubs closed, bars were winding down, friends said goodbye.
There was nothing to fear back then. Didn't matter if it was summer, winter or in between…there was just the echo of my heels hitting pavement, the click of the traffic light, the sound of my breath. I can still remember which buildings had the most interesting design on their facade. Ornamental masonry around doorways, faces, gargoyles, tenement names engraved in stone, letters etched backwards. Some had wrought iron fences leading to stairways to basements. I’d let my hand run across the tops, tracing the fleur de lis with my fingers. Sometimes I’d stop to sit on a stoop. There I would follow the loops and swirls under the banisters. A light would go on behind closed drapes, muffled conversation, and then darkness. I would think of the people who lived behind those drapes, their family structure, what they were doing. Were they sleeping? Watching TV? Reading a book?...Making love?
Were they lonely?

The sidewalk had old circles of gum and other things I’d rather not dwell on. I used to wonder how many generations of Juicy Fruit were accumulated there. Chalk, paint, cracks…break your mother’s back…a sparkle of broken glass like diamonds strewn towards the beginnings of a tree that was daring the concrete to stop it. Breathing in the aroma of baking bread (was it late night or early morning?) I’d start to head for home. The closer to I got to Prospect, the slower I walked. As I came up to my courtyard, I’d stop to listen to the sounds of the night. Sitting on the step, I’d tell myself “five more minutes” If I was honest I’d admit I just didn't want to go home, not in five minutes, five hours, or five years. I’d keep walking. To where I didn't know and so I’d stand, turn and walk upstairs, stopping at each landing until the sky became that translucent indigo that said morning was here and there was nowhere to hide.