From 1965 to 1969, from my 26th to 30th year, I lived at 215 West 91 Street on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, first in a 4 room apartment on the 6th floor and later in a 5 room apartment on the 5th floor. Two babies came home to this place.
It's called a "beaux arts" building and dates from 1917. It hasn't changed much if at all in the last 50 years though it's gone from rental to coop. (I've written about the changes to the Upper West Side elsewhere.) There was nothing distinguished about the building or our two apartments but they were spacious and serviceable. I liked Riverside Park, just two blocks to the west, which was an excellent place for infants. Central Park, a few blocks to the east was off limits in the 60s because of the druggies and general violence.
We made friends. We took as much advantage of the cultural amenities as our limited budget and intense schedules would allow. I wish to heck that there hadn't been an always-on-duty exhibitionist right across the air shaft from our kitchen window.
I do not have very good memories of this place. I was not happy with the state of my employment. I loved the boys but they were hard work and the neighborhood was inconvenient for children. And society was in an uproar because of the foolish destructive Vietnam war. I was glad to leave this place behind. I think my happiest days were the days spent packing up, getting ready to go. And then driving the Dodge across the country to Colorado.
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