Deck the Walls

We recently had the inside of the house painted. The furniture was moved away from the walls and the pictures removed. After the painters completed their work, the furniture was restored to their original places and the pictures replaced on the walls. As this was being done, I thought, “We hang our lives on the walls.” There is my parents’ wedding picture (1924). There is the picture of me on a tricycle at five years of age. In the foyer, there is a picture of an angel embroidered in beads which has an interesting history. Mr. Galperin was an old cabinet make and upholsterer who did work for the ultra wealthy German Jews who lived between North Avenue and Druid Park Drive on Eutaw Place, Madison Avenue and Auchentoroly Terrace.

His shop was three doors from where my father worked. My father picked him up and took him home each day. Of course, my father refused any payment. So Mr. Galperin would make him an occasional piece of furniture. The corner bookcase in Larry’s hall is an example of Mr. Galperin’s work. Mr. Galperin had a wing chair to reupholster and when he stripped the chair, he found this tapestry beneath the upholstery. He fashioned a frame and gave it to my father. It now hangs in my foyer. It was probably hidden there by German Jews who managed to forsee the future and escaped from Hitler’s Germany with their possessions before the Holocaust.

When we first married, we would go to the Peabody Bookstore on Charles Street. From the bookstore, one walked down a hall to a Beer Stube. On the walls of the hall were paintings by budding painters for sale. I fell in love with “Lombard Street.” But Jacob Glushakow wanted $100.00, a princely sum. During the next several months, Momma managed to gather together $100.00 and “Lombard Street” has hung in our living rooms since McHenry Street. “Fremont Avenue,” a painting of an abandoned church also hung at the Peabody and now hangs next to “Lombard Street.”

My diplomas from Johns Hopkins and the University of Baltimore hang in the office along with the certificates admitting me to the Maryland and Baltimore Bars. There are also four group pictures of the family there. Along the front hall hang five family collages which Larry put together. There are also many pictures of children and grandchildren at different ages.

Each time we traveled, we brought back a remembrance, frequently a picture. There is Sloppy Joe’s Bar in Key West, Preservation Hall and Al Hurt’s Club in New Orleans as well as houses in Savannah, Georgia. In a special place, there are pictures of Alex’s Bar Mitzvah at the Wall in Jerusalem where I was privileged to lead the services wearing the T’fillin which belonged to my paternal grandfather, who died in Russia in the early 1900’s.

One wall, at the entrance to the office, holds our civil marriage license, our Ketubah and a 50th Anniversary remembrance. The table behind the sofa is home to several dozen pictures of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Truly, our lives are hung on our walls.

October 21, 2009

We moved into Delray Beach the day before Thanksgiving, 1999. Spyglass was just too small for us. It was some 1200 square feet as opposed to some 1800 square feet in Pine Ridge. Momma had wanted to move so I told her to do what she did when we decided to move before; find a place that you like and if I like it, we’ll buy it. The Seids, who lived next door to us in Spyglass had moved to Pine Ridge. Momma looked at several places there and found and liked the one at 7677 Mansfield Hollow Road. I looked at it, liked it, so we bought it.

Momma joined the Women’s Club and I joined the Men’s Club. We became active and participated in the events which were sponsored by the Clubs. I found the swimming pools which were a delight. We went to restaurants and the theater. We went on a cruise to Alaska after visiting Marc and Leslie in Reno. We spent a good deal of time with the Johnpolls and the Bergs. In 2001, I was volunteered into serving on the Board of Directors of the Homeowners Association. I was handed the checkbook and told, “You are the Treasurer.” I served for nearly seven years, being re-elected each year. We had a full and interesting life.

Disaster struck in October, 2004. When we went somewhere, I would let Momma off as close to the entrance as possible, park the car and then walk back to her and we would go in. I let her off in front of Big Lots and drove off to park. She stepped up, missed the curb and fell flat on her face. 911 was called and she was transported to Delray Medical Center. Over the next three years, she was in and out of three hospitals and two rehabilitation centers. I cannot count the number of hours that the Bergs, the Johnpolls and I spent in waiting rooms and patient’s rooms. Momma fell in one rehabilitation center and suffered a hairline fracture in her right femur, necessitating a stay in a hospital. She was transported in a wheel chair after her discharge from the final rehabilitation center until we discovered the four-wheeled walker which she presently uses. An Aide come in four hours each weekday morning and helps Momma in addition to light housekeeping. I have become the chef, launderer, shopper and accountant. By the middle of 2008, my diminished hearing and eyesight in addition to increased caregiver duties mandated that I give up my role on the Board of Directors and Treasurer. I resigned and am glad that I did.

