Aretha and me

I was living in my dream home: a studio apartment at 24 Cornelia Street, the heart of Greenwich Village. Moving here from small-town Michigan, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Smack dab in the middle of the universe, according to me. Visions of Ruth McKenney’s “My Sister Eileen” romped through my brain. A somewhat unfamiliar reference to most, I suspect, since the book and movie are from 1942. But I had a connection. I’m actually related to Ruth McKenney. It’s distant, through some cousin chain, but it was something I bragged about nonetheless and used to…