Raised by the Church: Growing up in New York City's Catholic Orphanages

10. Alone in the Real World

10 Alone in the Real World A Sentimental Journey On a sunny, unseasonably mild January afternoon in 2009, I take a sentimental journey on the D train, ending up in Flatbush. As I exit the subway at Newkirk Avenue, I wonder if the old neighborhood has changed. I pass familiar streets. Turning left, I keep walking until I am one block past Glenwood Road and then turn onto Waldorf Court. And yes, the homes on the block look as grand as ever—American and Dutch colonial, Tudor and Victorian, each with its own manicured lawns. Many of them still have beautiful wraparound porches on double lots. Suddenly, I am standing in front of 27 Waldorf Court, the first place I lived after the system unceremoniously dumped me out into the world. The funny thing is that nothing has changed. How could that be? After forty-five years, 27 Waldorf is still a beautiful threestory white stucco single-family house, with lovely stained glass windows in the enclosed porch. I wonder, Does the house still have those beautiful carved wood banisters that go up to the second floor and those beautiful parquet floors and Oriental rugs? Is the third floor still let out as furnished rooms, a poor relation to the rest of the house? Is it still marked by plain linoleum and painted furniture? Standing in front of that house, I remember the morning I was discharged from the Catholic orphanage system into a world I was totally unprepared to handle. 128 | on my own Life on Waldorf Court The face of the kindly aftercare social worker registers shock as I walk down the steps of St. Vincent’s carrying a half-filled garbage bag. He is in the SVH’s station wagon, waiting to drive me to my destination, and he expects to see me lugging cartons of adolescent junk—trophies, records, and so forth—but that black garbage bag contains every single item I own in the world. I guess some of the other Vinnie Boys that Mr. Dempsey has transported over the years had bundles of clothes they bought with money from part-time jobs here and there. All I have is one plastic bag filled with khakis and blue jeans, underwear and socks, toothbrush and toothpaste, T-shirts, and the sharkskin slacks that are my pride and joy. Under my arm, I carry three LPs but no record player to play them on. Station wagon? A VW Beetle could have easily done the job. Away we go, with Mr. Dempsey talking a mile a minute about this and that, filling up the silent space between us. What is there for me to say? I am scared out of my wits. As we swing left onto Atlantic and then right onto Flatbush Avenue, the station wagon rolls past the main plant of Ebinger’s Bakery. For the first and only time on this trip, I speak up: “Wow, so this is where St. Vincent’s got those crummy pastries!” Then I retreat into my shell. I know exactly what will happen when we arrive at our destination . Once again, former Vinnie Boys have already given me the worst-case scenario. I will be abandoned in a dumpy furnished room in a crummy neighborhood. Then I will spend the rest of my life slaving away at some awful job. We drive up Flatbush Avenue, past looming, gothic Erasmus Hall High School and the quaint Dutch Reform Church across the street. Mr. Dempsey makes a turn onto Newkirk Avenue. Hey, wait a minute ! Mr. Dempsey must have made a wrong turn. This is not a dump. In fact, the car is cruising along past tree-lined streets with some of the most beautiful homes I have ever seen—the picture-perfect Christmas card homes an orphan dreams about. Alone in the Real World | 129 I am in a daze. Mr. Dempsey continues to chat, pointing out the subway station I will use to take to work. We stop in front of a lovely building on a charming dead-end block. “This is it, Eddie,” he says. “Hop out. Welcome to 27 Waldorf Court.” Mr. Dempsey introduces me to my landlady—an Italian woman with red hair. She immediately begins a recitation of the house rules: no visitors, no loud noise, no telephone, no cooking facilities, no refrigerator . . . on and on. I know about rules. My introduction to...