Author: ruhlwrite

Way back in the corner of LaGuli Pastry Shop next to the swinging door that leads to the bakery, Rosario Notaro is sipping a cup of coffee and munching on a crusty piece of Italian bread. Rosario, a compact man with big milk chocolate eyes and the energy of a youngster, doesn’t like cookies and cakes; perhaps it’s because he’s been baking them nearly all of his 74 years. Or maybe being around sugared treats all the time has soured his sweet tooth. It’s easy for Rosario to…

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The convent of Immaculate Conception Church is jailed from 31st Street by towering black bars. The nuns don’t use the double front doors, crossed with wooden crucifixes. So it is that Sister Margaret McCabe, a wisp of a woman as sturdy as an oak, answers the bell at the side entrance. The convent has been her home for a quarter century, shortly after she became the chaplain of the Robert N. Davoren Center on Rikers Island. She leads the way to a single-windowed, cell-like room. Sister Margaret…

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Not a peep. That’s what I hear when I walk up the stairs to the top of Christine Shane‘s duplex. She has a full house. Bosco, a blue-nose pitbull, Nubia, a chihuahua/pharaoh hound mix; James, a pitbull; Jayda, a black pitbull/lab mix; Sam, a lab; and the four hairless sphynx cats — Henrik, Pandora, Trinity and Nefereti — are all in residence. Yet not so much as a bark or a meow, a growl or a hiss greets me. Two dogs are in the kitchen, one is sequestered in the bedroom,…

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Eleven. That’s the number that forever altered Sakis Karagiannakis‘ life. That’s how old he was when his father died, paving the way for his becoming the prime provider for his mother and two sisters. OK, he did get to finish grammar school and his older sister did get hired out, too, but by 13, he was working full time repairing bicycles and motorcycles. “I always wanted to be an airplane mechanic, but I never got to go to school,” says Sakis, owner of SK, the neighborhood’s…

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Prominently positioned in the living room, there’s a recliner upholstered in corduroy the color of a Christmas tree. It’s right next to a framed poster of an Ansel Adams’ photo of Yosemite National Park. When Bob Koch walks in, Caesar, a benevolent Beagle with big eyes, is lounging in it. Up until Caesar’s arrival 2 ½ years ago, it was Bob’s chair. “Now, it’s our chair,” he says, squeezing himself around the dog, who gives him a sloppy kiss. Bob is…

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