THE SON OF A SHOEMAKER
HERMAN’S DIARY EXCERPT
Herman Shooster - 1948, my father was diag- nosed with prostate cancer. We knew he could not survive for long. The whole family was heartbroken. The survival rate for prostate cancer during those years was bleak. He must have known it, too. We never discussed this together. Our home became a living morgue. We were all walking around devastated. Mother was crestfallen. He was her life and our guiding light. It was a bleak time in all our lives. He didn’t go down without a fight. He had surgery. The surgeon was the eminent Boland Hughes, M.D., the senior urologist at the University of Pennsylvania. Dr. Hughes, was a ward surgeon at St. Hedwig’s Hospital, in Berlin, Germany from 1929 to 1935. As such, he was well spoken on the plight of the Jews, and in 1959 was given a humanitarian award for his outstanding service in medicine and social research. The surgery went well, but my father died soon after due to a complication: a blood clot in his leg. No one knew how dangerous that was at the time and, even if we did, there was not much that could be done about it. It must have broken loose in his bloodstream and traveled to his heart and lungs. His death was instantaneous. My father’s passing was probably the biggest shock I have ever experienced. I’ll never forget the night he died. I was leaving a night club. My car was parked in an adja- cent lot. I pulled out and, for some unknown reason, I stopped awkwardly. It was about 1 am. A strange prophetic pause overcame me. My car straddled the sidewalk while my mind was elsewhere. I snapped out of it and went home. The phone rang. My father died at just about that same moment, March, 2nd, 1950. He was only 57 years old. Hardly a day has passed in all the years since he passed where I have not thought of him. There are no words to describe the void. No way to explain the hurt. His death was probably the most horrendous event any of us in the family had ever experienced. We loved him so!
Herman Shooster - I wish you could have met my father. You would have found he was a pleasant fellow with a driving ambition. How he succeeded gives me much reason for pause. It was uncanny, regardless of events, he always had a friendly smile. Everyone who got to know him found he was warm and friendly, but never intruding. He earned respect and appreciation by show- ing genuine care for everyone: family, friends, and the larger community. It is his values that I draw upon when I think about how to take care of customers today. My future wife, Dorothy, never got to know him. I met her in 1952 a few years after he passed. She did, however, get to know Mother. Once her mother asked her about my mother, and she said, “She is a dear little elder- ly lady in her 50’s.” At the time of this writing, I am 88 years old. Those were different times. People aged faster back then. When my dad passed away, I was in my early thirties, too young to grasp or under- stand the responsibilities of keeping a fami- ly in food, shelter, and safety. I would have to learn on my own. I miss you Pop. I miss your smile and your gentle touch.
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A rare candid photo of Frank Shooster Sr.
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