VICKIE PROHASKA
My Stories:
On July 21, 1938, Mom and Dad had a blessed event happen in their home-I was born. It happened at N.Y. hospital somewhere around 68th St. in Manhattan. We lived in a tenement building with no elevator and wouldnąt you know, we lived on the 5th floor.
My earliest happy experience was when I was 3 years old. We had lots of relatives; one of them had ten children. This particular relative lived just down the street and she was my mother's sister.
My dad had a large family also, and one of my father's brothers, Guillermo was my favorite. He came over quite often, and one of the things he liked most was to dance, and so when I was 3, he would take me in his arms and start dancing.
I remember he would say, "Come on now, shake your bootie and your shoulders." I already knew about "your bootie," since our family was careful how they spoke and taught us well. I remember our building stood along side one just like it, like twins. I started first grade at P.S. 106 which was about two blocks from where I lived.
Our area was called Spanish Harlem because it was full of Hispanics, mainly Puerto Ricans which my mother was; Dad was half Puerto Rican and French. We spoke both languages at home since Mother did not know how to speak English or so she said, however, I can remember when we went to the market, if she didn't like the fruit or vegetables she was served, she would say some nasty things to them in English.
This market was not self-serve and it was about six blocks long with stalls, which consisted of food and some merchandise like clothing and a few with housewares. I was probably about 8 years old. When I realized that the things Mother was saying to the merchants weren't very nice, I would very slowly and carefully wander off to the stalls pretending to look at the other goods when in reality I could care less about them. I was truly embarrassed by Mother's actions, and felt like crawling in a hole, if only I could find one!!
Our apartment in Spanish Harlem was not the greatest and neither was our building. I had some frightening experiences there. Drug addicts would go on the roof all the time and since we were on last floor of the building, we would hear them on the roof. We spent many sleepless nights because we would hear them walking back and forth, up and down the stairs. There was the short hallway on the roof level and sometimes the addicts would sleep there all night. Many times, Mother would go upstairs to talk to them, advise them, and try to rehabilitate them.
Dad and I would argue with Mother about this. We tried to make her understand how dangerous it was for her to go near them. Dad would ask me when he came home from work, "Where is your mother?" And I would reply, "Upstairs." He would become so angry and say, "That woman is going to get killed someday."
Pretty soon she would come down to the apartment and the fighting and the arguments would start. I hated it and would cry myself to sleep. I kept thinking someday I'd get out of this situation-that became my dream.
Everyday I looked forward to going to school; it was an escape for me. I disliked it when the end of the day came. Mother was very strict and overprotective. She would pick me up at lunchtime, since we only lived a few blocks away, and instead of going home, we would go to the ice cream parlor and grab a quick lunch, then we would walk back to school.
Then Mother would be back again at 3 p.m. to bring me back home. I had lots of friends from the neighborhood. Carmen lived across the street with her aunt, her mother and her nieces who were twin girls. They were about 2 or 3.
Carmen's aunt babysat them during the day and when Carmen came home, she had to help with their care. There was Frances, my best friend, although she was much older than me, she was like a big sister. She had a boyfriend who was in the Navy, and his mother owned a beauty shop. She liked me a lot and she would buy us food so we could eat there. Mother liked Frances a lot, and I used to hang around the shop after school to watch Frances since she was a beauty operator.
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At the ripe old age of eight I had already decided what I wanted to be when I grew up-a teacher. During school hours, I would watch everything my teacher did.
Her name was Ms. Zimmerman. She was short, with gray hair that stood out like Moe in the three stooges. She was a lovely person, but had her hands full of those boys who were so disobedient.
My hair was very long at the time, and they would dip the ends into an inkwell that was attached to the wooden desks, which is what they were made of those days. Since I had already decided I was going to become a teacher, after school, I would go home, sit my dolls on the chairs, grab my long stick, take out the chalk board my mother had bought, and start teaching, imitating my own teacher at school.
I would yell and scream at my dolls as if they were students and slam the stick on the table, since we didn't have desks. I would be so angry at my dolls when they would start talking to each other: "Dorothy, turn around in your seat and pay attention." "All right, one more time and you will write on the board, 100 times, I MUST NOT TALK IN CLASS."
"Mary, you come up to the trash can and throw that gum away, and donąt you bring any more to class or you will have to stay after school." "Now, class letąs all look at the board and repeat the letters after me-A,B,C."
Just as I was to continue with the alphabet, there comes Mother. What did she want, disturbing my class? It was dinnertime and Mother would always have a difficult time getting me to leave the "class." Discipline during that era was somewhat different from today.
Since I liked my teacher, I decided to follow her example. I was going to be like her. While some children disliked school, I loved it and did very well. My grades were always good, therefore I decided to pursue a teaching career and glad I did. I became a bilingual teacher and worked with Mary Davila, who became my good friend and mentor, and who, 5 years ago, passed away. To think I owe it all to Ms. Zimmerman, for her good example and motivation!
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May 29, 2002
Letters to the Editor Los Angles Times
How very sad that the city of L.A. is in such dire need of monies, that they have to allow filming on the streets of downtown L.A. and inconvenience bus passengers.
I ask myself if it is really necessary when there are so many remote sites throughout L.A. where people are not affected as much. We are talking about the disabled, that have to go out of their way perhaps blocks away, people in wheelchairs, or using crutches, walkers and canes.
We are also talking about the working class, people that have to hunt for a bus stop, to board their bus so they can go to work, not to mention that some are fired because they did not arrive on time.
I spoke to such a person, who stated she was 45 minutes late getting to work, and had to plead to keep her job. Don't the people of L.A. have enough stress to deal with daily, without the additional burden?
I myself am retired, however since I live in the downtown area, I sympathize with these people who I see struggling to find their stop, even mothers with their children, who are also affected. Does anybody care? I doubt it. It is happening too frequently, and it is apparent that money is far more important then humans! Such a shame!
Sincerely,
Vickie Prohaska
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