In the late 1970s, I had the great joy to be an urban pioneer in Lower Manhattan. Before the trendiness, the foo-foo-fanciness, the gasp-worthy prices, the exalted status. It was, simply, a neighborhood waiting to be reclaimed and brought back to life. Perhaps a hold-out from the old Washington Market days (not sure), there was a no-frills fish store in a two-story building on Duane Street. The accoutrements of the place could NOT have been more simple. White tile covered every surface, fluorescent lighting blazed, a glass-front display case went from wall-to-wall, and two gentlemen in long white aprons stood behind the counter. No helpful signage. Nothing to give a clue about the contents of the case — one would have to ask. But, written on a piece of cardboard, was a message:
“I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Don’t ask me.”
I often had the urge to ask about the sign. I never did. As far as I could tell, both gentlemen were helpful, cordial, and sociable. Perhaps an earlier colleague, a true curmudgeon, had left the sign? I’ll never know. So don’t ask me.

“forty-nine years in the fish business”

“lobster specialist for fifty-two years”

“twenty-four years at Bard Shellfish”

“fifty-four years in eels ‘Me dad was an empty boy and I started off in an eel factory.'” an empty boy? I’m guessing the clue is right there in front of us…

“sixty-three years in shellfish ‘I played football in the 1960 Olympics.'” a gem of a snippet…

“twelve years at Billingsgate ‘I am a newcomer.'” newcomer? says it all…

“seventeen years at J.Bennett, Billingsgate’s largest salmon dealers”

“from Lithuania eleven years ago ‘I couldn’t speak English when I arrived, now my mother would blush to hear my language.’ language? very much that ‘working class coal face language’ that we’re cancelled for these days…

“fourth generation fish dealer, thirty-three years at Chamberlain & Thelwell”

“in his first suit at fifteen ‘From Willoughbys, I paid for it myself at half a crown a week.'” it’s how many of us went about it paying for most everything back then…

“Charlie in his fish shop in the seventies” the three rows of shelved products behind the counter we got served – practical, sensible and conveniently to hand…

The poignant question for me is “who’ll be there out back where the fish market is now throwing fish to the seals from the wharf once this place is torn down? it’s the small stuff that is overlooked and lost in the midst of this ‘change for the sake of greed’.

Henry was a family friend for many years.