A Look Back at The Old Neighborhood

Quite a few years ago, I awoke to hear a commercial on the radio suggesting everybody go to the Rusty Scupper and welcome in the new year with Ed Prutzer.  Prutzer, now that's a name you don't hear every day.  But for a time in my life, I did hear it every day.  Ed Prutzer's family were our next door neighbors on Stratford Road.  Stratford was a short row of what is now referred to by relators as townhouses, but we knew what they were: row houses.  Not row homes, but row houses with thin walls. We knew our neighbors very well. Ed Prutzer was a bit of a rascal, so we often heard his mom calling him by both first name and last name, the classic call for kids who were really in trouble. And Ed was in trouble a lot, almost as much as (or maybe even more than) my brother.

Eddie was the first person ever to tell me how babies were made.  I was horrified and didn't want to believe him, but he told me it was the truth.  I reluctantly agreed he ought to know; his Catholic parents had a lot of babies packed into that tiny row house.

It wasn't long after that first radio ad that my friend Dottie and I went to a show in the City and then decided to have dinner there and check him out.  Sure enough, he was Eddie from The Old Neighborhood.  Another time I brought some high school friends to dinner there and Ed greeted us; but it had been years since my last visit.  I recently heard another commercial, so I knew he was still there.

My sister, her daughters, and I saw the musical Wicked  yesterday.  Helen and I decided to go to the Rusty Scupper and say hello to Eddie as well as introduce him to her children.  When we got there, the place was very busy, and the staff at the door told us they would not be able to seat us at all that whole night. We were ok with going somewhere else for dinner, but we asked if Ed could come out for a few minutes to say hello to Barbara and Helen from The Old Neighborhood.  Miraculously...a table with a lovely water view opened. The very solicitous staff seated us and fell all over themselves serving us. My first experience with name-dropping!  Ed came over to talk and we caught up on old times in the 'hood.  Then Ed asked if we remembered our rabbit.

Of course we did. I remembered the bunny very clearly.  She was a black and white ball of fluff named Snooks.  Dad built a cage for her that we kept by the back door of our house.  One morning a neighbor called and we children were not allowed to go outside.  That was strange because in our neighborhood, the moms kicked the kids out and we weren't allowed home until we heard them calling for dinner. It turns out that a dog had torn into the cage, killing the rabbit, and leaving its remains on one of the front lawns.  My father watched for that dog to return.  When he did, he followed it home and confronted its owner.  He told the woman that if the dog ever came back on our property, he would shoot it. The woman told him that if he did that, his kids wouldn't have a father.  I hated dogs for a long time after that.

But I digress.  

Ed told us that his dad had died a few years ago.  We talked a little about how most of the old neighbors were gone, how sad we were that our parents had died, and so on, but Ed had a story he needed to tell us.  Towards the end of his life when he was very sick, Mr. Prutzer told Ed about something that had bothered him for fifty years. He asked if Ed remembered our rabbit.  He did, and he remembered a stray dog had killed it.  No, said Mr. Prutzer in full confession mode, the Prutzer dog did it!  The little part doxie tore our bunny out of her cage and ended her life.  We were in shock.  Ed's dad wanted him to apologize to us if he ever saw any of us again.  So, he apologized, and  we accepted.  I'm so glad Dad never killed that stray dog, and I'm glad that Mr. Prutzer could finally rest in peace.

The bonds of The Old Neighborhood.  The subject of novels. The fabric of life... and deathbed confessions.