Living at the Docks: A Real West Side Story

By Brian J. Pape, AIA

Part 1

Sometimes we meet ‘real’ New Yorkers, born and raised here. Some of them have stories of ancestors who moved here to start their families. This is one such story of those living near the docks along the West Side of Manhattan, as told by Eric, who prefers to be anonymous.

Early Years — 1960s

Where are your ancestors from and how did they ended up in Manhattan?

My maternal grandparents came from Austria before WWII. Grandma was the daughter of a mayor in Austria. She bought four buildings in Chelsea to house longshoremen and merchant marines. She bought the buildings to pass them along to family members. She had eight children but two passed away early. None of her remaining sons and daughters wanted the buildings. Too much responsibility, I guess. She did OK and had a TV and washing machine when they first came out.

My grandfather, on my mother’s side, passed away. Grandma got remarried to Mr. M., who was a longshoreman and merchant marine. His foot was crushed by a crate when he was 40 years old and he was on disability from then on. Grandma had a lot of plates to juggle. Then they moved to Jersey, out in the sticks. I loved going there. They started selling the buildings to take care of themselves in their old age.

Tell us more memories of your father.

Dad lived in Jersey, in Hoboken. His mother and father were Dutch. (I remember Dutch shoes in the living room cabinet.) My parents met at a dance at PS 11 which was arranged so the dock workers, longshoremen, and others could socialize. They were married in 1957 at Guardian Angel Roman Catholic Church at 193 10th Ave. I was born in St. Vincent’s in 1959.

My parents came from Catholic families and my mother took me to church every Sunday. I got christened there, I got communion there and I was confirmed there. I tried to understand what I was being taught about the religious principles: Heaven and Earth, good and bad, reward and punishment.

We went to Catholic nursery and elementary schools in the neighborhood. My cousin and I were always the rowdy ones, so the nuns would put us out in the hallway at nap time so we wouldn’t disturb the others

We had a very good life. I think that a longshoreman was one of the highest paid trade jobs in the city. My mother was a housewife and my younger sister; she was an angel.

I remember our apartment. Grandma kept two buildings ─ one that I grew up in, from age one to six ─ we had the top floor. My Uncle Bob and his wife and four kids had the basement and the first floor.

I remember walking up the marble steps to the four-story apartment. They were very slippery when it was wet and rainy. Dad never carried me since he wanted me to use my legs. We would walk all the way down to the Village, Washington Square Park and back. He would hold my hand.

I remember when he bought me my first bike and I learned to ride with training wheels. He brought me everywhere because he was a proud father. I remember the smell of his Old Spice lotion. I remember when he brought me to work with him at the docks. The pier scared the hell out of me because we were on a wooden deck which only seemed three feet wide and I was walking next to the water.

Dad loved the water. We were at the beach every time we could get there. We had an umbrella and an inner tube. When he put me on that inner tube, I was sitting in the middle so I just folded and went right to the bottom. He got me up real fast. Dad was also an amateur photographer who took lots of photos and had albums full of pictures.

Mom and Dad were disciplinarians. It seemed all the families believed that children should be seen, not heard. I guess that’s why they got along so well or loved each other so much. I grew up in a real strict household. We were protective ─ I didn’t get to leave the house by myself until I was seven or eight.

When Dad came home, first thing he did was take off his jacket, then his boots, and shower before he sat down to dinner with us. He was big on family dinner and big on seafood, especially scallops, which weren’t my favorite.

Every weekend he dressed up in a suit. That’s what these guys did. When they weren’t working, they didn’t wear their work clothes, or sneakers, or sports gear. Men wore hats, even those gangsta newsboy cabbie wool caps. He was a very spiffy dresser, with his fedora hat. I have friends who still wear fedora hats at funerals.

I remember the neighborhood bars he brought me to. I had my Coca Cola, he had his drinks and hung out with his friends. I remember the smell and the pool balls clinking. I remember the booths. Most of the time, we sat at the bar on one of those adjustable stools. Sometimes I sat on big phone books while we watched a football game. All these brand new fathers were showing off their sons or daughters. There were quite a few right next to you ─ talking to their buddies ─ always talking about boxing.

This whole neighborhood was German and Irish. Another bar we went to was Joe’s Tavern on 25th Street. They would set out beach chairs on the sidewalk. If you look at that building today, you wouldn’t want to live there ─ but people still live on the upper floors. The bar is empty even though the Joe’s Tavern sign is still outside. I’m talking at least 40 years that it’s been sitting there ─ not able to rent it ─ or whatever the case may be? That’s a mystery for New York City real estate.

I remember going to the Longshoreman Union Hall with dad on 13th Street and Seventh Avenue. Everybody’s father was in the union. When I was a kid, I had aspirations to do what daddy did.

Dad passed away in August 1965 at 36 years old. Though built like a brick shithouse, he had an operation for an ulcer and had a heart attack on the operating table. Ma took it hard, widowed at 34 with two kids. Ma didn’t want to talk about Dad, not because she didn’t love him, but it brought up too many memories. From what I heard, Dad was a damn good pool player, honest as the day is long, and very respectful of women. He had a high moral standard and he was a Korean War army vet.

Unfortunately, the Longshoreman Union did not do what they were supposed to do, so. Ma didn’t get any financial help from them. She lost trust in the union after that.

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This concludes part 1 of a 3-part series, which continues in our June issue.