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The Sunday Crossword Puzzle Is a Family Tradition For Some

29 Mar

Puzzle

I never do the Sunday Crossword Puzzle when I am home alone. I do get the Sunday New York Times delivered to my house each week, because I cannot see a life without the large Sunday paper on my driveway. I grew up in a home where the Sunday paper was important. We each would take our sections and sit and read quietly, while my Dad did the puzzle.

Daddy loved to do crossword puzzles. When he was retired, he would start each day with a cup of coffee and the newest puzzle in the newspaper. He usually would use a pencil, but at times Dad used a pen. His ability to solve the puzzle was amazing. In fact I knew after his heart surgery when he was back to himself because he was once more able to complete the puzzle in under hour. For a while, after his open-heart surgery, he struggled.

My Dad had one major competitor for the puzzles, my sister. As she grew up, she wanted to do to the puzzles as well. I think they even bought two Sunday newspapers when my sister was living at home while she attended law school. It alleviated fights as they both could complete these impossible weekly puzzles on their own.

They were not good at sharing the puzzle. This made life more bearable for my Mom.   I am not sure if they competed to see who would complete it first, but it would not surprise me if they did.

I just did not want to get involved in the puzzle battles. I would answer a question about a word, if asked. But usually I stayed out of the way. It could be very intense. And although I was an English major and knew many of the references, I was afraid to get involved. What if I made a mistake? So I just bought my own puzzle books and stayed out of the fray.

When my sister married, she married another crossword puzzle addict. They and their children would sit around on Sunday and read the clues out loud so everyone had a chance to answer. They would also take turns being the one to write down the answers. A new family tradition was born. It was a world of word puzzle cooperation!

My husband was not interested in puzzles. So we never developed the tradition of doing the crossword puzzles together. Whenever my parents came to visit me in Kansas, I would read the section of the newspaper with the puzzle in it first so that when my Dad was ready he could do the puzzle. Sometimes one of my children would sit with him when he worked the puzzle, but it was more of watching than participating. Occasionally, my Dad would ask for help with a word.

I would buy my Dad crossword puzzle books so that he would have something to do when we were having down time. I even purchased him a crossword puzzle mug to use when he visited my family. I still have the mug. Whenever I use it I think of my Dad.

In the Catskills a different crossword puzzle tradition developed. My cousin also loves the Sunday puzzle. Every Sunday friends and cousins gather on his lake front property with the latest puzzle. It is passed around to those interested in working on it. Completing the Sunday Times puzzle is a process of teamwork. Clues are read out loud. Comments are made. The group effort often works.

I enjoy joining in because I like the concept of the crossword puzzle. I took my husband to see the movie, “Wordplay,” about the New York Times crossword editor Will Shortz and a crossword competition. I loved the movie. I enjoyed seeing the joy of the competitors as they did well.

So I had to think, “Why did I never get into crossword puzzles when I love word games so much?” I think it was because doing these puzzles was my Dad’s thing to do. And I would not compete. My sister moved back home after college after developing the love of crosswords while at school. So when she lived at home while attending law school, she and my Dad had to work out a compromise; it was purchasing two papers.

Except for a summer or two, I never lived at home again after college. I went to grad school and married. And the crossword puzzle tradition ended in my home, except when my parents visited. I also think that if online crossword puzzles had existed sooner, I might have been more interested.   With online puzzles, each person can work on their own without interfering with others. But even my sister, who does weekday puzzles online, admits that on Sunday she wants to work on a the paper puzzle.

When I get my Sunday Times. I read it over a two-day period. I save the Book Review and the Sunday Magazine for last. Often reading them on Tuesday. But I have never touched the puzzle. When I am with others, I love working on it. So, perhaps it is time for me to take on this tradition and attempt to complete the Sunday New York Times Crossword puzzle. Perhaps I need to develop a new Sunday tradition.

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Working For My Dad’s Firm in NYC Lead to my Love of Lingerie

15 Jan

Growing up with a father in the textile industry in New York City had certain blessings. My Dad was involved in the women’s lingerie, undergarment and swim suit industry. And among his clients were some of the top names in lingerie at the time: Christian Dior, Maiden Form and many others. When Ginger Rogers started her own lingerie line, my Dad was one of her suppliers of fabrics. Gottex, the Israeli bathing suit company was his client in the late 1960s and 70s.

Dad was the ‘converter.’ He made sure that a printed fabric was made correctly. He had an artist on staff who did the colorizations if they were printing several different color combinations of the same print. He worked with textile factories in the Carolinas and Providence, Rhode Island. With his start in the embroidery manufacturer, he also knew so much about lace and embroidery.

He did very well, until the textile industry in the US started to fall under the burden of cheap imports from other countries.

But when I was in high school and college, Dad was in his most productive and expansive years. I worked in his office in the summer time. I got to know his staff and his customers, his sales men and his clients. At lunchtime I would go out and shop at B Altman’s, my favorite store. Dad would give me his credit card and I would chose items to be shipped to NJ to avoid sales tax on clothing. He paid me a small salary, but the benefits of his credit card are not to be denied.

However working with Dad brought about other benefits.   When I went away to college, his friends, who knew me, wanted to help.   One provided me with 144 pairs of panties. Do you know how popular you are when you have 144 pair of clean underwear?   I cannot tell you how many I gave away my freshman year of college.   And I will not say it was a daily event. But at least once a week, a dorm mate who heard about my stash would show up at my door, asking for a pair. You do not have to do laundry as long as you have clean underwear! I saved the day for many girls.

I carried the need for many pair of undies with me for my adult life. When my daughter went away to college, I did not send her with 144 pair of underwear, but I did send her with about 48. In my mind I had to make this same advantage for her that I had when I went to college.

My daughter and I have spent many hours at Victoria Secret searching for the perfect undergarments, lingerie and comfort clothes. Unfortunately, she never had the opportunities I had for free samples. When I started shopping with her, I realized even more emphatically what a benefit I had with my Dad’s career in with the fashion industry.

