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My name is Alexandra Sulea. I am a 22 year old insecure-in-some-areas yet confident-in-other-areas enthusiast. I was born in Bucharest, Romania in a poor area to poor parents. I came to America when I was just a few months old. I moved from New York to Michigan back to New York. I think New York is where my heart is. But lets skip the boring facts and go straight to where my life really started.


We lived in a poor apartment for a while until we moved to Stanhope St. On Stanhope street we ended up having the greatest landlords. They were this Irish couple who couldn't handle being the owners anymore and they just wanted to retire. They sold us their $650,000+ valued four family home for a mere $250.000. My dad jumped at the deal and my mother having a Real Estate agent for a best friend also was all for it. My mom knew Carmen from my dad who knew her from somewhere. We ended up becoming the owners and remodeled the whole house. The tenants we had prior to our ownership were all characters.


Mr. John Miller, God rest his soul, was your average 90 year old who's been around since the house was originally built. At first, my sister brother and I were a bit weary of talking to him. He always smelled of Vicks and cologne. He lived alone as his wife had passed away. We never met her. Now, this house was situated right in front of a big park named Grover Cleveland Park. On one particular night I was in the park with Martina who was Carmen's daughter. We were sitting on a bench when we saw Mr. Miller walking around the park walkway. He ended up taking a pretty bad fall where he scratched his whole face and broke his glasses on the floor. Martina and I went to help him out but there wasn't much we could do. I might have been around 12 years old. I ran and called my mother who helped Mr. Miller back to his apartment. This was the first time I had entered the apartment. In New York, typically all the apartments look the same in one building. I naturally assumed Mr. Miller's looked the same as our apartment. I quickly realized that his apartment looked the same way it probably looked in the 70's and 80's. It had this swirly trim around the ceiling. It had lamps instead of ceiling lights. It had framed artwork. There was one distinct frame I remember with the painting of a beautiful woman, probably in her late 30's with an extravagant green dress. She had dark brown hair and very fair skin. She smiled as she faced the living room. My mother was busy helping Mr. Miller regain himself on the couch as I was amazed by this apartment. Mr. Miller caught me mesmerized by this amazing painting of that woman and he immediately came back to reality. He turned to me and said, "See that woman right there?" I just nodded. "That right there is my beautiful Joanna. Oh God how I miss her. That's my wife right there." He placed his right hand on his forehead while covering his eyes a little. He dropped his head so his chin rested above his chest. He started shaking his head back and forth. He whispered a few things about his wife. Without delay I began to feel his love for Joanna. I couldn't help but feel this sadness. I had to walk away because I didn't want my mom to see me as I let a few tears roll down my face. I couldn't believe how much he still loved Joanna. I started to walk away letting tears fall when Mr. Miller called me back to him. I wiped the tears away and turned back towards him. He pulled out an old address book. It had yellow pages from age and they were hard and crinkly. He opened it to the back cover where he showed me Joanna's obituary. I had never seen someone's obituary prior to that moment. I had no idea what obituaries were before that night. He gave me the little cut out news paper article of Joanna and told me to put it on his fridge with a magnet. I did as he wished. After that night Mr. Miller just became weaker and more frail. He couldn't continue living alone. I wasn't made aware of this until much later but Mr. Miller was taken to a nursing home. He stayed there probably another year or two and he passed away. In a way, I was secretly glad he finally got to reunite with Joanna.


Another tenant was Mr. Charles Harrison and his wife Celia Harrison. They lived across the hall from Mr. Miller. Mr. and Mrs. Harrison were an elderly couple. Charles Harrison was always cursing at the young children making a ruckus in our neighborhood. He was always angry at someone. He would always be in the park sitting on a bench with his German Shepard named Rosie. My sister Andreea, and brother Robert and I would try to stay away from him. One time he asked Robert to help him insert a car battery. Robert was probably no more than 12 years old. Robert did the best he could. During this moment, I was also present, Mr. Harrison talked to us about how he was in the World War II. He showed us his hand which had a missing thumb. He told us how he lost it to a land mine during the war. We were slightly fascinated by this man. I soon realized that he was always angry because of being in the war. His wife Celia was a frail skinny lady. She was always so sweet. Mr. Harrison and his wife lived on the second floor of our four family house. One day, while coming down the stairs Mr. Harrison fell and hit his head hard on the wooden railing of the staircase. He, of course bled all over the carpet and was laying there for a few moments. My mom came out to help him. We called an ambulance but like every elderly person, he refused to go to the hospital and get checked and make sure he's okay. The ambulance cleaned him up a bit and left. At that moment my mother decided to have the Harrison's move downstairs in the apartment across the hall from our own. The apartment was just left empty by the polish family who lived there. We got the Harrison's in their new apartment with the help of my mother and father. They lived there for a few years until Mr. Harrison's heart gave out. It was a sunny day in spring I believe. Mrs Harrison came running to our apartment door and knocked so hard we thought the door was going to come off. My mom opened the door. I was in our living room on the computer. I heard a panicked Celia ask my mom to come over and help her out because she doesn't know what is wrong with "Charlie", as she called him. I heard my mom jet to their apartment and I curiously followed. I walked into the Harrison's bedroom to see Mr. Harrison on an arm chair with his eyes closed and his body stiff. His legs were positioned so stiff and his arms were kind of turned. His fingers were curled and his mouth was opened. I knew I was looking at a dead man. I was astonished, shocked and confused. I was worried and wished I could help. My mom touched his face and said it was cold. She turned to me and asked me to call 911 right away. I ran to a phone and dialed 911 as fast as my fingers could. I explained to the dispatcher everything I could. I told her he was an elderly man who doesn't seem to be conscience and isn't moving and is cold to the touch. Cops, ambulances and firetrucks immediately arrived. We also called Celia and Charlie's daughter who came with her husband. We all stayed in the kitchen looking towards the bedroom allowing the paramedics to try and revive him. After a few failed attempts my mom started weeping. Celia remained strong. I assume she already knew what was coming. The daughter was also weeping. She was somewhat angry. She was talking about how she's been telling Charles to go to a doctor and get checked. He always refused. After a few hours the officers came and informed us that Mr. Harrison was gone. They told us we had to come up with funeral arrangements. They did everything they could. The laid Mr. Harrison's body to rest on the bedroom floor while we tried contacting funeral services to come pick up the body. It was a crazy experience that I will never forget. I did go to Mr. Harrison's funeral and saw his body resting in peace. I said my goodbye and that was it. Celia ended up moving to New Jersey to live with her kids until she also recently passed away. She lived about four years after Mr. Harrison's death.



Throughout the years we've had a few crazy tenants. None were as memorable as the two mentioned above. My mother and father still live in the same house and we have a whole new set of tenants. That house on Stanhope street is filled with memories and crazy stories.