Decades have passed yet memories of in El Barrio (Spanish Harlem) remain vivid especially the summers when the unyielding torture of a heatwave caused people and sidewalks to buckle. In the Sixties I was young and new to Manhattan; moving into a new high rise coop development known as the Plaza in Spanish Harlem.

I was thrust into a whole new world. It was an introduction to the music, sounds and food of Puerto Rico. Outside the Plaza, families, many new to the mainland, were crammed into brick tenements replacing third generation Italian-Americans who fled to other boroughs or the suburbs.

The weather was hot and the music was hotter. The rhythms of Salsa I heard drew on its Afro-Cuban roots and gave voice to the struggles of people missing their beautiful island as they struggled to get out of poverty and to find their place in New York.
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On the weekend, the tempo of everything picked up. The streets became gathering places to escape hot apartments. People of rich skin tones crowded the sidewalks. Others leaned out windows, barely clothed, resting on towels meant to keep the sill’s grime and grit at bay – men shirtless or tee shirted, women in little more. Large window fans set on high labored to stir the air.

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