As for samples, I was the perfect Gottex sample swim suit size as well. I had multiple bathing suits that were designed and never made it to production. Then they became mine. I still remember a white bikini with hearts on it and a navy blue flowered print one-piece suit.

The bathing suit company was from Israel. Which leads up to my next underwear story. I spent my sophomore year of college in Israel. Before I went, I was once again the beneficiary of many undergarments. Did they really think I used up all those from freshman year? I guess so. Because I got lots more.

In any case, one of my father’s friend sent me four boxes of lingerie for his family and me to my dorm in Israel. When his Mom and sister came to pick up the boxes, we first opened them all, and they said, “Take what you need and what you want.” I did not want to take too much because I already had some I had brought along with me. But they were insistent.   Really, for me and for them, what was another 24 pair of panties and several nightgowns? Wow! I had the most beautiful underwear and lingerie in all of Har Hasofim, the Mount Scopus Campus of Hebrew University.

Mom's peach colored peignoir.

Mom’s peach colored peignoir.

Until my father retired, I never had to worry about buying any negligee, camisole, nightgowns underwear or slips, as well as swimsuits or swim wear cover-ups. I had the loveliest items. I was not the only one to benefit from this lingerie largesse, my Mom and sister also benefited. I still have a beautiful peach colored peignoir my Mom received as a gift from Deena of California. As my sister reminded me, we also were delighted every Hanukkah with gifts of lovely lingerie.

Bras were another story. But luckily a friend of mine’s parents own a lingerie shop, Sylvette’s, in North Bergen, where those could easily be obtained. I will admit, as a tween and teen, I was a little embarrassed to go there and see my friend’s father behind the counter. But he never made you feel uncomfortable. I think because he had the best sense of humor.

I still remember the first few times I went with my Mom. The first time I was o be fitted for a training bra. What is that all about? Can you train your chest? Not really. A few months later, we went back again for me to be fitted for a real bra. I think my friend’s Mom is the person who took me to the back room both times to measure me. Then she and my Mom had a long conversation on what would be best. There were drawers upon drawers of bras and lingerie. Eventually I got over my embarrassment and would go by myself. I loved going in there and looking at all the pretty items.

One of my honeymoon peignoirs.

One of my honeymoon peignoirs.

When I got married, the bounty from my father’s friends continued. I think I was the only bride with three peignoir sets to wear on her honeymoon. My mother and I looked them over to decide which ones I should take with me. Should I really take three? We were going on a cruise and that seemed a little too much.

I can see them in my mind. One was a creamy white satin with inlaid lace on the shoulders of the robe and the nightgown. It was designed for Saks Fifth Avenue. Another was beige chiffon. I was lost in the billowing skirt. The last was my favorite. A Christian Dior with a long cream color negligee with embroidery and a short jacket/robe.

I still have the two sets I actually took, including the Christian Dior one. They were too lovely for me to give away. I guess I am hoping to one day present them to my daughter. And after being married for almost 35 years, I am sentimental.

There are times when I can close my eyes and still see my father’s office. His artist, Christine, lives in California. I often think of her and our laughter at work. My father instilled in me a love of fine fabrics and color. The touch of cloth has meaning to me.

The ‘schmattah world,’ the ‘rag trade,’ the textile industry; the bustle and noise and mayhem of the textile industry was a vital part of my life. I am glad I spent time with my Dad at work in Manhattan. It was a wonderful time leading to a life- long love of lovely lingerie.

 

 

An earlier blog about my Dad’s embroidery shop in New Jersey:  https://zicharonot.wordpress.com/2014/02/26/a-hudson-county-embroidery-shop-started-my-dads-career/

 

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Growing Up In New Jersey Meant Having a Cuban “Family” For Me

19 Dec

Growing up in North Bergen, New Jersey, in the early 1960s, I will tell you that I knew many people who left Cuba. For some reason a large number of Cuban refugees ended up in West New York, New Jersey, the city where my Mom grew up and where she taught elementary school.

Among my Mom’s close friends were three women who had left Cuba after Castro took over. In Cuban, two of them had lived upper class lives, with servants and large homes.   The husband of one had had an important position in the previous government. He did not come over with her, as he was imprisoned.

Our lives became intertwined with the families of these three women, We knew their spouses and children. We went to their homes. Although I never learned to speak Spanish, I could understand it as I spent time with the grandmother who never learned to speak English.

They hated Castro. They had a good reason to hate him, as he had destroyed their lives as they knew it. But the years passed. They did make a life in New Jersey, although they always talked about the cold here and the beautiful island of Cuba.

My Mom and these women shopped together, ate together, had parties together. They formed a family at school that continued when they all retired. They took my Mom shopping and always made sure she was dressed appropriately!! They were much more formal at first. And knew all the great places to shop. Gloria, Elvira and Belkys were part of our lives.

At my wedding, it was Gloria who brought needle and thread for my wedding gown. She was concerned because I chose not to have a bustle made. Instead, I had a loop to put the train over my arm. She was right. I grew tired of that very quickly. And Gloria sewed an improvised bustle to my gown at the reception.

They shared happy events and sad ones with us. I remember at my Grandmother’s shiva in 1991, they all came, “the Cuban contingency,” as my Dad called them. At the shiva was a new friend of mine, who was Chilien. I cannot erase from my mind the vision of Gloria and my friend, Vero, standing opposite each other, hands clasped, as Gloria interviewed Vero in Spanish. Thank goodness she passed. We have traveled the world together and have become family, just as my family united with Gloria’s family decades before.

My father and Gloria’s husband, Raphael, drove into NYC together for years. My Dad took his car in, leaving from our home on 78th Street near Boulevard East, and pick up Raphael who lived on Boulevard East right near the border with West New York. They were a team! A comedy team at times!

These three women had an important impact on my life. They were always there. They were at my wedding, my children’s bar and bat mitzvah.  All family events!  They were there at my Mother’s funeral and a few months later at my Dad’s funeral. Their love for my parents and for us never wavered.

So as President Obama, Raul Castro, the Pope and Canada worked in secret to change the relationship between Cuba and the USA, I wondered what they would think of all this.

