As my thoughts drift back to what seemed like idyllic times, I know my mind is playing tricks on me. Living at the time, day-by-day, so innocent of the future, I wonder now why it did not mean more to me than it does today. These are precious memories. I wish I could share the depth of their present feeling again with you. Our next-door neighbors, the Rosenblatt’s, had 11 kids! Mr. Rosen- blatt, to me, was a very, very old man in his seventies. He ran a fresh produce business. Today, of course, at 85, I have a different perspective! Their grandchil- dren, Jackie Grossman and Ann Ruth were two of my playmates. Next to the Rosenblatt’s lived the McDowells. Mr. McDowell was a very fine gentleman who operated a men’s haberdashery. A haberdashery is a kind of accessories store. His wife never seemed to me to be in the same class. They had two sons, Bill, and Jack. On the other side of our house lived Mrs. Ferry with her daughter, Violet, and her son. I remember trying to teach the little boy how to say ‘Hot Dog.’ He could say ‘Hot’, and he could say ‘Dog,’ but he just could not say ‘Hot Dog.’ He could only say ‘Hot Gog.’ I tried and tried, but could never get him to say it right. Mrs. Ferry gave my Mother a beautiful vase that Harry and Ida eventually kept in their home. My mother’s best friend was Anna Rubin- stein. About 40 years later, I saw her son, Ben, running a tobacco stand at the Festival Flea Market in Pompano Beach, Florida. It was her daughter who took dictation from mother when she wrote her letters to me during the war. Mrs. Rubinstein eventually moved a couple of doors from us. Before that, she lived a mile away up on a hill beyond where our drive-in restaurant was eventually located. As a boy, I used to walk up there from time to time because I always knew she would give me milk and Tastykake®, a treat worth the long walk [single pieces of rectangular vanilla cake with
Dora and Anna Rubinstein apx. 1960’s
vanilla icing]. Her kids were toddlers then. She was always walking around the neighborhood and frequently enlisted mother to walk with her. Mother had other friends, and I remember them all. They were the wives of all the strug- gling Jewish store owners: Mrs. Goldberg of the shoe store, Mrs. Lakin of the grocery store, Mrs. Sussman of another grocery store, Mrs. Savitzky - whose family owned a small depart- ment store, Mrs. Smith with her shoe store, Mrs. Snyder - the tailor’s wife, and Mrs. Rosen- blatt - the wife of the produce store owner. In the evening, they would meet at a different lady’s home and play penny-ante poker. The women were all careful with their pennies. I remember when they would meet at our house. Mother covered her prized dining room table with a cloth and served a Jewish platter. I didn’t hang around long, just long enough to get a snack and hear them address each other as Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Goldberg, etc.
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