The Apartment House

We lived at 111-45 76th Drive, off Queens Blvd., on the sixth floor, during those early years. My brothers and I played tag in the paved courtyards of the building. Elevator buttons were something new, and a delight. We occasionally met a man called the superintendent by my parents, who both spoke English with him. We had not yet met our American friends. Patrick later introduced me to the New York Giants team, which he followed in a composition book (later the Giants moved to the West Coast).

One evening, at the supper table, I told my father I had learned a new word of English from the superintendent (I was learning it all over again in 1942).

“Fine,” he replied in Swiss-German. “What is it?”

“Gedaddahere,” I replied.

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