Down the Shore

By Adam Brownstein “How’re we doing, Frank?  Getting close???” “Nearly there, Mrs. B.  Just need to fenaggle a bit down below.  You’re almost there.” “OK.  Not sure how much longer we can hold on.” The exchange between my mother and Frank, the Doorman of 2727 Palisade Avenue, occurred during a sweltering August morning in 1975. Continue reading “Down the Shore”