I was born in 1940 at the old Delray hospital. Until the age of seven I lived in this wonderful ethnic neighborhood. My Polish grandparents lived on Graham Street, and my Hungarian grandparents lived on Sire Street. My parents lived on both Lyons and Keller streets. I was baptized in the Hungarian Reform Church by Rev. Nagy. These are my memories. I can remember taking long walks down Dearborn Street between the train tower all the way to Jefferson. Everyone shopped at Mrs. Tar’s supermarket on Dearborn. There was also a marker near Jefferson where you could buy live animals from chickens and ducks to pigs and lambs. I think they even slaughtered them right there on the spot for you. Tony’s Hungarian meat market on Jefferson was a true experience. I remember large slabs of Szalonna hanging from the ceiling along with sausages and salamis of every description. The smells of garlic and paprika permeated the air inside this old meat market. I remember my Polish grandmother had an ice box and would chip off ice for me to suck on during a hot summer day. She would also take me to a small butcher shop (I think it was on S. Leigh street) to buy a live chicken. The butcher would then chop off its head and toss it in a barrel to flop around. He would then dress out the whole chicken for you and wrap it for you to take home, still warm! Now that is what you call fresh! My Hungarian grandpa was a wine maker, and I can still remember the rows of wooden wine barrels that lined his basement wall. Life was simple and great for a youngster growing up in the old cobblestone streets of Old Delray. For a while I attended Morley school right down the street from the magnificent St. John Cantius Polish Catholic church.
My mother claims that there was once a lady butcher in Delray that had several husbands that eventually ended up as steaks and roast in her butcher shop. I never did find out if this was just an urban legend or not.

• The Witch of Delray:

Another story goes that one time my Hungarian grandmother, who was a Roman Catholic, persuaded my grandfather, who was a Hungarian Reform Protestant, to attend church services with her. After the mass, the priest was said to have approached my grandfather informing him that it was customary for him to pay for the pew he was sitting in if he planed to continue coming to this church. This upset my grandfather very much and he stormed out of the church vowing never again to attend a Catholic church. The story goes on to say that in order to keep the peace with grandma, all the female children could be raised catholic, but all the male children were to be raised in the Hungarian Reform faith. And that’s the way it went. I don’t know if this was just another urban legend or not, but it sure makes for a good explanation.