Here is the house I lived in on Flint Street in Rochester until 1950 when we moved to Trafalgar Street. This wasn't very far as you can see on a map of Rochester. It was just the other side of Genesee Street.
The small stoop at the front door is not the way it was when we lived there. Then there was a porch with railing that went the entire front of the house. One spring just before Easter (I think) we were getting ready to take the bus downtown to shop for Easter outfits. Because the railing was to walk on (what else would they be there for) my sister, Kathy, fell. Naturally, she broke her arm. I don't for the life of me recall how she got the break set and the cast put on. If I had to guess she went to St. Mary's Hospital just up Genesee St. at Bull's Head. (I'll talk about Bull's Head and other locations in Rochester at some other time.) I'm pretty sure we didn't go downtown that day!
It's funny but I can remember more of the neighbors on Flint Street than I can on those on Trafalgar Street. The neighbors to the right of our house was the Trimbles (Herb and his wife) and next to them was Mr. Trimble's mother and sister. As I recall, the two houses were always painted the same and had shared garage in the back. (In those days almost all garages were detached from the house.)
On the left was the Dipples. I don't think I ever knew Mr. and Mrs. first names but I just looked in the City Directory for 1929 and Mr. Dipple was George. Mrs. Dipple was a regular crone. Their back yard was a regular jungle and if anything went over their fence you had to hunt for it. More often or not Mrs. Dipple saw you and she would come out the back door screaming.
Next to the Dipples were the Schwartz (I think that was the name). They had a garage in their back yard where my father kept his car. Next to them was the Porters. They had three older girls, an older boy and Billy. Billy was probably five years older than I or more and quite stocky. No, not stocky, he was fat. He was taking flying lessons when he was in high school (Edison High) and crashed and died. I don't recall whether it was at the Rochester Airport or Hyland Field, a small air field in either Brighton of Henrietta.
Next to the Porters, at 502 Flint St., were the Neary family: Jim (a policeman) and Helen, and Fred, Barbara and Bob. They were probably our closest friends on Flint Street. Until about 1944, the grandfather, Patrick J. Neary, also lived there. I recall when he died as he was laid out at home (as was common then) during a terrible storm. That was probably my earliest recollection of Flint Street. Quite a neighborhood.
At another time I'll introduce you to the Denices (assholes), Johnny Montuli (or as my father called him, Johnny Ma-got-no-teeth), Annie Conner, and the rest of the crew on Flint Street.