By: Mario Mancini

Stephen Bruno, now 42, started as a summer relief doorman and has since spent 14 years working in the same Upper East Side building. From his post, he has seen it all, including a resident whose risqué mail habits became a recognizable signature. “We don’t have to look at the name because we know whose it is,” Bruno told the Post, describing how he and his colleagues easily identified the owner of any envelope with suggestive images. This same individual was also known for provocatively eating pawpaw fruit in the lobby, making Bruno’s shift far from dull.

The memoir reveals that while these wealthy residents might appear to have everything, they often lead stressful lives. “They’re often stressed out and spaced out,” Bruno shared with the Post. “They say hello, they’re still courteous, but you can tell that something is weighing heavy on them, and it’s often business. A lot of them are in finance.”

Bruno’s first overnight shift left a lasting impression. As he was reading a newspaper, the elevator doors opened, and a tall man emerged wearing a bathrobe. The robe was untied, exposing a “very orange” inner thigh, and the man began to stretch awkwardly, commenting on Bruno’s appearance. “He liked what he liked, and he figured you’d play along,” Bruno said. Encounters like this became a routine part of the job.

Romantic escapades were also frequent. During his late-night shifts, Bruno often saw two residents sneaking between floors, confirming their involvement. Another resident would entertain a girlfriend during the day but welcomed male guests in the late hours, calling down to Bruno with the name of the guest—always a different one. “He’d say, ‘so-and-so’s coming for a nightcap,’” Bruno recalled.

Bruno also encountered some odd and occasionally rude behavior. One woman obsessed with ghosts lived in a nearly empty apartment, keeping only a single candle in her living room. “She used to call down about seeing ghosts,” Bruno said. “One time she crossed the street and just turned around and stared at the building for half an hour.” Another woman would deliberately walk across a freshly mopped floor, saying, “I just like to make you guys work harder.”

Despite the occasional unpleasant resident, Bruno formed genuine bonds with others. One of his most cherished connections was with the Blooms, an elderly couple who supported him while he attended graduate school at Hunter College. Bruno recalled how Mrs. Bloom recognized his struggles and invited him over to watch a documentary about playwright August Wilson, who also came from a working-class background. “It showed me that I could be myself, a Latin brown guy from the Bronx, and still be an artist,” Bruno said. “They basically saved my life.”

While Mr. Bloom has since passed away, Bruno remains in touch with Mrs. Bloom, now residing in San Francisco. Although she couldn’t attend his book launch, her son was there, representing her. Bruno plans to visit her in December and present her with a signed copy of his memoir. “She had been more proud of me with every day that publication approached,” Bruno shared.

Now, as he researches a novel set in 1950s New York, Bruno’s memoir offers readers a candid and often humorous look at the world of Manhattan’s elite