Author: John P. O'Grady

Visible Storage: A Ghost Story

One time I took a hike through the Metropolitan Museum in New York City. It’s a big place. At the trailhead is a ranger station where they charge admission. I got past that and...

When Circumstances Are Right

My study is dusty and cluttered, a room jammed with all the items that go with being O’Grady: books lining the walls and stacked on the floor, file drawers crammed with manuscripts, storage boxes...

Sticking Together

Late one November afternoon, we stood before the gates of Woodlawn Cemetery on Jerome Avenue in the Bronx. We entered and came upon a quaint gatekeeper’s cottage with a uniformed guard inside. He took...

Mud Meadow

The name of our place is Mud Meadow. I’m not sure how that came about, but it’s what my father always called it. I don’t know if he made it up himself or heard...

A Dead Cat

Stories are like weeds—they come up everywhere and unexpectedly. Sometimes when I’m reading, I’ll nod off and find myself in the middle of a story that hasn’t been written yet. In that shadowy territory...

Further Adventures in Commerce

The wine store. I’m waiting at the checkout counter. Three aisles away, a big fellow, sixty-something, dressed in black t-shirt and ill-fitting sweatpants, stands shouting through a star-spangled mask into his phone. His wife...

A Memory Resurrected

They say that memory is a kind of treasure house, but I’ve always thought of it more as a graveyard without monuments. It’s easy to lose track of what’s buried there. Recently I was...

The Whole World Is Medicine

Used to be that I spent a lot of time in the cafeteria of a certain Catholic hospital. It doesn’t matter which one. The circumstances of my life were more demanding in those days....

Pomegranates

The first pomegranates of the season are on display in the supermarket. The ancient Egyptians had an expression, “Eat a pomegranate and visit a bath—your youth will hasten back.” I don’t know about that,...