Long ago and far away
I Miss Mary Upstairs, the Old Chicago Neighborhood, and Quilting Bees
My life went from penny candy and Ash Wednesday to Apple and Android
Growing up in Chicago, I knew a lady named Mary Upstairs. Not really, but that’s the only way anyone in my family referred to her. She was my grandmother’s friend who rented the second floor of our brownstone. Mary Upstairs popped into my head the other day, reminding me of the rich, organic sense of community in our old neighborhood.
Chicago is a vast city, but that little Polish neighborhood was self-contained and way homier than the suburbs my parents migrated us to in the 1960s when everyone was flocking away from city living.
Early in the 20th Century, on the northwest side of Chicago, people settled in neighborhoods defined by heritage. You had your Italian, Polish, and German enclaves. Extended families stayed close together for two or three generations, and then we all freaked out, and everybody became hyper-mobile.
Back then, most of our neighbors were Polish Catholics.
We all trekked to the neighborhood church, Saint Philomena. On Ash Wednesday, we got a smear of soot on our foreheads to remind us of…I’m not sure what. On St. Blaze Day, we…
