The Ever-Weeping Widow

The diamond engagement ring doesn’t come off Ronnie Hartley‘s finger easily. For nearly 46 years, she’s worn it, ever since Roger, her dear and dearly departed, gave it to her. He had been betrothed to another; that’s why he had the ring handy. “I only knew him a month, and we’d only gone out on one date when I proposed to him,” says Ronnie. “The ring fit me perfectly. He wanted to change the setting because it was for the other woman, but I said, ‘The…

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The Lock-and-Key Lady

In the front window, there’s a baby-blue neon sign shaped like a key. The words LICENSED LOCKSMITH glow in gold along its length. In case you miss it, there’s a banner that screams, for all intents and purposes, that this is the one and only Admiral Locksmith (keys made while you wait) that’s been on Broadway at 37th Street for more than six decades. It’s backed up by a two-story-high marquee that looks as though it belongs on that other Broadway. If you still don’t…

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The Triumphant Tenor

He was playing in the park when it happened. Somehow, the trinity of gold religious medals that he always wore slipped from his neck. Aaron Caruso‘s mother was so steamed that she made him go back to find them. It was raining that day in the park, and 11-year-old Aaron took 10 steps, and there they were waiting for him. His mother was not surprised. She had prayed for the safe return of Saint Anthony, the Holy Cross and Jesus, telling God that her son would sing for him. Aaron found his big…

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The Hidden House

There is a glass and brass door on 31st Street right under the El. Even if you take the subway every day, you’ve probably never noticed it. That’s because it’s painted green, just like the one next to it. If you don’t know any better, you’d think each is an entrance to Teddy’s Florist. But this door, the one on the left, is a portal to the past. To get there, you travel through a dark, tunnel-like passageway and emerge into the blinding brightness of day. The…

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The Indiana Granny

One thing has to be perfectly clear at the start: Joan Murphy doesn’t have much to say. So she’s set the kitchen table for tea. And she’s made some of her banana nut bread so things won’t be a total loss. Joan, a stoic, sensible woman with Wonder Bread-white hair, fiery blue eyes and a throaty Midwestern accent that’s as broad as a wheat field, isn’t used to sitting, but she can stand sitting in the wingback chair for this short stretch. Heck, she’ll even…

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