Matchbook cover selling the Chester Ferry
white, apron wrap, straw hat, and sleeves sheathed in ‘megaphone looking’ protectors from his wrists to his elbows. There was another shoe repair shop on the block called Epstein’s. Mrs. Epstein was a brilliant woman. Her daughter, Rose, was a schoolmate of mine. We were friendly but not really friends. I think Rose grew up to be a committed Communist. Rubash’s Deli had the best Virginia-baked ham I ever tasted. John’s Bar, on the corner of 3rd and Rainey Street, was where my father might stop in once in a while for a drink. For a nickel, you got a shot of whis- key and your choice of a sandwich. Sandwiches were piled up on the bar for the taking. Kelly’s Drug Store was an old-fashioned apoth- ecary. They dispensed ‘no-nonsense’ prescriptions. There were no distractions like sodas and ice cream. No refreshments. Just a pure, old-fashioned drug store with the pungent aromas of unknown chem- icals permeating the air inside. The Liberty Restaurant was a Greek restaurant with a huge sign outside, but I never saw any patrons. Klieman’s Notion Store were sellers of fabric.
Max Katz’s shoe repair shop had an inviting sign out front. It said, “Heels and Soles.” As a leather shop, it had a unique aroma and a set of whizzing and whirling machines. My brother, Harry, used to work there as a young boy. Downey’s Pool Hall was mysterious to me as a little boy; it was shoehorned in-between two retail stores, a long narrow hall that led back to a wide- open room full of pool tables. I was intimidated by the pool hall place and never stepped inside. Part, if not most of the intim- idation I had for this place and others on that block, like Maugher’s Drug Store & Soda Fountain, were intertwined with my own, perhaps imagined, anti-Semitism. I cannot point to any overt instance of it that I remember, yet I sensed it all about me. There were often references to Jews in a pejorative way. The derogative word ‘kike’ was not unfamil- iar to me. Even in play, from time to time, the word Jew was used in ways that were intended to ‘put me down,’ like ‘Jew-boy.’ Boker’s Grocery Store was across the street from where I lived. The owner always had a stern face. Mr. Boker was immaculate in his dress, including a long,
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