THE SURPRISE OF AUNT PATSY

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Brownstone Detectives investigates the history of our clients’ homes.
The story you are about to read was composed from research conducted in the course of one of those investigations.
Do you know the history of YOUR house?

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Last year, after an extensive search, I had the pleasure of discovering “Aunt Patsy.”

Having located a nephew of hers in Tennessee, I informed him (a bit nervously) about my project – I was writing a book about our Macon Street house (who writes a book about their own house?) – and told him that I’d love to talk with her (if it was possible).

I was surprised to learn that she lived quite close by – the next borough over, actually, in Floral Park, Queens. He gave me her telephone number, telling me she would love to see the house again.

“She’s quite a character,” he half-warned and half-encouraged me.

Aunt Patsy looking out into the backyard, where she spent many a day dancing in her youth.
Aunt Patsy looking out into the backyard, where she spent many a day dancing in her youth.

Over the following months, Patsy and I talked on the phone for stretches at a time about the house, her childhood memories of the block, and sometimes about nothing in particular. Often, she asked me about my family, my work, and about my life in Bedford-Stuyvesant. Through these conversations we began to develop a relationship that was at once effortless and engaging.

In a way, at some point during our talks, she “became” Aunt Patsy.

Aunt Patsy in front of 738 Macon Street in the late '30s.
Aunt Patsy in front of 738 Macon Street in the late ’30s.

Born in 1936, Patsy lived at my Macon Street house for the first 15 years of her life.  Her mother, who was in her 40s when Patsy was conceived, gave birth to her more than 15 years after her last child. She had been, in her own words, the family “surprise.”

I would soon realize that Patsy had a habit of surprising.

As a matter of fact, the first time I spoke to Aunt Patsy over the phone, she surprised me. As it turned out, she had had as many questions for me (about the house) as I had for her (about her). Her most memorable question, though, was the first one that she asked me. It was about a feature of the parlor that she remembered from when she was just a little girl.

“Do you still have the mirror in the parlor?” she asked, somewhat apprehensively but earnestly.

“Of course,” I assured her. “During the renovation, we kept everything that was original to the house.”

I wondered where she was going with this, and after a few seconds – of what I assume now was some fond reminiscing – she told me:

“I used to dance in front of that mirror when I was a little girl.”

A lump grew in my throat as I considered that otherwise pedestrian floor-to-ceiling pier mirror, and the role that it must have played for 120 years worth of other residents at my house. Who else had used it? How else was it used? If only that mirror could talk, right?

Aunt Patsy in the backyard of 738 Macon Street in the early '40s.
Aunt Patsy in the backyard of 738 Macon Street in the early ’40s.

Well, then Patsy told me something that entirely changed the way that I thought about my own house.

As it turned out, she had not only practiced – as a little girl – dancing in front of my parlor mirror, but it had been a singular influence in her choosing what would someday become her profession.

So, when little Patsy grew up, she became a professional dancer.

Last year, in the Spring, I invited Aunt Patsy to come see the old house for a tour and an interview. She would be returning to her old house for the first time in 62 years. Talk about emotional moments. I wondered endlessly, before the meeting, what her reaction would be. Would she remember the house? Would she approve of the renovation? Would the house trigger memories? Would she be as wonderful in person as she had been on the phone?

I did not have to worry. Aunt Patsy set the perfect tone soon after walking through the front door.

As she entered, I opened the pocket doors which led to the parlor, where stood the fabled, and much used, parlor mirror. As she stepped into the room, I caught her eyes in the mirror – and I instantly understood – at that moment she wasn’t seeing Aunt Patsy – she was watching a little Irish girl dancing…in the parlor mirror.


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The Brownstone Detectives

Brownstone Detectives is an historic property research agency. Our mission is to document and save the histories of our clients’ homes. From our research, we produce our celebrated House History Books and House History Reports. Contact us today to begin discovering the history of your home.

Post Categories: 1930-1940, 1940-1950, Architecture, Bedford-Stuyvesant
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