Perhaps by now their anger would have disappeared. It is over 50 years. The USA has made peace with Germany, with Japan, with Vietnam with South Korea, with China. Why not Cuba?   It makes sense. The world is too small for this distancing from a neighbor who is so close.

No other country has agreed and supported the USA’s blockade of Cuba. No other country has agreed with this decision.

If you read the history of the Island of Cuba (I recommend the book, Havana Nocturne), you would learn that the mob and the dictator before Castro, Fulgencio Batista, were not better than Castro. They were destroying Cuba. Castro, not that I am endorsing what he did, had a reason for the overthrow of the existing government.

Fidel Castro is no longer at the helm of Cuba. It is his brother, Raul.   I believe from the moment he took over, Raul Castro was looking to make a change. I have a personal story that endorses this belief.

My parents went on a cruise in February of the year Raul took over the helm of Cuba, for my Mom’s birthday. My Dad had a heart condition, but was not known to follow medical advice very well when it came to eating correctly. He became ill on the cruise going into congestive heart failure.

The ship had to make a very quick trip to the Grand Cayman Islands where my Dad and Mom were taken off the ship and directly to a hospital. There my Dad was stabilized and then my parents were flown by air ambulance back to the USA. As they flew, the pilot spoke to my Mom.

“Look out the window,” he told her. “That is Havana.   We are the very first air ambulance that has ever been given permission to fly over Cuba!”

Thanks to Raul Castro’s new government, the air space over Cuba was opened for medical emergencies, and my Dad lived three more years.

It is time to make a change.

While growing up in New Jersey, I had a Cuban family! I think the USA and Cuba could form strong bonds, just as the USA and Japan, Germany, and other former adversaries have formed bonds.

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A Night in the Hospital Used To Be a Nightmare for Children

26 Oct

 

My actual Candy Striper Hat from the early 1970s. I had to wear it at the hospital.

My actual Candy Striper Hat from the early 1970s. I had to wear it at the hospital.

When I was a sophomore at North Bergen High School I volunteered as a Candy Striper at North Hudson Hospital on Park Avenue, in Weehawken, New Jersey. For about a year I went once or twice a week after school or on the weekend to work mainly in the children’s wing, doing whatever the nursing staff requested. I also made origami animals for the children in the wards.

In those days there were strict visiting hours. Parents could not spend the day, much less the night with their children. And children were often lonely and scared. Since I was allowed there at times other than visiting hours, I could visit with the children. Making the origami figures cheered them up. I always gave my creations to the children when I was done. I worked enough hours to earn my 100-hour pin and more.

My volunteering came about because of my sister and my own experience in the hospital. When I was six, I had tonsillitis. For months I had tests and blood tests. They told my parents I had leukemia, which then was a death sentence. It turned out that I only had tonsillitis. What a relief! But I needed my tonsils out!

I remember my Dad taking me to the hospital in the morning and promising to be with me all the way. But after the nurses took me on the gurney to the elevator, my Dad was left behind when the elevator doors closed. I remember screaming for him all the way to the operating room.

I was traumatized. So was my Dad. He told me years later that he would hear the sound of my screaming in his dreams.

Because of this horrible experience, when my own daughter needed surgery when she was six, I looked for options.   Things had changed over the years, but most important I am married to a pediatrician.   We knew the surgeon and the anesthesiologist. My husband was allowed to scrub in and go with our daughter into the operating room. Once she was under the anesthesia he had to leave. But at least she was not alone, like I was so many years before.

It was not only this event that made me want to be a Candy Striper. I was hospitalized several times as a child for bronchitis, which I found out later in my life, was asthma. Those few days alone in the hospital without my parents, except for short visits were horrible. Scared and alone, I would often cry.

But the worst was my sister. When she was in elementary school she had an emergency appendectomy.   The surgery went fine, but they put her in a room with other children and she developed all sorts of diseases: strep throat, a staph infection and more. She was in the hospital for over two weeks.

It was a horrible time for my family. I remember my parents crying and worrying. They were only allowed in the hospital for a short period two or three times a day. Traveling back and forth was difficult. My parents were both working. My brother and I were not allowed to see her, as children were not allowed in the hospital.   I remember going there one time and sitting in the car in the parking lot. My Mom went upstairs and my sister waved to us from the window, we got out of the car and waved back.

My sister finally came home. But she was home from school for another two weeks. We were a totally stressed out family by this point. Everyone was on edge and scared. That two-week period is nothing compared to what other families faced. Not being able to be there made it so much worse!

Life is so much better now that parents able to visit their sick child in the hospital whenever they like, even to spend the night with them. Not that anyone should get sick. But at least if they are sick, parents are allowed all the access they need and want. Children’s hospitals do all they can to make hospitalizations as easy as possible. Bright colors and decorations make the hospital look cheerful. The scary old look of hospitals is eliminated as much as possible in today’s children’s hospitals.

Another change is the limited time spent in the hospital. When I had my tonsils out in 1961, I spent two nights in the hospital. When my daughter had her surgery she was sent home that evening, partly because my husband would be home in case of an emergency. But even if she stayed, it would have been for less than 24 hours. (I will admit that I spent the night on the floor of our daughter’s bedroom.)

Part of the reason for the limited hospital stay is exactly what happened to my sister. Patients in the hospital have infectious and contagious diseases. It is best not to be around them. Now children have private rooms with space for the parents to stay. Then my sister was in a room with at least one other child at all times. There was no room for parents. And the other occupant could spread disease.

So with this history, as soon as I was of the right age, I volunteered at the North Hudson Hospital to help children. I had a great time for about a year. Then something happened. All I knew is that I was in the office of the head of volunteering and my Dad came to get me.   I honestly did not remember what happened, except that I was sick to my stomach.

I never went back to the hospital after that. And I decided I never wanted to be a nurse or a doctor. (I still think it is strange that I married a doctor.) But I kept my Candy Striper hat because I was proud of what I had done.

