Jules Barrueco

Born and raised in New York City, I spent my formative years dwelling above 110th Street. As a tot I lived with my mom and grandmother in the Lenox Terrace, but in 1967, when I was 4, we moved to 628 West 151 Street. Living in a two-bedroom first floor apartment with wood floors except in the bathroom and kitchen, I shared a bedroom with my younger brother Carlos, who everyone called Perky. The six-story pre-war building was beautiful and well kept.

As a television addicted kid coming up in New York City during the 1970s, I regularly watched reruns of the long-running anthology series, Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Its mysteries of mayhem, murder, betrayal and brutality had plotlines where sometimes the bad guys (or gals) got away with their crimes. Before launching into the drama, the show opened with Hitch greeting the audience with a deep voiced, “Good evening,” followed by a few minutes of chatter.

By Jules Barrueco In the months leading up to my 45th birthday, I had been feeling confident about my professional prospects for the future. I had worked tirelessly, earned the accolades, built the stellar reputation. Achieving the next promotion had been my singular focus for years, and I believed my time was just around the corner.