579

I grew up in house number 583, and two doors down there was a house for mentally challenged individuals.  Back when I was growing up, it was uncommon for someone to call them retards.  But I grew up on the block, and some of those people were there just as long, if not longer, than I was.  One of my favorites, well at least one of the most entertaining, was Rosemary.  Whooo was that broad sometimey.  One minute, she'd be all, "Hi my Friend!" the next, "I don't want to talk to you, you bore me."  

Rosemary was also a compulsive nose picker, so it was best not to shake her hand.  And of course for some reason she always wanted to shake hands.  I think I was about 7 when I finally told her that I wouldn't shake her hand cause I knew she picked her nose, I saw her do it.  It didn't stop her from picking her nose, or trying to shake peoples hands, but at least I tried.  Rosemary was also one of the first white people that knew.  They were kind of hard to come by in Bed Stuy in the late 70s early 80s...

Then there was Donald.  He was much more independent that most of the other residents of 529.  He worked part time and used to go to the same church as my aunt.   He actually was in the choir.  Donald was a nice guy, he once gave me a quarter when I didn't have enough change at the corner store.  I gave it back to him, but I never forgot that he helped me out.  

Another big influence on my childhood was Derrick.  He needed more help than most of the other residents which meant that he wasn't outside as much as the rest of the guys at 529.  But like Rosemary and Donald he lived there for a long time.  Derrick loved music and even when he wasn't able to come outside, you could hear him playing jazz in his room.  Derrick also loved my Dad, so that always made him special to me.  My Daddy was a big jazz collector and it wasn't uncommon for him to pick records up for Derrick too.  After my Dad passed, Derrick would still ask me where Clarence was, and I'd have to explain.  It broke my heart each and every time he asked.  But then he'd tell me a story about him and my Dad, he had a million of them and he'd somehow find a way to make me smile again...