Playing for Pennies

By Helen Thau

When I was a child I lived on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. This was in the 30’s when our country was in bad shape. Unemployment was very high, there were food lines in the street and the people were desperate.

In order to make some sort of living, there would be groups of 3 (elderly) men dressed in funeral suits wearing caps and carrying musical instruments, mainly horns. They would walk through the back alleys of the apartment houses playing Yiddish songs. There would always be a bunch of kids following them. The housewives would wrap up 3 or 4 pennies in a piece of newspaper and throw it down to these musicians. The kids would run around picking up the pennies (if you were lucky there would be a nickel) for the men who would go from block to block making pennies, trying to earn a living of sorts.

The Understudy

By Betty R. Goodstein

My parents were so proud. I, of course, was ecstatic. I was on the staff of my high school newspaper, and I was chosen to interview Eleanor Roosevelt. The southbound train for Washington DC (still) made a stop in Trenton. All the details having been worked out, we waited for The Day.

Two days earlier, I seemed to have developed a cold. “I’ll be fine,” I assured my mother, who busied herself preparing tea with honey and lemon. Soon I was feeling cold, hot, and achy.

When The Day came, I could barely get up. Dr. Levine was summoned. “It’s the flu,” he announced. “Stay in bed, drink plenty of liquids.” And mother was to fill a prescription immediately.

“But I have to get up!” I moaned.

No use. It occurred to me: it was the Third Grade Disaster once again. To make matters even worse—SHE was going to take my place.

All through that day, the events of the Third Grade Disaster kept replaying in my ‘feverish’ mind. I thought about the school play, “Sleeping Beauty.” I was to be the Princess, who slept for 100 years, remember? In came the same Doctor. He immediately pronounced: “It’s Chicken Pox.”

No! I moaned, but one look in the mirror and I knew my life was over. Guess who was the princess? Right, the same one.

These two incidents do a ‘replay’ over the years—from time to time.

Wonderful things have happened, of course, and some not so wonderful. We try to keep things in the proper perspective. It’s all part of growing up, maturing, and finally, of growing older.

But, I wonder. Whatever happened to Her?

My Three Girls

By Aaron Winzemer

My wife and I had 3 children. The first two were girls ages 9 and 6 at the time of the birth of the third child. The doctor was himself the father of 3 girls. I had no real yearning for a boy, and raising the 2 girls had been relatively easy.

When child no. 3 came, I was in bed. The telephone rang at 3 am. It was the Doctor telling me I was the father of a third girl. At that moment, the telephone slipped out of my hand and fell to the floor. I could hear the doctor’s voice calling out to me. “Mr. Winzemer! What’s wrong?”

I explained, “I didn’t throw the phone on the floor in anger. It was an accident.”

I then joked with him about our each having 3 girls.

Each of my 3 girls was born in a different city. The first was born in Washington, DC.; the second in Philadelphia, PA; and the third in New York City.

The first two hospitals are now long gone. The last hospital was New York Hospital, still going strong.

All three were born on weekends, a great convenience. I didn’t stay at the hospitals. I ‘delivered’ my wife and went home. For one of the girls, born Sunday morning, I was on the roof of a neighbor’s house putting up a TV antenna. He was in my house ad received the call from the doctor.

Many years later I put together a videotape of my family’s growth. I called it, “The Tale of Three Cities.”

Drowning

By Mildred Lippes

I was drowning.

I was drowning to the music of Afternoon of a Faun by Debussy. The camp counselors were oblivious to my predicament. I was dancing in ecstasy across the wide dam.

I too, loving that music, fought my way to the surface and then to the muddy shore.

To this very day this music lifts my Spirits up - up over everyday cares 'til I float carefree above the clouds.

The Crib

By Doris Washton

I was in my 9^th month of pregnancy expecting our 4^th when a friend offered us a crib. We checked it out and Bob decided to repaint it to freshen it up.

I offered to help. So we set the crib up and we both painted it—Bob on the outside and me on the inside. When we finished the painting, the crib looked like new. So Bob ran in to the bathroom to wash up. He came back a few minutes later to see me still standing in the middle of the crib. He asked me why I didn’t wash also, not realizing that I was surrounded on all four sides by wet paint. My simple answer to his question was, “How?”

