A ghostly photo reveals my ancestor's Bronx storefront

How I finally saw my grandfather's store and possibly him inside

My father was not what you’d call loquacious. In fact, just the opposite. Perhaps he was different from a lot of men of his generation—the so-called “Greatest Generation”—but he was not one for expounding on his past.

Yes, he fought in World War II in the Army and was in Paris soon after it was liberated but, sad to say, I don’t know any of those stories. It was almost like he wanted to forget the whole thing although it was clear his military service had been the adventure of his lifetime, given the oblique hints he dropped from time to time.

He didn’t say all that much about his past but he did mention that his father owned a candy store of some kind. And I knew that it was in the Mott Haven section of the Bronx but that’s about it. My grandfather died before I was five and my grandmother on my father’s side spoke only Italian.

Enter Ancestry.com. I’ve been tracking my roots on and off for the past few years without any real follow-through. My efforts were half-hearted at best but this year, I finally came across something of interest—my grandfather’s selective service registration card.

Now get this: he registered for military service in December of 1942 when he was 59 years old! You read that right—he was 59 years old. Of course, he was not selected to fight but, as near as I’m able to ascertain from records, every male between 18 and 64 years old was required to register.

When he registered, it was only a year after President Franklin Roosevelt’s “Day of Infamy” speech and men were needed to fight on two fronts. My father was drafted to serve in the Army.

Selective service registration cards tend to be a great door to the past. They are almost always filled out by the person registering and are a first person source. You can see their handwriting! Of course, my grandfather’s age popped out but there was something more—his address in the Bronx and, bonanza! the address of that mysterious “candy” store my father talked about. In fact, it was described by my grandfather on this registration card as a grocery store.

Thank God for city records. They are a goldmine for ancestry hunters like myself. Census records indicate precisely who lived in what apartment and notations indicate who spoke to the census taker. I knew from those records that my Uncle Larry, who died in the 1970s, was the person who told the census taker who lived in my grandfather’s apartment. This made sense because he was the oldest of four children and probably spoke English better than his parents.

My wife, who is a trained historian, mentioned to me that from 1939 to 1940, the Works Progress Administration joined forces with the NYC Tax Department to take photographs of many, if not every, block in the five boroughs. Think of Google’s street view project—this WPA project was its precursor by decades.

My wife plugged in the address—309 E. 154th Street—and my mouth fell open, really. I was astonished at what I was looking at. I never thought I’d actually see what my grandfather’s store looked like. I was hoping only to see the building but there it was—a clear photo of the S. La Rosa grocery store with a ghostly image of a man inside. He appears to be wearing a tie and it makes sense that the man would likely be my grandfather. It’s too hard to see his facial features so I’ll never know.

The other possibility is that it’s my Uncle Larry. Why? Because I believe the store is named for him, the first born. At first I couldn’t figure out who the “S” was in “S. La Rosa” but then I realized that Larry’s given name at birth was Sofio. It’s the only “S” possibility in my grandfather’s family.

That photograph for me is like taking a step back in time. Suddenly, the distant past is close enough for me to see and examine. Are those Corn Flakes and Rice Krispies in the window display? Yes sir. Corn Flakes were introduced in the 19th century and Rise Krispies in the 1920s. There are also ads for 5 cent sodas and various other products I can barely make out.

It may seem mundane but this photo is a tangible part of the past that I never thought I’d lay eyes on. And for that, I thank that anonymous photographer who one day in the years 1939 to 1940 traveled to the Bronx and aimed his camera at that small, unassuming grocery store.