Opinion/Ng: For a RI doctor and me, it's only three degrees of separation instead of six

It is a small world after all. During the days surrounding the 20th anniversary of 9/11, I wrote a column about my memories of that day and watching the horror from a hill on Staten Island in New York City, where I lived before moving to Providence.

Shortly thereafter, I got an email from a Dr. Fred Schiffman at The Miriam Hospital. The exchange of rat-a-tat emails went something like this:

Doctor: "I grew up on Staten Island ... I know exactly the vantage point near the top of Silver Lake Park where Forest Avenue meets Victory Blvd. My [mom] viewed the disaster from there."

Me: "Small world, indeed. Given Staten Island, I'm sure it would take 15 minutes to find out we have mutual friends."

Doctor: "Our home was on the corner of Forest Avenue and Hart Boulevard, opposite the phone company building."

Me: "I used the bus stop on the corner of Forest and Hart. ... I lived on Hart. I know your house. The phone building, you mean Verizon. I shopped at the strip mall across the street. It's where I got my Chinese takeout food and where I used the laundromat."

More from David Ng: An executive editor's best memories of his rookie year in Rhode Island

What are the odds that two native Staten Islanders would move 200 miles from their homes, start new lives as Rhode Islanders, only to find out that they had once lived on the same block?

We promised to keep in touch and meet as soon as possible. But in the rock-and-roll worlds of medicine and journalism, we never kept that promise, because something always kept popping up.

But in the back of my mind, I made a mental note that I needed to follow up with Fred. (Schiffman asked that I call him Fred, not doctor.) So, the other day, still basking in the glow of holiday goodwill, we chatted about the intersection of our lives.

"There's a Yiddish word, "farklempt." It means unable to speak because of emotion," said Fred, 73. "I was speechless. How could the editor of The Providence Journal know the house where I grew up, know the neighborhood where my brother and I lived, played tennis and basketball."

Fred, the hospital's associate physician-in-chief, and his wife, Gerri, landed in Providence after he was trained at New York University and Yale University and moved here at friends' urging. It was love at first sight when he laid eyes on The Miriam Hospital.

Eve more: How a serious bike crash led to my favorite story of 2021 from Executive Editor David Ng

"It was a gem of a hospital and unlike any place I've ever been," he said.

My fellow former Staten Islander put down his roots. That was nearly 40 years ago.

So here is where our small world got even smaller.

His immigrant family ran a shoe store on the same Orchard Street block where I grew up on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. His mom and dad met at a Jewish resettlement program housed in a building across the street from my childhood library. His childhood homes along Allen and Grand streets are in the same ZIP code as my boyhood homes.

Suffice to say that here in Rhode Island, take the six degrees of separation and divide by two.

Other close encounters

I stopped along the banks of the Providence River one summer night and watched a trumpeter who looked like a reincarnation of Louis Armstrong, his cheeks billowing and his eyes bulging when he hit that sweet note. He was just practicing that night, and when he stopped, he spoke in a voice that had the raspy smoke of New Orleans and the Big Easy wisdom of the ages.

"How's it going man?" said the maestro. "I'm Ritchee Price." I introduced myself only as someone new to town and that I had landed a gig at the Projo.

"You're the new editor," he said. "I heard about you."

I was stunned. I felt like an undercover cop whose cover had just been blown. "Eh, how did you figured that out?" I asked. Well, he has a friend who used to work at The Journal who still has friends at The Journal and ... well, there's nothing like the neighborhood grapevine.

Opinion/David Ng: A memorable lesson on how to treat those in need

The halfway point of my East Bay Path bike ride is right by the Sip 'n Dip coffee shop on Hope Street in Bristol. Most days, weather permitting, I grab a coffee and doughnut and sit by the picnic tables with a vista of the Bay. At midday, if I time it right, I sit with what I affectionately call the "Bristol Boys," who gather there and reminisce, philosophize and share their wisdom. I surmise that most of them are retired and served their country nobly. It's a scene worthy of Norman Rockwell.

One sunny day I joined in the chatter, and one salt-and-pepper-haired man said, "You have to meet Manny!" Manny Correira had worked for The Journal as a sportswriter and had just been named man of the year by a local sports club. Hands were shaken and coffee promised, and Manny interviewed me for a community magazine. So somehow a Chinese American journalist from New York City, transplanted to the Ocean State, winds up being a feature in a publication aimed at the Portuguese community in Rhode Island. Really?

Connecting the dots

A colleague and fellow editor, Kathy Hill, congratulated me for becoming a real Rhode Islander because we wear the everyone-knows-everyone coziness of our state like a badge of honor. Now, she said, all that remains is that I get a free Del's lemonade and a low-number license plate. Duh? Guess that's a future column.

David Ng is executive editor of The Providence Journal. Email him at dng@providencejournal.com.

This article originally appeared on The Providence Journal: Coincidental connections link ProJo editor, RI doctor to NYC boyhood