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Woodlawn cemetery, NYC

Last week my neighbor Frank died. He was 90.

He had been ailling, but I hadn't know he had been in the hospital. Another neighbor emailed me Thursday night to tell me about the funeral. He told me that Frank had been throwing up over the weekend and called 911 to take him to the hospital. By Monday, he had been stablized and was in good spirits. He was set to come home Tuesday. That night a blockage returned and he threw up into his lungs. He died that night.

I had known Frank since I moved into the building. He would help sign for packages, ask after myself and my roommates, and knock on his ceiling—my floor—if the music was too loud too late at night. He was a charming man, deferential and kind. When I first moved in, he was living with his sister. She seemed to be ailing since the day I met her. I had heard Frank had been taking care of her through boughts with cancer. She died four or five years ago; since then Frank had lived alone.

He had no want of friends. Neighbors would visit and he would leave food hanging in shopping bags on their doors. At the wake neighbors told stories about Frank and laughed. They reminisced about the neighborhood, some thirty or forty years back. One neighbor told me that her friends were incredulous when she told them she was moving to SoHo. No one lived in the area. But the people who did all knew each other. Walking down the street, they not only knew who you were, but which building you lived in, and what floor.

I was at the opera when I heard the news. I lamented I hadn't spent more time with Frank, stopping in to chat and hear his stories from back in the day. He had lived on the street most of his life, first on one side of the street and then on this. His nephew told me about visiting him and his aunt.

I was glad for the wake and for the opportunity to say goodbye to Frank. I was surprised how comforting I found it, and I was glad to see my neighbors, to hear their stories. We told each other who we had contacted through our various networks with those who have moved away, and everyone tried to make it or sent their condolences. It made me realize again how much like a family this building has been.

I'll miss Frank. The neighborhood has been changing, is changed, the building along with it. With Frank's passing, we've lost another, deeper connection to its past. A soul has departed, in many more ways than one.