The Day Muriel met Jimmy

Muriel Smith lived in a railroad-style, four-room walk-up on Third Street in a section of Brooklyn her mom jokingly referred to as “beautiful downtown Gowanus.” Make no mistake—this neighborhood was hardly the prettiest section of the borough. No, not by any stretch of one’s imagination. Gowanus was a conglomeration of residential apartments, commercial factories, busy overhead subway trains, and, worst of all, ugly, smelly coal barges that traversed the nearby canal. Despite of all of this, Muriel remembered this time as the most beautiful part of her barely sixteen years.

One block away, on Second Street, in a very similar type of apartment as Muriel’s, a young lad (only a few months younger than Muriel, but wait a second. . . .the difference in age is an entirely different story.) Now what was I saying?. . . .Yes, a young feisty lad named Jimmy Spaight lived with his parents, siblings, and aunts down the block from an old corner candy shop.

Jimmy spent his time either practicing piano, playing with his dog, or getting into trouble with his mom. He was the youngest of three children and, often, he was not included in his older brother, Eddie’s musical exploits. Nor did Jimmy have the patience of his sister, Anne to spend time with more artistic endeavors.

Then, on one particular day—whether it was the result of chance, fate, or a simple sweet tooth—Jimmy wandered down the block to buy some candy at the candy shop. On that same day, Muriel rode her new bicycle around the block to the very same corner candy shop. Once she emerged from the store, Muriel discovered she had a real problem on her hands. Several neighborhood bullies took her new bike and begun to tease her unmercifully. Just then, from out of the blue, as Muriel (my mom) warmly recalled, Jimmy (my dad) arrived to wrangle away her bike from the bullies and return it to her.

This, I am told was how their young romance was born. It was a love story my parents always enjoyed telling, and it was one that their children were never tired of hearing. Many years later, on their tenth anniversary my dad gave my mom a charm bracelet.

Now guess what the first charm was?

You’re right—a bicycle.