The crazy lady across the street
Her name was Mrs. Culick, and the memory of her, and of my own boyhood callousness about her, haunts me now that I'm old. But back then, when I had to think of her because sometimes I could hear or see her, she was mainly a cause of shame.
What would the neighbors think about this crazy Jewish lady who would babble in some indecipherable tongue from time to strange time? Happily, she had a devoted and responsible son, Jake, who would come quickly when needed. Sweaty, slobbering,