We go out primarily to visit doctors. Yet we have still managed to get to Baltimore twice in the past year. Life is good. We have each other and we see our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I can’t believe that there are thirty-six of us. We are, and have good reason to be, so proud of their accomplishments and the way they lead their lives.

Shopping - How We Got Stuff

Today we get in the car or SUV and go shopping. We go to the mall, the shopping center or the big box stores. We have droves of catalogues delivered to our mail boxes and we can shop online. There are plenty of places to shop. In the late 1920’s and early and mid 30’s most people rode the street cars and there was no Internet. Many people did not have a telephone. My mother shopped by mail. She sent a penny postcard to the grocer ONE BLOCK AWAY! There were two mail deliveries each day She gave the post card to the mailman at the first delivery, he delivered it to the grocer at the second delivery, and the grocer filled and delivered the order, all in one day!

Few people had electric refrigerators. Mr. Pratt was our iceman. He came each day with his helper, Jim, in a truck delivering ice to the houses. A card was placed in the window with the sixe needed. Mr. Pratt would cut a piece from a huge chunk and catch it between tongs. The tongs were like a huge scissors with hooks on each end. Jim would bring it in and put it in the icebox. As the ice melted during the day, the water would run down a tube to a pan under the icebox which needed to be emptied each day. Mr. Pratt would give us kids ice ships which fell off as he cut the ice to size. That was a treat!

Salesmen plied their trade door-to-door. The famous Fuller Brush Man came to homes with an astounding array of brushes; toothbrushes, hair brushes, upholstery brushes, dish washing brushes, pain brushes; you name it, they carried it! A man came around to sharpen knives, scissors and other instruments which needed sharpening. He had a sharpening wheel mounted like a wheelbarrow and he walked the streets.

Milk and dairy products were delivered daily. Milk came in glass quarts with a cardboard cap fitted in a slot around the top. In the winter the milk froze and a column of frozen milk pushed the cap up. It tasted like unsweetened ice cream. The milkman also carried sliced white bread which no self respecting Jew would eat. We called it Kvatch. We got our challah, pumpernickel and rye from Stone’s and Wartzman’s on Lombard Street.

During the summer, the Ayrabbers came around, prowling the streets and alleys shouting their wares. They were black men who drove a horse and wagon. They sold in-season produce directly to the housewives. The watermelon man would shout in a sing-song manner, “Sweet and red to the rind.” The strawberry man would sing out, Straw-aw-aw-aw berries.” One Ayrabber sold fresh fish. He would clean your purchase right there on the street.

We had a coal furnace and coal was delivered directly to a coal bin in the basement. The bin was next to the furnace and directly below a cellar window. If the coal truck could park near the window, a chute was extended from the truck through the window into the coal bin and coal was shoveled down the chute. If not, the coal was loaded into canvas bags and walked from the truck to the basement window where it was dumped down the chute. Later the furnace was converted to an oil burner and oil was delivered through a long hose to the tank in the basement which stood where the coal bin once had been.

Would we like to go back to the good old days? Never in a million years!

What If...

It is fascinating how one small insignificant event can alter the course of history. In the late 1960s, George P. Mahoney was a politically connected paving contractor in Maryland. He incurred the enmity of Governor Millard J. Tawes, who literally hated him. Mahoney was a horse racing enthusiast who coveted the relatively insignificant position of Racing Commissioner of Maryland. This position was an appointment of the Maryland Governor who hated Mahoney and refused to appoint him. Mahoney swore revenge and became active politically. In 1968, Thomas B. Finan was the Democratic candidate for governor. Mahoney ran as an Independent and split the Democratic vote. As a result, one Spiro Agnew, an obscure Baltimore School Board member, was elected Governor of Maryland. When he was selected to be Richard Nixon’s running mate for Vice President of the United States, Marvin Mandel, Speaker of the Maryland House of Delegates was elected to replace him. At that time Maryland did not have a Lieutenant Governor and a vacant Governor’s position was filled by election by the House of Delegates. The Baltimore Sun disagreed with Mandel’s agenda and pursued a vendetta, culminating in his conviction on charges of, among others, bribery. Mandel appealed the conviction which was reversed by the Supreme Court. Mandel was released from prison and re-instated as Governor, completing his term.

What if Governor Tawes had appointed Mahoney to the position of Racing Commissioner? Would Thomas B. Finan be elected Governor? Would Spiro Agnew ever rise from the obscurity of the Baltimore County School Board and subsequently become Vice President of the United States? Would Marvin Mandel ever become Governor of Maryland, be convicted of bribery and be exonerated by the Supreme Court?

One small, insignificant action changed many lives and events.