Years later, I was telling my daughter about being a Candy Striper and how I loved being with the children. She asked why I stopped. I told her I really did not know. My Dad happened to be with us during this conversation. He said, “You don’t remember? You went into the wrong room. A man had, who had been in a car accident, died, and you passed out.”

No wonder why I have always hated the sight of blood and disliked going to the hospital. It all made sense. But I am glad I volunteered for the time I did.

Luckily for me, my children never had to spend the night at a hospital. But over the years, many of my friends’ children have had surgeries or have had to spend a night. I am so glad their experiences are so much better than they were in the 1960s! I am so glad that parents and family can visit and give the children the love and support that they need. I am glad that it no longer is a nightmare for children who are sick to spend the night in the hospital.

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The Ghost In The Basement: A True Ghost Story

23 Oct

When I was 9, my family moved from one side of North Bergen to the other side, to a house on 78th Street and Boulevard East. It was a great house with a wonderful backyard on a street with lots of children and fine neighbors.

Next door, our neighbor grew peaches and when they ripened he would give us some. There were two other girls my age, plus children for my brother and sister to play with. Up the hill at the other corner lived James Braddock, yes Cinderella Man, the great boxer.  We were one block from the park and could easily look across the Hudson River to New York City. There was so much to do and so many places to explore!

I loved my street. We had great games of stickball, played at each other’s homes, and wandered over to the park. And we even had the Grandma of one of my friends watch over us when our Mom was still at school; Mom was a teacher. It was a wonderful community.

As for my house, I loved it sort of…well…. except for the ghost in the basement. From the moment we moved in, I knew he was there. I would see him or feel him in certain areas of the basement. But my parents did not believe there was actually a ghost. They thought I just wanted to avoid chores. When we first moved there, I was really scared. I would confront my parents and cry to them, “There is a ghost in the basement! Really. There is really a ghost. I am not making it up!!”

But nothing ever changed their mind. I still had to go help with the laundry and do chores. I eventually just came to accept the ghost. He never hurt me or really did anything spooky. He was just there, in the basement and on the back stairs. He just became part of my life. I stopped talking about him.

I set up a little house in the basement for my dolls, doll furniture and me. And I would often play there. I put down scraps of linoleum to mark the outlines of my house. I felt safe there, within my ‘house.’ I always felt a sense of warmth when I sat in my area. But at night, when it was dark, or on rainy days, I would get a different vibe from our basement dweller. And I did not want to go down the basement then.

When I got older, I dreamt about the ghost. I knew, in my heart, that he was from the Revolutionary War, and I knew he died in battle. But it did not make sense because even though my area of New Jersey was part of the original settlements. The battles around Ft. Lee were several miles from my home. I could not understand how a dying soldier could make it that far along the Hudson River and the cliffs of the Palisades. But I knew he was a soldier. I just did not know about any battles close to home.

Then recently, on the “Town of North Bergen” Facebook page, some one posted a link to a booklet: “North Bergen Yesterday” by Michael K. Kruglinski and others, published in 1997. And right on the cover it says “May 27, 1780, Patriots Attack British Blockhouse at the Top of Bull’s Ferry Road.” Oh My Goodness! Bull’s Ferry Road, the scariest road in North Bergen, is easy walking distance from my childhood home!!! There was a Revolutionary War battle right where I walked many times. So close to my home!

This was it! I remembered back to my childhood haunting, and thought, The Ghost is explained!”

Now before you think I am totally crazy, I am really not the only one who saw the ghost. He never came into to our kitchen. He haunted the basement and would come up the basement stairs to the landing to the back door off the kitchen and stand there. He never went outside. He never entered our living areas. He just liked standing in the entranceway, watching.

One day, when I was a freshman or sophomore at North Bergen High School, I had some friends over. We were sitting in the kitchen having a snack, when one of them started to scream. “There is a man standing there.”   She was looking behind me towards the steps. I knew exactly what she saw.

“No,” I said, “Don’t worry, that is just the ghost from the basement..”

My statement did not go over very well.

My two friends started screaming and headed for the front door to run out. Oh no! My brother had just arrived home. He was coming in the front door and popped his head into the window on the door to look in before he entered. He startled them! My friends really started screaming then. As he opened the front door, they ran out!!!

A high school senior, my brother thought we were all insane. I really never was scared of the ghost once I got older. But when my friends started screaming, I did as well. They did not want to go back into my house, so instead we walked around the corner to one friend’s apartment. Once we got there, and they had calmed down, I told them all about the ghost in the basement.

We all saw the same thing.   A young man standing against the wall in the doorway. He had long brownish hair in a ponytail and was wearing a dark/black ‘turtleneck’ type shirt…or so it seemed, and a long jacket. He always wore the same thing.

I told them that he was safe. Not to worry.

That evening at dinner my brother told my parents the story of my crazy friends running out of the house. None of them believed that the ghost existed.   My Dad said my friends were being ridiculous that I probably told them about it, so they thought they saw him. It was just a matter of suggestion!

“But Dad, “ I insisted. “I never told them about the ghost. I never told anyone about him. They saw something and mentioned it first; they started screaming, before I told them.”

He did not really believe me. But it was the truth.

My sister was home during the great ghost sighting, although she did not see him. She actually never saw him, although she admits that “the basement was creepy!”

However, I believe other friends saw my ghost over the years. He would just stand there, always watching. I never spoke about him outside of the house, except with friends who had seen him.

In fact over the years, I stopped thinking about him. Once in a while I would remember the day my friends got so scared, but that was secondary to my ghost.

So seeing this book and this sentence about a Revolutionary War battle so close to my home brought it all back, just in time for Halloween. I hope he has found peace and is no longer haunting my childhood basement and stairs. It has been 234 years. I think he deserves some peace.

But I do wonder if the people who live in my childhood home ever feel the presence of the ghost in the basement?

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Hidden Memories, They Do Exist!

10 Oct

Lately in the Kansas City area we are hearing much about ‘recovered’ memories due to a trial concerning the Catholic Church and a man who alleges he was sexually abused by a priest when he was a child. The man says he repressed that memory until he was an adult and a friend told him about another child who was abused.

