Growing up in da Bronx wasn’t always easy—but it wasn’t bad either. Life had its rough edges, sure, but there was also beauty tucked into the corners of the city. We could walk to the Bronx Botanical Gardens to have picnics and watch the flowers bloom with each season. The Bronx Zoo was another special treat.

I especially loved the big cats—the lions with their regal manes, and the tigers, my absolute favorites. There was something about their power and grace that fascinated me. To me, they were the most handsome, elegant creatures I had ever seen.

But in 1962, when I was ten years old, da Bronx changed. The city that had once felt like my playground suddenly became a scary place.

One chilly afternoon, my mother sent me to the corner grocery store to buy milk. It was supposed to be a quick errand—I could see my apartment building from the store’s entrance. My bedroom window was even in view.

As I walked home, clutching the milk in a brown paper bag, a man in a long trench coat and a beanie approached me. His voice was calm—almost too calm. He said he had friends in the apartment building where we stood and needed my help to “surprise them.”

Something in his tone froze me. I told him no—I had to get home to my mom. That’s when he grabbed my arm.

Before I could even think, he was dragging me under the stairwell of the building’s lobby. My heart pounded so hard it felt like the walls could hear it. I screamed—loudly—crying and twisting, trying to break free. Somehow, I found the strength I didn’t know I had. I shoved him, hard, and ran—ran like my life depended on it, because I knew it did.

When I burst into our apartment, my mother called from the kitchen, wondering what had taken me so long. But when she saw me—my hair a mess, my face streaked with tears—her voice changed. She came rushing toward me, asking a hundred questions at once.

When we both finally calmed down, I told her everything. She called my father, then the police.

I remember the officer scribbling notes on his pad, his face serious. He asked me questions, then told me gently to go to my room. But I didn’t stay there long—I crept back to the living room just in time to hear him say, “Yup, that’s the guy we’ve been looking for.”

That sentence stayed with me forever.That day, I learned that life can change in an instant—that danger can hide behind a soft voice and a friendly smile. I also learned something about myself: that courage sometimes shows up only when you need it most.

I was lucky that day. Very lucky. But ever since, I’ve been a little more cautious when strangers enter my life—a little more guarded, and a lot more grateful that I listened to the small voice inside me that said I should run!

Eydie