Life Decisions

It is 1945 and there were some life decisions to be made. There were those of us who had been in the military service for as much as five years. We were in our early to mid-twenties. A grateful government helped us to implement, not make those decisions, with the GI Bill. Four years of college tuition and books plus a monthly stipend were provided to those who wanted a college education. Assistance in purchasing a home was available. Compensation was available for those who wanted to work but could not find a job. Some just wanted just to lay back and do nothing now. All of us wanted to get on with our lives. A chunk of our lives had been spent in the military service and we wanted to make up for that time in a big hurry. My decision was to accept the college tuition and get the degree in as short a period as possible. And while doing this, there was an opportunity to live the college campus life; parties, athletics, etc. I definitely knew that I did not want to return to Pharmacy School. At this age and with my experiences during the past two years, I was able to resist my Father and make my own decision as to my future. Johns Hopkins University was the best college in the Baltimore area and this would allow me to live at home. In 1945, there was no pressure on young adults to “get your own place.” Economics interested me so I enrolled in the School of Business with a major in accounting. This was a wise move in that it gave me the knowledge to make good financial decisions throughout my life.

Few high school graduates at age eighteen are equipped to make decisions affecting their path for the rest of their lives. And this is not a bad thing. Many are pressured by parents and end up changing careers in midlife. Many “fall into something.” I could no find a suitable job in 1949 (we were in the midst of a recession) so we bought the store. My experience working in supermarkets prior to 1942 and my financial education were vital to the success of the store. When I got involved in politics, I “fell into” a job with the State of Maryland which lasted for 25 years. And when I was required to make legal decisions, I took a few law courses which led to a law degree and a member of the Maryland Bar. For some of us, we make that life decision early in life. We know that from childhood, we want to be a doctor or a dentist or whatever. But most of us are guided by circumstance to become what we ultimately become. We “fall into” something. We find a job because we know someone who knows someone who has an uncle who owns a business and is looking for an employee. And it turns out to be our life’s vocation. Think about your present job and your interests. You probably “fell into it” and it may turn out to be your life’s vocation.

Ashford General Hospital

The Greenbrier Resort at White Sulfur Springs, West Virginia was owned by the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad and frequented by the “best families.” It was the playground of the rich and famous. It was commandeered by the United States government and became Ashford General Hospital. I arrived there on D-Day, June 6, 1944. Four patients occupied each room. With me was Bob Zamaria, married from Meadville, Pennsylvania; Leo, street smart from Detroit and I do not remember the other patient. I was not completely ambulatory and spent much time sitting on the bed with playing cards. There were no televisions or computers. We were free to use the facilities of the resort. Tennis, golf and horseback riding were available. The grounds were immaculately kept by German Prisoners of War. They wore fatigues with a big POW stenciled on the back. We had no contact with them. There was entertainment every evening; movies and USO entertainers. Those of us who were not ambulatory were pushed in wheel chairs. There were many amputees and paraplegics. I can remember only one entertainer. He came out with a straw hat and a cane and did a soft shoe tap dance. When he finished, he sat on a chair, pulled up a pants leg and removed the lower part of his leg. He hopped off with the device over his shoulder. You could almost hear the amputees thinking, “If he can dance with that thing, I can sure as hell walk with it!” I suppose that is why he performed there.

Ambulatory patients were required to do calisthenics and/or work. When it was discovered that I went to Pharmacy School for a year, I was sent to the Pharmacy. I was put to work making cod liver oil capsules. Drugs did not come like they do now. They were made in the Pharmacy from powders and liquids. Some drugs were ground into powder in a mortar with a pestle. I had a bowl of this evil smelling cod liver oil, an eye dropper (small syringe) and a box of empty capsules. I took apart the capsule, filled the syringe with cod liver oil, put it in one part of the capsule and then “put the lid on.” I had to be very careful because it was difficult to wash away the smell.

One day we were given the choice of calisthenics or picking apples for a farmer. Those of us who chose apple picking were driven to a farm. We wore our pajamas and robes. I fear that we ate more apples than we picked. We were all under twenty years of age.

I got along very well with the Pharmacist and he invited me to spend Christmas, 1944 with him and his family in Selma, West Virginia. We took the train on Christmas Eve to the large town just outside of Selma and rode a bus to Selma. It was a biter cold night and the snow made seeing the road difficult. We went up a winding road to Selma. Had I seen the road, I never would have gotten into that bus. We came back several days later during the day and I discovered that the road ran along a mountain with a sheer drop on one side of the road. I was a city boy and amazed to find livestock wandering in the streets of Selma; not the suburbs but downtown.

