2423 North 5th Street, Philadelphia, Pa. was a three-story row house in West Kensington. This was the home of my grandparents, Mary and Michael Fecinko, and their three surviving children, Irene, my mother, my Aunt Mary, and my Aunt Agnes. The other children died of the Spanish flu.
The home was later bought by my Aunt Agnes, Uncle Joe, and cousin Rosemary. It occupied 1960 square feet with an enclosed entry foyer to hold raincoats, umbrellas, and muddy shoes. There was fine woodwork throughout the house and high ceilings in the living areas.
Between the home and the neighbors was an alleyway leading to a small backyard. The alley was barely wide enough for one person to walk through at a time. It provided an unexpected sanctuary from the bustle and danger on the street. It was primarily used by my uncle to take the trash out to the sidewalk on the designated day.
The house was heated by coal which was delivered by truck and dumped via a chute into the bin in the basement. My uncle would shovel the chunks into the furnace whose fire would deliver warmth to the rooms above.
The residence occupied a sliver of a white working-class neighborhood. My Uncle Joe would return from his job at the Schmidt’s brewery and settle in for an evening of reading the paper and watching a small screen black and white tv. My Aunt Agnes, a nineteen-fifty’s housewife, would putter around in her housedress, and occasionally walk to the small store at the end of the block for groceries and to chat with her neighbors. My cousin Rosemary, already a teenager when I was born, was in and out of the house between hanging out with her friends.
There were no driveways in such a congested area, so street parking was essential to the one-car families. Forget reserved spots, you grabbed what you could, although the tradition of leaving a lawn chair or trashcan in front of your house was mostly honored as ‘dibbs.’
Three marble steps led to the front door. These steps also doubled as seating on a warm night as neighbors talked about their day and current events, after sweeping their front walk.
Crime eventually encompassed the neighborhood as those with less income and opportunity replaced families seeking the suburbs with their promise of large lots and quieter surroundings. My aunt and uncle stayed through difficult times, careful of where and when they walked or even ventured out to their car.
In 1960, the Eagles played at Franklin Field for the NFL championship. No sports network televised the home game, so my uncle, entreated to bring his young nephew along, drove his sedan around the neighborhood streets to listen to the play-by-play on the AM car radio. The grey car had bench seats on which you could slide into the dashboard if the brakes were applied unexpectedly. The doors were also thick enough to stop a bullet.
We were paused at a red light when Chuck Bednarik landed on Jim Taylor at the ten-yard line and wouldn’t get off until the final seconds ticked down to the Eagles victory, the only playoff game Green Bay coach Vince Lombardi lost.
The ride back to 2423 North 5th street was windows-down as we enjoyed our personal victory parade.
The home was later bought by my Aunt Agnes, Uncle Joe, and cousin Rosemary. It occupied 1960 square feet with an enclosed entry foyer to hold raincoats, umbrellas, and muddy shoes. There was fine woodwork throughout the house and high ceilings in the living areas.
Between the home and the neighbors was an alleyway leading to a small backyard. The alley was barely wide enough for one person to walk through at a time. It provided an unexpected sanctuary from the bustle and danger on the street. It was primarily used by my uncle to take the trash out to the sidewalk on the designated day.
The house was heated by coal which was delivered by truck and dumped via a chute into the bin in the basement. My uncle would shovel the chunks into the furnace whose fire would deliver warmth to the rooms above.
The residence occupied a sliver of a white working-class neighborhood. My Uncle Joe would return from his job at the Schmidt’s brewery and settle in for an evening of reading the paper and watching a small screen black and white tv. My Aunt Agnes, a nineteen-fifty’s housewife, would putter around in her housedress, and occasionally walk to the small store at the end of the block for groceries and to chat with her neighbors. My cousin Rosemary, already a teenager when I was born, was in and out of the house between hanging out with her friends.
There were no driveways in such a congested area, so street parking was essential to the one-car families. Forget reserved spots, you grabbed what you could, although the tradition of leaving a lawn chair or trashcan in front of your house was mostly honored as ‘dibbs.’
Three marble steps led to the front door. These steps also doubled as seating on a warm night as neighbors talked about their day and current events, after sweeping their front walk.
Crime eventually encompassed the neighborhood as those with less income and opportunity replaced families seeking the suburbs with their promise of large lots and quieter surroundings. My aunt and uncle stayed through difficult times, careful of where and when they walked or even ventured out to their car.
In 1960, the Eagles played at Franklin Field for the NFL championship. No sports network televised the home game, so my uncle, entreated to bring his young nephew along, drove his sedan around the neighborhood streets to listen to the play-by-play on the AM car radio. The grey car had bench seats on which you could slide into the dashboard if the brakes were applied unexpectedly. The doors were also thick enough to stop a bullet.
We were paused at a red light when Chuck Bednarik landed on Jim Taylor at the ten-yard line and wouldn’t get off until the final seconds ticked down to the Eagles victory, the only playoff game Green Bay coach Vince Lombardi lost.
The ride back to 2423 North 5th street was windows-down as we enjoyed our personal victory parade.