And I believe him, because about three years, I had a similar event. Memories that I had repressed and forgotten were uncovered because of a conversation.

It started simply enough. My husband and I were meeting a friend of ours for lunch and then we were going to the movies. My husband was going to a movie he wanted to see, and my friend and I were going to a ‘chick flick.’ But that is not what ended up happening.

When we met for lunch, my friend told us that she would not go to the movies, because another friend called and needed help with a party. My husband was annoyed. He said, “Well that takes care of that. No movie today.”

“Why not?” My friend asked. “You can still go to the movies.”

“No,” my husband responded. “Ellen does not go to the movies by herself.”

“You don’t!” My friend was surprised. “Why not?”

This is when I entered the conversation. I had never really thought about the fact that I never went to the movies by myself. I know lots of people who do, but I never ever went into a movie by myself.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just don’t go to the movies by myself.”

My friend wanted answers, but I had none for her at that moment. But

as we ate lunch my brain kept thinking about it. Why don’t I go to the movies? There are many movies I want to see. When I go out of town, my husband always goes to the movies he wants to see that he knows I won’t go to. But I never do that. I have friends who go on their own in the afternoon. But I never do that. I wait till my husband or a friend will go with me. Why don’t I go to the movies by myself. It was really beginning to bother me.

Suddenly, I had a memory from my childhood, from a Saturday afternoon at the Embassy Theater in North Bergen. I remembered a bad thing.

“I think something happened in a theater when I was little,” I said. “I need to speak to my brother. He would know, because he was there.”

And that is where it ended. After lunch we went home because I really do not go to the movies by myself.

A few weeks later I flew to New Jersey to see my Dad. My brother picked me up at the airport. As he drove, I told him the story about not going to the movies alone and my memory of a man in the dark movie theater, sitting next to me, doing something nasty.

“Yes,” my brother told me. “It happened. “ And for the very first time that I remember, we talked about that day.

When we lived on Third Avenue, we went to the movies almost every weekend. There was an older boy, someone’s brother, who would take a group of us to the movies. About 8 to 10 of us would go each week. Sometimes we walked to the Embassy Theater and sometimes the fathers drove us. The older boy, a teenager, would sit in the middle of the group. My brother said the older boy was about 14; the rest of us ranged in age from about 7 to 10.

This one time, I had to go to the bathroom before the movie. My brother waited for me in the lobby. And then we went in. Because we were late, instead of sitting next to my girlfriend in the middle, I was sitting on the far left side. My brother was to my right next to the group. There was an empty seat to my left. When the movie started a man sat down next to me. He never touched me, but he exposed himself and touched himself.

I grabbed my brother on the arm. I was too scared to talk. I was about 7 or 8. At first he tried to push me off. But then he looked over and saw what was happening. My brother took my hand and pulled me to the older boy in the middle. He whispered in his ear. Everyone moved down and I was put next to the older boy.

I do not remember if he got the manager. I do not remember ever telling my parents what happened. I honestly did not remember the incident in my active brain at all. All I knew is that I do not go to the movies by myself. And I NEVER, EVER allowed my children to go alone to the movies until they were teens and driving, I always went to the movies with them. Even to movies I did not want to see!

When I go to the movies, I always sit to the right of my husband. So when I look to the left he is there. There is never a stranger next to me on the left. And I try to keep anyone I do not know from sitting next to me on the right.

My brother told me it was time to get over it, when he finished telling me what he remembered. Perhaps my brother is right. Perhaps it is the time to get over it.

But I do know that memories can remain uncover for years. That it is possible to forget something but still be impacted by actions that occurred when we were young.   And I know that an event or a converstaion can trigger the memory.

To be honest for a while I thought perhaps I was imagining it. Did this really happen to me? I did not want to ask my brother over the phone, because I thought he would laugh at me. I wanted to ask in person. I was lucky that my brother could confirm the memory. He was there. It did happen. I had a legitimate reason to be afraid.

Has my habits changed in the three years since I found out what happened? NO. I still cannot go to the movies by myself.

 

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The Beauty of the Palisades Needs to Remain

29 Sep

Although I no longer live in New Jersey, in my heart I carry a love for the city I grew up in, North Bergen, and the beautiful view of the Hudson River and New York City I had every day from the Palisades. I was so lucky to grow up just a few houses in from Boulevard East and the Palisades, just a block away from Hudson County Park, now known as James Braddock Park.

But over the last ten years, I have noticed a terrible change in my town and the areas along the Palisades. Each year more and more of the solid rock has been carved by giant machines to make way for more businesses and apartment buildings springing up at the bottom of the Palisades along River Road. They are destroying this natural beauty. Destroying rock that has stood for centuries.

As they destroy the cliffs, they often build high-rise buildings that block the views of people who have lived on the top of the Palisades. They block the view of people who want to walk and see the view. They are destroying such a lovely sight.

It did not start just ten years ago. But I have noticed an increase in destruction over the past ten years.

When I was a child, River Road was a small two-lane street that meandered along the bottom of the Palisades and looked out over the Hudson River. It is now a four-lane thoroughfare in many places. And the view of the River is gone, blocked by apartments that have been built on landfill. I know that people need places to live. So I am not against homes being built. But I wish that more green and open spaces were left for people to enjoy.

There are organizations that have sprung up to save the Palisades, but in typical New Jersey fashion, many of the politicians and the planning boards are not listening. They only see the opportunity of more stores and more homes and so more tax income.   All the time they are damaging what makes New Jersey so beautiful and so popular, the Palisades.

Growing up near the park and the boulevard gave my siblings, friends and I lots of opportunity to climb down the cliffs. Of course our parents did not want us to do this. But the thrill called. The wall along Boulevard East was not in great repair, so we were able to slip through breaks in the wall and go down. And some places had intentional gaps.

Palisades, Suicide bridge May 2013

Palisades, Suicide bridge May 2013

See how much of the mountain has been carved away from the May photo.

See how much of the mountain has been carved away from the May photo.

