Stephen Shooster wood mill would have been amazed. It had saws for every pur- pose, giant cutting machines, and over in the corner, working on one of them, with his lunch box by his side, was my cousin Jrichem Goldberg. The noise, productivity, and mystery sur- rounding the electrified whirling machines hypnotized me so much so that years later I would overcome my aversion to school and earn a degree in a related field. I liked exploring my town. I still remember many of the Jewish-owned stores and their owners. The most popular was
Grosze fig. 9
Graifman’s Bakery. It was on the main street, but you could smell the bread cooking from far away, and, unlike the Eisen’s, I did not feel threatened to visit -- on the con- trary, you couldn’t keep me away. I used to loiter around there for hours hoping to hold the horse of a rich man like Franciszek Paszek, the owner of the local brewery. He rode a fine steed. It was a tremendous horse, tall and handsome, full of vim and vigor. If he were to show up, I would jockey with the other kids for a chance to hold the reins while he went into the bakery. For this, one of us might get a quarter Groszy, just enough for a bakery treat. The bakery was second to everyone’s favorite store, Shein’s Hardware. Shein’s was full of functional things, and always had lots of visitors with all sorts of reasons for being there. My reason was simple; I couldn’t afford anything, so I would walk around, look at the items and imagine how to use them. Maybe one day I would have a need for a
wrench or some pipe, a saw, some glue, or sandpaper. Nearby the hardware store was Mendel Fink’s Beer Bar. This is where I could find my father on occasion. He could sit and drink beer for hours. Beer seemed to soothe the nerves of a great number of the people in the community, as the beer bar was always busy. The men of the community would trade business problems or just idle the time away for a rare bit of personal pleasure. Whenever I tried to wander in and join them, they would shoo me away, “No kids allowed, son.” My father wouldn’t even have been bothered, as the nearest person to the door would take care of the riff-raff. I’d leave and stumble upon the next little busi- ness, Lipczer’s Clothing & Materials store. Besides
Franciszek Paschek brewery owner
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