Two lumbar sympathectomies were performed. The lumbar nerves which controlled the flow of blood to the lower extremities were cut. Trench foot causes the contracting of blood vessels in the feet. It was thought that gravity would pull more blood through the blood vessels. This procedure made my feet warm and dry and allowed me to be ambulatory. I was transferred to the Medical Corps and put to work in the Hospital. Bob Zamaria and I were assigned to the admitting office, four to midnight shift. We were assigned quarters in the employee’s quarters, two to a room. Bob and I would report to the Admitting Office at 4:00 P.M. When patients arrived we would do the paperwork to admit them and send them to their assigned room. If there were no admittees, we played cribbage. At six o’clock, one of us went to the movie. At eight o’clock, the other one went to the movie. At eleven o’clock we went to the mess hall for dinner. At midnight we went to our quarters. We were free until four o’clock the next day. And we had few admittees during our shift. It was a good life.

This good life ended with VE Day. Planning for the invasion of Japan was beginning and hordes of infantrymen were needed. I was transferred to the Infantry and sent to Fort Jackson for advanced infantry training. I found the training physically impossible and the Army agreed. After a stay in the Fort Jackson Hospital, I was transferred to Camp Atterbury, Indiana, for a Medical Discharge. I was discharged on August 2, 1945. I was 20 years, 4 months old.

The Army

I was inducted into the Army on August 23, 1943, age 18 years, six months. I had never been more than 25 miles away from home except for two family trips; one to Masontown, Pennsylvania and one to Atlantic City. I reported to the Fifth Regiment Armory on Preston Street together with a group of mostly eighteen year olds. We went by bus to Fort Lee, Virginia where we were sworn in and outfitted with uniforms and equipment. I was sent to Fort Benning, Georgia for Infantry Basic Training. I was assigned to a platoon commanded by one Sergeant Boyarsky. I do not recall him as being the rough, gruff drill sergeant. We learned to shoot, rifles and carbines. The rifles were an Enfield and a Garand (M-6) The Enfield was a World War I rifle, single shot and heavy. The M6 would shoot as long as you held the trigger and there were bullets in the clip, of course. We learned to use a bayonet and hand to hand combat. Can you imagine sticking another man with a long knife and killing him? Are these people crazy? Can you imagine learning many ways to kill another human being? And being required to do it because the opposing soldier was trying to do the same to you? Are these people crazy?

And we marched, and we marched and we marched. The soil was sandy at Fort Benning and did not retain the heat of the day. When we woke in the morning, it was cold enough to wear a field jacket. As the day grew on, the heat increased and we shed clothing which were then carried on person. We were billeted in an outpost of Fort Benning in wooden barracks which slept forty men, a platoon. Everything was done the Army way; beds and footlocker made and packed identically according to specifications. The barracks were kept CLEAN. And, of course, there was KP, Kitchen Patrol. I can recall peeling mounds of potatoes until it was discovered that I knew how to cut meat. Then my KP duties were limited to that task. (From this experience, I deduced that everything that is learned may eventually become useful). I had never eaten a non-kosher meal before I went into the Army but I quickly learned. I could never eat mutton, however and with most of my buddies, lined up at the Post Exchange (PX) on mutton nights.

After the first month we were given week-end passes. On the first one, I went with two buddies to Columbus, Georgia. We went into a restaurant for breakfast. As we sat down at the counter, the waitress put a small dish of white stuff. This stuff was grits, pronounced gree-its; two syllables. Grits were not ordered; they were served with each and every meal.

After Basic Training I was sent to the University of Maine, Orono, Maine to participate in the Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP). We took college courses. I had taken all the courses at Poly and Pharmacy School so I learned nothing new. I was there November, December, 1943 and January, 1944. I can remember nothing but bitter cold and snow and ice. I will never be convinced that there is earth in Maine! We would spray water over a field and had an ice skating rink in the morning. With planning for D-Day in June, 1944, and the coming need for hordes of Infantrymen, the ASTP became expendable. I was sent to Fort Jackson, South Carolina for advanced infantry training, to the 29th Division. I was nineteen years old. We were sent on maneuvers in Tennessee in March 1944. It was cold and raining every day. We never got dry. I can remember lining up in the morning for hot coffee in a metal canteen cup. The coffee was so hot it burned the lips. But it was so welcome. Conditions were made as difficult as possible in anticipation of combat conditions. We wore the same clothes for weeks. Our feet were never dry. Here I contracted trench foot, which is extreme frostbite. I could not walk for the pain and was sent to a field hospital, the Fort Jackson Hospital and finally, Ashford General Hospital, White Sulfur Springs, West Virginia. On D-Day, June 6, 1944, I was in Richmond, Virginia, enroute to White Sulfur Springs.