He finally realized that we had painted me into a difficult situation. The look on his face was funny, but he was frustrated too. I came up with a solution—he got two bridge chairs and placed one inside the crib and one next to it on the outside. Then I raised my very pregnant body up on one chair and stepped over the painted bar onto the other chair. Then, with help, I got down to the solid ground of the floor.

Needless to say I was thrilled to be out of this situation but it provided much concern and laughter from our three older children. It has been a story retold and remembered by all.

Doris Washton, who is married to fellow author Bob Washton, has four children and 10 grandchildren.

My Wife and I

By Aaron Winzemer

How different were my wife and I? In most cultural things we agreed We went and enjoyed the theatre, opera, concerts, ballet. In movies and literature we differed, she liked more romantic books, I preferred nonfiction. In food she preferred fish to meat, I the opposite.

In our home, she raised the children, I took care of the house. In driving she preferred driving in the neighborhood, I drive everywhere. She loved playing bridge. I tried as a beginner but never felt comfortable. Whether I won or lost I never knew why. The uncertainly and guesswork defeated me. I preferred playing chess.

As patients we were totally different. She took better care of me than she did of herself. I had to obey the doctor and she always differed making a judgment on whether to obey. Financially, as a major in economics, she incurred credit card debit to the danger point. I worried much more about this than she did. I forced her to liquidate the debts but she went on her merry way. Nevertheless we were married for 58 years. She died 3 years ago ad I am still around.

Miracle

By Betty R. Goodstein

There has been much said about MIRACLES. Is it just wishful thinking (if only, if only)—or a word more suitable for romantic songs?

I like to believe that I did have a miracle happening. I was about 65 years old. I had looked forward to this day—we were all going to Codwalder Park—Mom, Dad—some assorted relatives.

I loved this park. I began to wander around—admiring the flowers which at that time of year were out in abundance.

Suddenly… I didn’t know where the family was. I was lost. This was a terrible feeling. No one was about. After what seemed like hours (probably just a few minutes) a man and a woman came upon the scene. “Are you lost?” they kindly asked. Tearfully I said that I was. They tried to calm me.

This is the part where the miracle comes in. I saw my Dad—he just appeared—just like that. What a joyful reunion. He assured me that everything was okay—I was SAFE. He thanked the kind man who had ‘rescued me’ me.

Boy—was I glad to see that family—picnic baskets—everything. It was a MIRACLE!!!

I hadn’t thought about this incident in so many years; yet I still believe it was truly a miracle.

Wanted: Kinder, Gentler Teachers

By Jacob H. W. Wolf

When my daughter was in the second grade of public school in Meadowbrook PA. A suburb of Philly, she came home everyday very upset and sometimes in tears. She told my wife and I that her teacher was very mean to her. My daughter had had no previous difficulties either in kindergarten or first grade. So I called the school and made an appointment for us to visit her teacher. We arrived at my daughter’s school at the appointed time. I told her teacher that my daughter was very upset with her attitude towards my daughter. After ? conversations her teacher said to me, “Mr. Wolf, what do you want mo to do?”

I said, “I want you to be kind loving and gentle with Lisa.”

She replied, angrily, “I can’t do that. I can only be myself!”

I was so shocked at the teachers’ response that I could hardly speak. I immediately had my daughter switched to another teacher. There were no problems with the new teacher. This episode reminded me of my own experience with my second grade teacher at a Philly public school. I was a rather timid child, and I remember that one day in school my second grade teacher, an old grey-haired women with a clubbed food, grabbed me by the neck and threw me down the aisle. I will never forget how humiliated I felt.

These two experience made me wonder at the acceptance criteria of teachers’ colleges for elementary school teachers. The first thing that a teachers’ college should consider when evaluating a prospective applicant for a teaching position in the elementary grades is, in my opinion, whether she is a kind, loving and gentle person. If she is not she will never be an effective teacher, because a child can sense the attitude of her teacher towards her if the child feels that the teacher’s attitude if not an accepting one, the child will learn very little.

