Nancy Ruhling's Astoria Characters

He never would have done it if he hadn’t lost his job. But John Colgan got bored. He’s not the kind of guy who can sit on the sofa surfing channels. No, he has to be out doing something. When his paychecks stopped, he moved back to his childhood home and the company of his mother. As he sat on the front stoop, he watched the rest of the world walk by. That’s when he noticed the fire alarm pull box on the corner. John lost his job and found a purpose in life. He and that box had…

Continue Reading →

Three guitars and a chin-up bar. There’s not much else in this monk cell of a living room. The shy guy doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he starts strumming. Once Jon Christopher Allen finds his voice, he loses himself in the song. And everything’s all right. Jon’s working on album No. 5. Jon’s music has been a long time coming, and in a sense, his whole life has been a rehearsal. True, he’s been performing for nearly two decades, and he has released…

Continue Reading →

The first thing you see is the pink poodle prancing like a princess. Her Liberace collar dances in the sunlight, nearly blotting out her pipsqueak escort, a Pomeranian promenading in a mohawk. They’re leading Leia Gatch and her 6-year-old tow-headed son, Alex, down Ditmars Boulevard. It takes them an eternity to walk a block. They are catnip for smartphone shots. Leia and friends: The pink poodle is Bridget. The Pom is Trevor. Despite what it looks like, this is not a circus act. It’s…

Continue Reading →

When Chubby Icaza opens the door, the sweet scent of baking bread spills out into the street where Tom Cat, which is sheathed in translucent turquoise windows that look like the deep blue sea, is king of the block. The nose doesn’t expect such a thrill so close to the car-clogged 59th Street Bridge. After 23 years, Chubby is used to the mouth-watering aroma. But each time he breathes it in, he breathes a sigh of relief. If it were not for Tom Cat, he wouldn’t be here. Chubby has been…

Continue Reading →

With a pair of playful purrers padding at her sensible sandals, Sister Tesa heads to her office. The walls are papered with hundreds of snapshots of children, none of them her own yet all of them hers. As solemnly as a Sunday-morning sermonizer, she recites their names. This is no mere exercise in rote-memorization even though some of their smiles have been frozen in place for nearly three decades. Sister Tesa is the founder and executive director of Hour Children. “If I’m worried about…

Continue Reading →