I’ve long admired Mr. Beller’s Neighborhood. It’s a solid online magazine, publishing quality New York stories. So I’m happy that my essay about Sandy Tishcoff, neighborhood bookie and all-around mensch, found a home there. Read The Bookie, published there yesterday, here. A snippet:
But as I listened to the memorializing, it was easy to wish that my relationship with Sandy hadn’t been restricted to childhood. I knew him as a street presence; I walked past the window of his shop, and dependably saw him inside, graying and smiling. Our conversations usually pertained to the latest antics of Jenny the Fire Cat. Hearing about his penchant for white wine, theatre, and grocery shopping suggested that he and I could have enjoyed a fruitful sequel, had we met up years later on a bench outside of Mostly Books (now a toy store). I was too young to know he made banana daiquiris once a year in the back of his store. I never visited his shop on Christmas, when he would stay open until the last frantic customer had left.
Thanks also to the kind folks at Ditmas Park Blog for cross-posting.