A fond look back at the lady on the stoop

Before we go any further, allow me to please describe and define the word “stoop” for the hundreds of you who were not raised in an American city. In our cities, especially in the Northeast, there were rows of houses, about three stories high each, with an outside staircase which gave access to the living quarters on what was called the first floor. The “stoop” was the outside flat landing on which one stood to ring the bell, announcing our presence, as we awaited the owner’s appearance to permit entry into the house’s second floor (really the first floor, but that is for a whole other column). More often than not, the owner of the house was a female of some years who had either inherited the building from her spouse, or had been a spinster owner for years and years. She was called the lady on the stoop. Actually she was called many things, but let us suffice with the one title, or maybe even Miss Grace. Allow me, this week, to take you on a brief trip to the past and through a non-Cape town, the street in an urban community.

Miss Grace (she was Miss regardless of actual marital status) spent most of her day, once the chores of laundry and cooking and cleaning had concluded, on the stoop. She usually had a rocking chair of sorts, or a stationary seat with lots of cushions. She spent many daylight hours on her chair, observing everything that occurred from one end of her street, called the block, to the other. Her primary role, although undefined, was to report to whomever would listen the events of the day, and perhaps even embellish them a bit. The children (6-17) who lived in the adjoining houses, and there were many, were quite aware of Miss Grace’s daily, if not hourly, observations. Furthermore, and much more dangerous, were her reporting skills to the parents of the children who lived and played within her purview. She was everybody’s babysitter, and moreover, every child’s critic.

Regardless of the deed or misdeed, Miss Grace could find something about it worthy of report to one’s parent, especially one’s mother. All the children were aware of these eyes and ears perched on the stoop, and tended to behave accordingly. This was a built-in parental unit who, by her mere presence, kept the block and the neighborhood in very good working order. Talk about watching your p’s and q’s! Miss Grace was especially vigilant, or so it seemed, when it came to the boys. She knew we were up to something, or certainly would be once she went inside to check on the roast or the washer’s spin cycle. The boys, though, were able to devise some means to keep Miss Grace from seeing everything with an occasional gift or favor during the course of a given week. It was the beginning of our learning those skills which would make us successful in our respective futures. The girls had their own means of avoiding the Walter Winchell/Mike and Chris Wallace skills ever present on the block courtesy of our lady on the stoop. Yes, she was that good! The girls, though, were just that crafty! It all worked, and worked well. The natural parents were extremely appreciative, and, in so many ways, so were the children. We were protected and kept safe by a virtual stranger who just had too much time on her hands and too many words on her tongue.

Every block, or at least every other block, had its own lady on the stoop; thousands throughout our country. They have disappeared, as have the stoops, and that is too bad. Children still need supervision, or the visage of supervision, and the more the better. Thanks for granting me the privilege of a detour in time and location to honor an important person in the lives of thousands of us for whom a city was our childhood home. In our affluent suburbs, we are blessed with wonderful neighbors, but the rules are indeed different to coincide with the times. There is little to no input in the rearing of the children of the 2000s from a single old lady sitting on her porch. In fact, the manner in which we build our communities precludes such an observer. There is no straight line of vision, nor tacit permission to supervise other people’s children. From those of us who were forced to be mindful of that lady on the stoop, we extend to her in her heavenly home, a big “Thank you.”