|Typical snow day on Myrtle Avenue|
Life keeps moving on
I received some bad news today. The toughest dancing partner in my world passed away. This was no old boyfriend or some past dance instructor but merely the father of some kids from the neighborhood that raised me.
It was at someone’s wedding in 1979-1980. I thought I was the quintessential Donna Summer dancing queen and had been such for half a decade until I danced with Michele and Mary’s Dad, Harry. Little did I know that Harry really did know how to “cut a rug” and my smoking habit made me lose steam about half way through the dance. Harry laughed at me and I felt squarely put in my place. So much for my ever dancing again, at least with men who came into maturity in the 50’s.
When I called Barb, Harry’s wife, today I did so with dread, just knowing that the news would be bad. After Barb related to me that Harry had died of a massive heart attack we began to talk. Barb and Harry Tadda were wonderful to me as I was growing up. Barb got me my first job as a swim instructor at the local YMCA and then later as a camp counselor. We chit chatted about the wonderful neighborhood that raised us all. We talked about all those who have gone. About Ryan, the Kluth’s, the Mulvey’s, the Jones's, the Pearson’s, the Kolbus’s, the Thompsons, the Marshalls and so many who called the 2 blocks on Myrtle Avenue from Oriole to Talcott their home. We are really strangers now as our lives all moved on, as lives tend to do. Strangers, but we are tied to one small street and a common history.
So in honor of Harry Tadda who died May 18 2012 a song of tribute as written by the kids on Myrtle so long ago, to the tune of Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-de-ay!
“We live on Myrtle Street
We think we’re pretty neat.
Come on and smell our feet
We think they’re really neat.”