TUCKED AWAY in a corner of many gardens in Brooklyn was a small plot saved for an herb garden. This little plot was methodically and clearly kept out of cultivation because herbs were prized plants, and owners wanted to avoid losing their root stock as a result of too much digging around them. Herbs seem to multiply and grow best when they are left alone to grow in their own way.
OFTEN IN THE MIDDLE hours of the night, our family was awakened by the soft, lifting notes of a string band that had come to serenade us. This music sounded strangely beautiful in the velvety darkness of night. The wonderful spirit of the men who came to share their music with various families in Brooklyn added even more beauty to the occasion.
I VIVIDLY REMEMBER the banjo pickers frequently seen in the streets or standing on a corner plunking out a melody. People often laughed and poked fun at these poor illiterate men who carried their instruments tied around their necks with a heavy string. Most of them came to town from some lowly home in the country and dressed in faded blue overalls and a faded blue coat. Their greatest and best loved possessions were their banjos, and they handled them with affection. Sometimes, one might think that the players looked shiftless and lazy standing on a corner with their banjos.
PEOPLE USUALLY GOT A BUCKET OF WATER in the morning, one at dinner time and then one at night. Water was a commodity that had to be conserved and stretched as far as possible because carrying buckets of water long distances was quite a task.
Women usually carried the water from the well for use on wash day, but occasionally, a boy was employed to do this job for them. I remember seeing strong women carry buckets of water balanced on their heads while also carrying buckets in each hand. They accomplished this feat without having much water slosh from any of the buckets.
THE GOLD DIGGER was an old man who moved painfully, methodically and slowly. He hobbled from place to place with the aid of an old gnarled stick that looked like a small tree branch.
His feeble frame was massive. His great shoulders were rather hunched and rounded, but one could readily see that he had once been a powerful man capable of doing laborious work.
LIZ—I remember her silly face, her misshapen body, her undeveloped mentality. She was such an unfortunate human being. Still, she was a part of Brooklyn’s population. She became a community landmark by constantly roaming the streets, standing for hours on street corners and attending any funeral people would let her attend.
AFTER REACHING ADULTHOOD, one of my strangest and saddest remembrances of Brooklyn was the fact that Spring Alley, a red light district, once existed there.
When my mother and other homeowners came to this far out boundary of the city to buy and live in their modest homes, such a notorious section was not there. I have often asked myself these questions: Why was it planned to be in this area of colored homeowners? By whom did it come into being? I have never known the answers to my questions.
A FEW MEMBERS of Brooklyn’s population, particularly some who could be described as being up in years and a few more who had no educational training, were said to have had a rather firm belief in the power and existence of supernatural things such as hants, ghosts and conjuration.
THERE WAS A CERTAIN YOUNG WOMAN who loved to dance. In fact she loved it so much that she just seemed to live to dance. People tried to persuade her to stop, but no one could change her mind. She danced night after night.