We lived very close to Suicide Bridge. The view from the bridge is magnificent. We often went for a short walk to look over the top.

When I crossed the boundary and scampered through the wall, I stayed near the top. Sitting on boulders, walking along old terraced areas. But I have found out that my sister and her friends would often climb down along the terraced hill almost to the bottom. They would play among old stone walls and a stone staircase. I was shocked to hear that, as that was a definite “NO,” in our parent’s view. She would have been in big trouble if my parents knew!

Me early 1970s in HC Park

Early 1970s, I am sitting on my favorite boulders.

I loved just to go through the wall and just sit on the boulders and look over to New York City. It was and still is a wonderful view.   From here we watch the World Trade Towers, the Twin Towers go up; we saw the famous black outs of 1965 and 1977; we watched fireworks from the Palisades. They were such a part of our lives.

Some days I would just sit and watch the traffic across the River, thinking about how long it might take my Dad to get home from work. When I close my eyes I still see that wonderful view.

I still enjoy the drive along the Palisades Interstate Parkway (PIP).  And I will always remember stopping at one of the overlook sites to see the Hudson River, the Palisades and New York.

The Palisades are one of New Jersey’s and nature’s loveliest cliffs.I hope those who still live in North Bergen and other cities along the Hudson and throughout New Jersey would keep working to keep the Palisades available to all and not destroyed by more developers. I know there are many who are doing this in an effort from having large corporate offices be built on pristine land.  And those of us who moved away need to join our voices to save the cliffs that provided us so much beauty.

 

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Palisades_(Hudson_River)

https://www.facebook.com/ProtectThePalisades

 

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Remember The Corner Candy Store; It Was Not Just for Candy

30 Aug

Children of today are missing out on so much fun due to parental fears and lack of neighborhood stores. But one of the most important things they are missing is the corner candy store!

From the time I was 3 until fourth grade, I lived in a three-family home on Third Avenue in North Bergen. It was great living there, but most important the owners of the house also owned the candy store on 85th Street that I passed every day one the way to and from school.

I lived on the second floor. The owners also owned the corner candy store on 85th Street.

I lived on the second floor. The owners also owned the corner candy store on 85th Street.

Every afternoon I stopped into the store with my treat money. You could get many different penny candies: candy buttons on a paper strip, licorice, sugar water in waxed bottles, candy necklaces and so much more.

These candies bring back so many good and gooey memories. The candy necklaces would get wet and slimy around your neck as you ate off pieces of candy. The button candy on the paper was difficult to eat without eating some of the paper. One of my childhood friends remembers being yelled at by her mom for eating too much paper.   Pixie Stix were a favorite. They were straws filled with flavored sugar. I delighted in eating those!! The little mini bottles of wax with the sugar water came in many colors. I liked to mush the wax into balls after drinking the water. My sister remembers eating the wax and getting into trouble for that action. She also squashed the used bottles into shapes. We had hours of fun with penny candy!

An extra special part of going to that candy store was that the owners knew us so well that often they would give us some extra candy to eat on the way home. Some times they had candy behind the counter for us: items that came in with a broken wrapper or some little flaw. My sister would stand on the step stool, an old wooden milk carton, sometimes to look over the counter to see if anything was there! We would chose our candy and the store owner would put the prices on a brown paper bag and add them up to tell us what we owed.  Then we would put the candy in little brown bags and snack on the rest of the walk home. We usually had enough to eat that we had some left even when we got home.

When I was in third grade, I started going to religious school in the afternoons after finishing Horace Mann. Before going to the synagogue, Temple Beth Abraham, for religious school, we found the candy store a very popular spot. I always would first go to the candy store for a snack and would meet many of my friends in there also getting something to eat. We always needed a snack between school and religious school!

Besides the candy, the most important part of the candy store for me was the comic books. I think every candy store had a comic book section. Each week new comic books would come out, the cost five or ten cents each. And sometimes there was a special one that cost a quarter. I loved getting the comic books. I loved browsing through them. Some of the boys loved to buy the baseball cards as well.

When we moved away from Third Avenue to 78th Street, I was desolate, partly because of the lost of the candy store. But I found out I really had no worries. Even though I did not know the owner at first, I did find another corner candy store to walk pass on my way home from school. It was on either on 77 or 76 and Broadway, if I remember correctly. It also had all the penny candy and the comic books. The only thing missing was the free candy I used to get.

But I did not totally miss out on free candy. My grandparents owned a bakery on Palisades Avenue in West New York. A few doors down from them was a corner candy store. Sometimes when I spent the weekend, my grandma would give me a dime and send me to the candy store….not for food. We had lots of candy and bakery goods at the bakery. But I could go buy a comic book. Yay Grandma! She knew I loved to read them.

There was no candy store within easy walking to our summer home in the Catskills. Oh, wait, I take that back, when I was really little there was a small store that sold candy and ice cream across from the lake on the way to town on the corner of West Shore Road and 55. It closed when I was very young. Now there is a private home where the store used to be.

But we had substitutes. We could walk into the town of Kauneonga Lake, to a small grocery store, Vassmer’s; or to the pharmacy, Newman’s. In one of those stores we could either get candy and comics, or go to the fountain at Newman’s and get ice cream or a soda. It was fun! I remember when I was a teen, I walked into Newman’s one day and there was my brother with his girlfriend having a milk shake…if I remember correctly there was one shake and two straws.

Next to the Ritz Movie Theater in White Lake was a candy store as well. Before we would go into the movie, we would go to the candy store to pick out our treats. How wonderful was that? Very wonderful!

Children today do not have the joy of going into a little corner store by themselves and choosing any little candy or comic. Now you have to drive to the supermarket or a convenience store. The neighborhood candy store seems to be gone forever. And I miss it! Going to a corner candy store every day was a part of the daily routine. And forget penny candy! I do not believe it exists anymore!

I thnk going to the corner candy store also taught us about money. There was only so much you could spend. Would it be a comic book or candy? How much did you need to save from your allowance to get exactly what you wanted? You could plan. The candy store owners knew you! They would hold back your favorite comic, knowing what you wanted to read each week. And if you did not have enough money, they would wait till you came back.

