I am not a native New Yorker, should I care? But my grandpa and papa were,
You know I can still remember those crazy stories told by papa's neighborhood gossiper.
Louie the bookie, Benny the greaser, Gina the hooker, Joey rubber-nose and his hoods,
Grandpa warned papa, stay away from those evil people, for your own personal good.
I want you to have an education, be smart and make lots of honest money,
So you don't have an accent like your papa, nor have people look at you funny.
Yes my son Life can be cruel in New York City, but I know you will survive,
If you always embrace the memories of my teachings, they will become your drive.
As the door slammed behind me, I turned and looked at the fine man my son had become,
I lowered my head and whispered, thank you papa for everything that you have done.

Enough of this sentimentality, enough of these tears and the lump in my throat,
The historybox.com commands my curiosity; let me get paper to write down the notes.
The History box, The History box.com, let's see, now where is it that I should start?
I remember Papa saying he was born in East Harlem somewhere down by Jefferson Park.
I'll look at the New York City Main Directory, maybe there is something there for me,

I see Immigration, Harlem, Tenement living, helpful hints to finding your family tree.
As I began to explore each section, the knowledge I was gaining, made me feel more and more at ease,
I felt sad for those immigrant families, living in tenement housing amid the crime, filth and disease.
The New Yorkers battled in riots, taking to the streets their religious protests and political views.
Broken heads and dead bodies always seem to find their way to the Police Gazette and the news.
"The Sins of New York," wow! What a fantastic title, all that dirt. A tabloid, this I got to read.
Restell The Female Abortionist, The Merry Yuletime Murder, the 1840's were not good years indeed.
There was always a financial crisis, depressions, multiple panics, and that terrible crash of 1929.
So many wealthy people who lost their fortunes found a place among the masses on the unemployment lines.

Oh my gosh, here it is East Harlem, the Feast of Mt. Carmel, thugs and gangs of New York and more…..
They're all here down by papa's old neighborhood; no wonder his stories were never a bore.
La Marqueta, the Boys Club, the Puerto Ricans and the Italians, over turfs were always at war.
Spaghetti and meatballs mingled with arroz con gandules cooking, spread delicious aromas to the corridors
Latin music blasting, mothers from the windows screaming, Oh! There's domestic violence again on the third floor.
The old Irish man never came back with his singing, with a yard full of rats and garbage galore?
The Feast of Mt. Carmel, down on First Avenue, at one time in attendance there were 50,000 or more,
They’re all described in Miriam’s memoir of the old neighborhood, to be read by the visitor.

Papa was good at playing stickball, while grandpa would drink and play cards with his friends.
The compatriots would reminisce their times in the old country, only those that lived it can comprehend.
The immigrants struggling to assimilate to the new world, while desperately clinging to the old,
Finding themselves in complete isolation, they seek out their countrymen baring their souls,
I never knew New York City had such a rich history, living in the suburbs it’s a life that one does not see,
I know those days of the past are long gone and forgotten, but I am grateful to the historybox.com, in reliving them for me.

A VISITOR