My Husband and I

By Pearl Kline

My husband always claimed to have an excellent sense of direction. Yet any time we would go to visit a friend who lived in a new area, in spite of written directions we would get lost and we were the last guests to arrive. The reason? He always knew a short cut. Of course, if he wasn’t so stubborn about asking for directions all the unnecessary driving would be avoided. But that was out of the question. I finally made him stop at a gas station for instructions back to the right road. Once we got there, he turned to me and said, “See I told you I’d find it!

We were visiting my sister and getting ready to leave at which time she remembered she had to pick up her medications at the drugstore and would my husband mind dropping her off. The store closed early because it was Sunday. She gave him the directions, but he knew a shorter way to get her there, which turned out to be much longer, and when we finally got there, the store was closed.

The Very Big Cake

By Henrietta Kunin

The latest big moment I had was my 85^th birthday. It was two years ago in September. My three children made me a beautiful party with many of my friends in attendance. We all engaged very much as I am very sentimental. I said all I want is a big birthday cake and when they carried out this huge cake I stood there and cried. In the meantime, everyone came to me, including, of course my children, to kiss and congratulate me. Imagine my embarrassment at that moment. It all was wonderful and a great day was had by all.

The Security Package

By Pearl Kline

As we grow older many things in our past start to fade, but the time we spent raising our babies always remain. I can still my son, holding onto his teddy bear, his blanket dragging after him, his milk bottle in his mouth, strutting around the kitchen, not letting go of any one thing. My husband and I called them his security package. He never went anywhere without them.

Quack

By Bob Washton

Years ago the movie theatres gave out dishes on a weekly basis. One holiday they decided to give out live ducks. Well, I went to the movies one night and sure enough I won a duck. As I sat watching the movie the duck kept honking. The manager came over to me and told me to take the duck home and then come back to see the movie.

When I got home everyone was asleep so I filled the bathtub with water and put the duck in. I shut the light and closed the door and then decided to go back to see the movie. After I came home I went to bed. Soon after my brother, Nat, came home and ran for the bathroom before I could stop him. He turned on the light and was greeted by the loud honking and the duck in the tub. This shook him up and woke the whole household as well. My family never let me forget.

Bob Washton, who is married to fellow author Doris Washton, has four children and 10 grandchildren.

Summers with My Sister in Flemington, NJ

By Mildred Lippes

My sister was an owl and I a lark in our waking habits. We never argued and led unparallel lives. She was younger, a sassy tomboy, and I was a reserved introspective teenager.

Summers were spent at an uncle’s farm near Flemington, New Jersey. Year after year, we couldn’t wait to climb up the steep attached ladder to the hayloft in the barn. There, we would race across a wide beam and dive into the sweet smelling hay.

No problem for her, but the last year we went, I froze unable to dive after her. I sat on the beam a while then slowly descended the ladder to the spacious barnyard.

A huge unpaved oval centered on a water pump, with a three-seater outhouse or privy on one side, and an insulted closed shed on the other. There, the fresh milk in huge waist-high metal-capped containers was kept until daily delivery at dawn to the creamery -- my uncle’s never-ending responsibility.

The herd, which pastured during the day, consisted mainly of black-spotted, white Holsteins and smaller, Jersey, rust-colored cattle, all with proper girlish names.

Calving twins was a very rare occurrence and neighboring farm folk came to visit when one of the herd delivered a pair of twins instead of the usual one.

Around this time the state of New Jersey required all cattle to be tested for tuberculosis and some farmers lost many animals. We were in luck. Just one, a large healthy-looking Holstein named Dandy was infected while ‘Blue’ an oddly-colored spindly cow was fine and given an OK ear tag with the rest of the fortunate herd.

My Father and I

By Doris Washton

His wife is a victim of a massive stroke, under full-time care of an attendant. Her sister who lives with them helps with housekeeping and cooking responsibilities. It is an unhappy situation and he has great difficulty accepting what life has become for him.

I try to come to see them about five times a week. He is happy when I come. He lists his many complaints which I try to work through with him. At the same time I sit with her, hold her hand, talk to her and hope she derives some pleasure from this.

When it is time for me to leave he becomes moody because I am leaving. He resents the fact that I deem it necessary to go back to the care of my family. He is jealous of the time I give to my husband and children. As far as he’s concerned I never put his feeling first.

It is difficult living with this stress, but I will continue to do the best I can, even though he may not understand. I somehow knew that she understands and this makes my efforts worthwhile.