The corner candy store was a gathering place for children and adults. It was a community space, a place for neighbors to visit.  Penny candy and comics gave us so much joy.  I think that is why the corner candy store was so important in my life.

There actually is still a store there: https://www.google.com/maps/place/North+Bergen,+NJ/@40.806574,-74.007579,3a,75y,199.76h,96.03t/data=!3m4!1e1!3m2!1s0C9V1gOMRYvBYne8nYQNwg!2e0!4m2!3m1!1s0x89c25804d4293b57:0x5efe2629bb9f9381

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The First Day of School is Exciting, Frightening and a Memory Forever

25 Aug
The 74th Street side of Robert Fulton Elementary School.

The 74th Street side of Robert Fulton Elementary School.

Last week, as I sat on my front stoop waiting for my walking partner, I watched as parents and children walked to school. The start of a new school year always has Moms and Dads walking with their children pass my home to the elementary school two blocks away. I love the first day of school. The children and parents are so excited. Perhaps for different reasons, but excited together. Dads stay home from work for an extra hour or so to be part of the first day rituals. Some moms cry, especially when their first or last child starts kindergarten. It is a glorious day. And this year the weather was perfect!

Whenever I see the start of a new year, I flash back to my older brother’s first day of kindergarten. I cannot help it. It was so traumatic for us all. My Mom had given birth to my younger sister on September 2. My brother and I were in the Catskills while this happened, and then we came back to North Bergen. I think my brother missed the first few days of school as we were with my grandparents.

In any case, he was only four; we had spent about a month away from our Mom; there was a new baby in the house; and now he had to go to kindergarten at Horace Mann Elementary. That first day my parents and I went with him. I still remember his screaming, “Please don’t leave me! I promise to be good! Come back!”

He was at the door of the classroom pounding, trying to get to my Mom, who was hysterical crying. All those hormones and my scared brother made for a very unhappy Mom.   My brother thought that they were trading him in because they had a new baby. It took a while for him to realize he would be coming home every day.

In fact for two weeks, Doris, a childhood friend of my Mom’s, came each morning to our home on Third Avenue to pick my brother up and take him to school with her daughter. And I mean pick him up. At first he fought so much she would carry him screaming out of the house. I never wanted to go to school if it was that bad.

Two years later it was my turn to start kindergarten. I was petrified. But a few days before school started my brother came over to me and whispered in my ear, “School is really not that bad,” he said. “You will be okay.”   And so I went to school without any screaming!

By the time my sister started kindergarten, she was more than ready. I had been playing school with her for years. She was the student and I was the teacher. She would read and write better than most first grade students. I thought I was a great sister because I got her prepared. Although she might tell you that I was a very mean teacher. But I disagree.

I spent my entire school career in one school district, North Bergen, New Jersey. I did change elementary schools when we moved across town. Some teachers I never forgot. I was in Mrs. Wall’s third grade class when President Kennedy was assassinated.   I will never forget that November day or the look on Mrs. Wall’s face when another teacher came in to tell her.

I went from Horace Mann to Robert Fulton in fourth grade. We would be moving in October, but my parents had us start the new school year at Robert Fulton. It seemed like a giant change at the time. I missed my friends. (Our schools went from kindergarten to eighth grade; then a separate high school.) But we were not so far away that I could not visit with them. And once I got to high school, we were reunited.

Most people stayed in one place then. But now it is so different. Families move around much more. Children start in new schools more often now. So the first day of school is a bit more stressful. New home, new city, new school, these can all stress a family and a child

My two children had easy starts to kindergarten. Their elementary school was in the same building as their preschool. So it was just a change in the building’s entrance. By the time my son started kindergarten, I was teaching in the same school, which made his transition even easier. We sometimes saw each other during the day.

Because I still work at a school, the beginning of the school year impacts me. I work throughout the summer on a limited basis. But the week or so before school starts everything amps up. This year my office moved, I got a new computer, so I had lots of changes as well. I felt the excitement I always feel when school starts, with a little extra because of my own changes.

My daughter is now done with school, so she is not impacted by this cycle. However, my son is still in college. I recently helped him move into a new apartment with a friend. He is back in classes now after a summer of just working at his fast food job. And his school cycle continues.

Besides helping my son, I also try to help others. For many the expenses of a new school year are daunting. I volunteered to help for our local National Council of Jewish Women, Greater Kansas City Section’s ‘Back to School Store.’ We provided school supplies and back to school clothing for over two hundred elementary school children. The names were provided to us from outside agencies that knew of children in need. It was a wonderful experience buying school supplies, sorting clothing and then helping children pick out the perfect supplies and clothing.

To be honest, when I helped sort the clothes the week before the event, I saw these bright pink jeans that I thought were a bit too bright. But the little nine-year old girl, I took through the ‘store,’ was in heaven when she saw them. And when they fit, Wow.  She told me that the entire event was like “a wonderful dream.”   It made my day!

It is such a magic time: students going to elementary school, high school and college. So many of my friends were taking their older children to away to college. Many were taking either their oldest or youngest to college for the first time. Others were taking their children for their senior year or graduate school. These children are ready to start a new adventure without the constant presence of their parents.

As the new school year starts, I think it is normal to glance backwards to our own time in school, our children’s time, while at the same time looking to the future. Another year of school impacts us all. I hope, in Kansas, and throughout the nation that spending for schools and children improves this year. And that everyone has a wonderful year free from bullying, able to learn with teachers who care.

And I hope that parents remember, the first day of school is exciting, frightening and a memory forever.

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I Am And Always Will Be A Jersey Girl

17 Aug

Lately I have seen lots of little ‘funny’ lists on what makes a woman a Jersey Girl. Some are funny, and some I find somewhat insulting. I hated the television show, “Jersey Shore,” because it showed people from NY/Long Island on the Shore. And people assumed that is what Jersey Girls were like. And it is so NOT true.

