Readers Report
A supplement to my entry: The Dutch Reformed Church, on the corner of Church and Flatbush, had this old, old cemetery you could walk through, as a short cut. There was this small stone there: "In memory of Helen, daughter of Charles & Elizabeth Clarkson who departed this life the 13th of Aug., 1794, aged 1 year 4 months & 29 days." I memorized it because of the name, Helen. Then, in the 60s perhaps, there was a bad storm and a lot of stones got knocked down, including Helen's. Soon, they removed the pieces completely and I thought, maybe no one now knows what it said on that stone but me. I felt bad. But now it's on the Internet, so Helen's memory is virtually preserved! After all, she was a Brooklynite, too. This is her little story.
30 April 1998
My Brooklyn started at 1st Avenue and Fifty-Second Street at the old armory building that housed the US Navy Armed Guard Center during World War II. It has long since been replaced by the sanitation department. We manned the guns on merchant ships in WWII, a suicide mission in itself. When a ship was sunk, and if we lived, we found our way back to Brooklyn to get another ship.
My world in Brooklyn extended to about Fourth Avenue and the Coliseum Restaurant and the Fifty-Second Street Bar. To a lady named Sally Grenner.
Sally wrote to me when I was at sea. Just a single line usually, but sometimes just an empty envelope to let me know she was thinking about me. I was born a Southerner but in World War II Brooklyn was my home and I loved it. In the three or four blocks from the base to the bar I always received at least ten offers to "Come on in and eat with us, Sailor."
Sally and I were going to be married until we discussed where we would live. Sally said a team of horses could not drag her out of Brooklyn. I often think of her and how she helped me get through the war. I hope God has been kind to her.
He has to me.
2 May 1998
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