This month’s featured writing is from Connie Capobianco: My Bronx Front Porch.
Connie grew up in the Bronx borough of New York City not very far from Yankee Stadium. She completed coursework and other requirements to become a registered nurse, then married and moved to Queens, where she worked in various NYC hospitals. After raising her son and daughter, she returned to college, graduating with a degree in physical anthropology. After 25 years of working emergency rooms during nights, weekends, and holidays shifts, she was named to the position of Nurse/Director of Health Services at her alma mater, Queens College of the City University of New York. She held the position for 12 years before retiring to enjoy a more leisurely life and participate in activities like hiking tours with the Sierra Club and archeological ventures with organizations like Earthwatch. She moved to Boise eight years ago to be close to her son’s young family.
Connie has been interested in writing for many years. She started a journal about 40 years ago. More recently, she received the gift of Storyworth, writing answers to weekly questions about her life. A book of her responses was printed to share with family members.
This is Connie’s first semester with the Osher Personal Writing SIG. She joined after being encouraged by a family member who participates in Osher writing classes in Scarborough, Maine. Connie likes sharing her writings during class and particularly enjoys the thought-provoking prompts.
My Bronx Front Porch by Connie Capobianco
(Osher on Demand, July 2026)
I grew up at 335 E. 148th St. between Morris Ave. and Cortland Ave. Like many others living in walk-up apartment buildings, our “porch” was a front window because we were lucky enough to live in an apartment facing the street.
Sitting on the radiator with your pillow on the sill, the world was open to you.
In the summer with the window open, our moms watched us play hopscotch on the sidewalk, marbles in the middle of the street, and boxball across the street against a garage wall. Looking towards 3rd Ave., they could hear and see the 3rd Ave. El pulling into the 149th St. Station.
From the windowsill, moms could call to neighbors walking down the street, call us kids up when it was time for dinner, or just eyeball us if they had not seen us since breakfast.
From that window, you could throw down some change for ice cream or a newspaper or find out what number was leading if it was the right time of day.
Your friends “called for you” at that window, found out if you were home, or inquired if you could “come down.” You could watch folks cooling off when the Johnny Pump was gushing in the hot weather, having been opened by whoever had a wrench before the city took over the job and put on a sprinkler head.
Home plate was right in front of our window. I was on the second floor. Perfect. I could see and hear the “Spaldeen” being hit, and I will never ever forget the sound of the broomstick bat when it was dropped to the street and rolled to the curb.
From that window, you would hear the ringing of the bell belonging to the knife sharpener telling customers to bring down knives, scissors, or whatever needed his attention.
Unfortunately, from that window I also watched two junkies stagger arm in arm down the street right into a lamppost. No further explanation is needed.
The back window facing the courtyard was another story. The clothes lines crossing the back of the building over the courtyard held the wash for the day. I didn’t know anyone with a clothes dryer. Our moms leaned out the back windows with clothespins in their mouths to hang sheets, towels, and clothes. It was a long time before any of us kids were allowed to hang clothes.
From that back window on Sunday mornings, we could look down at the musicians that played songs requested by throwing down a note with loose change in it or just calling down if you were on the lower floors.
Looking out the back window in the 1940s toward the lumber yard next door, you could see trucks with front wheels off the ground as they slid heavy loads off the back. The lumber yard was behind the big Con Edison office building on Cortland. It later became a parking lot for a bank.
From the back window I made a pulley with the clothes line to send notes down to my friend Fanny across the courtyard.
In 2016 I moved from New York City to Boise to a house with windows all around and a big yard, but I have yet to grab a pillow, open the window, and put my elbows on the sill.