On my newspaper route as a kid in the 1950s, the first intersecting street was Golden Street. There were four special memories associated with this narrow way. On the north side was New London’s most popular watering-hole, Dan Shea’s. This Irish pub was always full of locals as well as countless sailors in a constant state of celebration. There was no holiday to rival St. Patrick’s Day. Green beer flowed freely and the crowds sang and partied from early morning to late at night. Up the street was Patsy’s Grinders. Pasquale Balda and his wife had come from southern Italy and proudly introduced their version of sandwich to Connecticut.

Carmella had been my Grandmother De Vivo’s close friend and was godmother to my Uncle Pat. Their version of the sandwich was the most popular among the Navy.

Tony Ferrante on Shaw Street has been credited with the creation among the locals. The sandwich which we believed originated in our corner of the state, has since become a staple everywhere, with dozens of names: Subway, Hero, Italian Sandwich, and some names with attached ethnic slurs were heard in many quarters.

The history I find most credible was that an old Italian named Bennedetto was seen by some sailors eating his own sandwich. Benny was persuaded to make a few for the Navy and in no time, the New London Grinder was a staple in the region. The colorful Bennedett was host to the firework displays and a regular at the annual Festivale – eventually featured at Columbus Park, the converted Town Dump.

On the corner of the street was The Hygienic, the best-established diner in the history of this 300-year-old town. Everybody had their breakfast there and my folks, in their innocence, opened a restaurant two doors down in the hope of competing.

On one side was their old family friend, Patsy, selling the same generic grinder. On the other side was the city’s most popular restaurant. Any wonder that The Oasis didn’t survive long in that part of town? In the 1940s, I daily deposited the news to all these establishments.

In the middle of the next block, past James Drugs and Macione’s Shoe Repair, was the city’s only night club. The seven Lamparelli brothers not only played as the Seven Brothers Band, they also owned and worked at a barber shop across the street.

I don’t know what phenomenon was more remarkable, that all the brothers were skilled musicians or that they all worked in the shop. To be fair, I did not get haircuts from the brothers. My brothers and I always went to Hunna David. He, too, was Lebanese and therefore, ethnic loyalty demanded that we go to my father’s friend.

Sadly, he wasn’t particularly fond of kids and knew only one style of cut, a lawn-mower crew cut. We never varied in our appearance. Until high school, we were the near-bald Shashas.

At the corner of Tilley Street was Dan Driscoll’s tire shop. In those days, used tires were the only possibility in my neighborhood, and Dan sold his tires by announcing how many miles each of his wares could travel.

“Here’s one that has another five-thousand on it,” he would pronounce.

Just next door was my grandmother Shasha’s best friend, Lizzie Brax. This dear woman would be a companion to me right up to my graduation from college.

My father’s mother had been a street peddler of sorts. She and her friend, Uncle Shikory, would get supplies of night wear from New York and distribute them among her customers in the neighborhoods. There were bras and negligees and other delicates. Lizzie also was associated with the business. My Sittou was welcomed as “Mrs. Kahkah” among all races.

In front of the fire station was a small island. It wasn’t big enough to call it a park, or even a commons. It was a tiny piece of green, surrounded by street, and fronting New London’s great old house, The Shaw Mansion, where George Washington himself once stayed. At Christmas time the park was home to the tree market and covered with evergreens for sale.

On the corner was the grandest restaurant of all, Ye Olde Tavern. This was supposedly fine dining, and generations of locals ate there, spoiled by Greek chefs who prepared the fanciest and best meats.