So here is my Jersey Girl/Woman list. It is not in any priority order because all of these are Number One to a Jersey Girl!

First Jersey Girls stand up for what is right and for other women. An example from my life:

My niece, who is now in her 30s, played baseball when she was in middle and high school. As the only girl with four brothers, including a twin brother, she never played softball. Instead she was one of the catchers on the elite team that her twin and next older brother played on. She was strong and she was fearless. Even though she was from St. Louis, she had some of the markings of a true Jersey Girl.

One year her team played in a regional competition in Kansas near where I live. I took my daughter to see the team play as much as possible that weekend. But the first game that was played stands out and remains a family legend. My niece was one of only two or three girls playing during that tournament. There were hundreds of teenage boys.

The first time my niece went up to bat, she was hit by a ball thrown by the pitcher. Of course she got to walk. But I was mildly annoyed. The pitcher did not hit any of the preceding batters. The innings went on. And eventually my niece was in the line up to bat again. And yes, she was once again hit by a ball. The only batter to be hit… and twice. I was sitting right behind the catcher. I could see the eyes of the pitcher. I knew he did it on purpose. I was furious!

None of the men said anything. Not the coaches, not the umpire, none of the other players. I stood. I walked to fence behind the catcher right at the field. And I yelled to the pitcher and to the coaches. “ If he hits my niece with a ball again. I am coming on the field. It is Enough!” Those might not have been my exact words. But they got the message. No one throws a ball directly at my niece! My Jersey Girl instinct went into full gear. And I was protecting her. Not something that happens in quiet Kansas so often.

She turned back and smiled at me as she walked to first base. Later she told me it happens all the time. Some boys do not like girls playing baseball. My standing up for her became a beloved family legend.

Second, Jersey Girls do not take fools and stupidity quietly. I recently had to help a nephew buy a car. I will not go into full details. Let’s just say the financial guy at the dealership was not very good and made several errors. I will admit he was young, but that was no excuse. Eventually I had the manager of the dealership called. And we had a little talk.   I explained my point of view and all that had gone wrong. I was angry.   I explain that my next step was Facebook, Internet and letters. And that this had to be fixed now. They had wasted my entire day with their stupidity because they had not checked their facts!

They let my nephew drive his car that evening.   We had to go back the next day to finish up the paperwork, since they had messed it up the first day. When we met with the financial guy again, I asked if he had learned anything from the experience. To be honest, I thought he would say that he would check his facts first. But no, his response surprised even me, “I learned never to cross a woman from New Jersey ever again.”

A good lesson, I am sure.

Third, Jersey Girls are very compassionate and will always help the underdog. We might seem tough on the outside. We might give all the air of confidence and competence, which is true to our nature. But when we see someone hurting. When we see a wrong being committed, we help.

I volunteer for an organization that works to help disadvantaged children and families in our community. This year we had a “Back to School” store where we provided school supplies and clothing for about 200 elementary school children. The day of the event, I was one of the volunteers who took the children around to pick out their supplies and clothes. My first little girl got to pick pink jeans, a pink top and a pink coat. She even got new shoes that had pink and purple stitching on them.

As we walked, holding hands, through the room and picking out her school supplies, she looked up to me and said, “This is Like a Wonderful Dream.”

We made the start of her school year wonderful. And I, the soft-hearted Jersey Girl, melted.

Fourth, we will always help a neighbor in need.   I am so tired of hearing that people in New Jersey are uncaring; that they don’t help people in need; that they could just walk past someone hurting. No, not true!

Years ago, when my daughter was a toddler, I was out on my deck when something unusual happened across the street. My neighbor was collapsed in her driveway, her five-year-old son was next to her, and the police and ambulance were coming down the block. I quickly crossed the street. The Mom was rushed to the hospital. The police locked the doors to the house and gave the young boy to me. I brought him home.

I called the school office, as he was in afternoon kindergarten, to tell what was going on. They gave me his Dad’s work number so I could call him. He was understandably distressed: wife in the hospital, son missing. I reminded him who I was, and that I was going to feed the boy lunch and take him to school, as I felt being with his friends and in his routine would be best.   And I told him how wonderful his son was, as he called 911. I told the school as well, when I walked the boy to the school two blocks away.

I have a special place in my heart for this boy. He is in his 30s now. And his Mom and I stay in touch. We Jersey girls never let a child or neighbor in need go unassisted.

Fifth, a Jersey Girl takes action when others are standing around not sure what to do.   My husband and I went on a cruise around the Greek Islands. When we returned to Greece, it took forever for the luggage to get off the ship. Suddenly a man collapsed. Some people went over, including a doctor.   I asked what was happening. “A diabetic who took his insulin but did not eat.” I could handle that. I reached into my bag and pulled out rice cakes covered in cinnamon and sugar. They melt in your mouth. I brought it over and gave the doctor the bag. “This will work,” he said. I knew it. The man recovered. His wife came to thank me. No problem. I had a diabetic Dad.   I would want someone to help him one day. Taking action is what a Jersey Girl does in times of crisis. We do not panic!

Six, a Jersey Girl is there for her family. (Jersey boys as well.) As my parents used to tell us, “Brothers and Sisters stick together.” To my brother, when we were little, that meant “No one but me can hit my sisters.” But as we got older, we work together as a team, which we did when our parents passed away and in dealing with other family events that were tragic. My siblings and I are a team. And my extended family is always there when we need them or they need us!

Finally, Jersey Girls never forget! Do something good for us, we will remember you with love and return the favor over and over. Do something mean and nasty to us or to someone we love or know, and we will never forget. Do not get on the wrong side of a Jersey Girl.

We Jersey Girls have learned to be strong, to stand up for the rights of others, to protect our families and friends. We take no gruff from people.  We teach our daughters and our sons to be strong, independent, proud and good people.  And we defend ourselves.

We might not be perfect, but as the song says: “Cause nothing matters in the whole wide world, when you are in love with a Jersey Girl.”

 

 

http://www.lyricsfreak.com/b/bruce+springsteen/jersey+girl_10051738.html

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