Family Story

CHASING YESTERDAY'S DREAMS

I have so many things to do today, yet I said to myself, "If you don't do this now, these stories, if left undone, will be lost forever." It is something I had been mentally tinkering with, yet didn't know where to begin.

I had thought about putting it down so many times, for others to see, yet once again put it off for another day. It was in these moments I wanted to open up and share what I saw, and experienced, long ago.

It was a time when the economy changed from "The Land of Plenty into the Dry Lands of Starvation. The whole world had been deeply affected.

I wondered just where to start. Then I decided to go back as far as I could remember, of the life I lived and experienced, then work it, up and back.

There were moments when the joy and tender compassion from my grandmother, whom I called Bubbie, became my "life saver". It made me grateful to be given the opportunity to see the difference of living with instances of fear and hopelessness, just to have Bubbie there to come to my rescue.

COMING OUT OF THE PAST

The idea for a story came to me when Terry, my husband, asked me to join him on a drive to the hardware store. Now, I have to admit. This is one place, I sincerely believe, is strictly for men. Each time I am there, I get bored.

Yet, any request to join him, I never turn down. I would go willingly, just to be with him,

After being married for over 43 years, I still loved being in his company. There was something about an inner sense I had, when I was with him. Being together, made me feel complete. A spiritualist might say, it has something to do with the connection of the soul.

Nevertheless, I found myself at crossroads. I had to either weigh getting bored, or staying home. So, I found an in between solution. If I waited for him in the car, I could go to the rear, lie down on the back seat and rest my head on the pillow.

Once here, I could let my thoughts ramble on, inviting past recollections to evolve. In so doing, I could bring forth a "Treasure Trove" of memories, waiting to be released. It's here and now, I can finally began to unjumble those past life's experiences, that are connected with those special moments, that were filled with " hidden dreams".

CHASING YESTERDAY'S DREAMS

The days came and went, leaving me with loneliness and longing for some attention. I had no toys and no company. I was not old enough to be left alone outside.

We were in the kind of weather that was either too cold and blustery, or damp and raining.

So here I was , three years old and stuck indoors without anything or any one to play with. The only individual in the house was Momma. To expect any attention from her, was a failing hope.

While leaning against the couch in the living room, looking around for something to do, an idea came to mind. I concocted a mental experiment. It was a way to seek out her company, while testing my creative powers.

I decided to go to the doorway of the kitchen, where Momma was, then sneak a peak around the corner. I told myself that if she noticed me, she would be glad to see me.

I had to try. I was not willing to accept defeat. As a determined little beggar, I walked towards the kitchen doorway. Holding onto the framework with both hands,, I poked my head just inside. In my attempt to create a method for amusement, I could also be keeping myself from feeling so lonely.

There was Momma, busily working by the kitchen sink cutting up food. Hearing a sound, caused her to turn and gaze at me.

As soon as she spotted me, her face changed to a fiery expression. Tight lipped and clenched teeth, I knew I had been forewarned.

When she lowered her lids and shot that lazer sharp vision at me, it was my final warning. This forced me to move out of there, like an up and coming hurricane.

I'd turn about and race like hell into the living room. Once here, I could take-up my old familiar position of leaning against the couch. As much as I wanted company, I was not prepared to accept the alternative.

More often than I cared to remember, from the kitchen or spoken in front of me in the living room, I would overhear Momma's expression of discontent told to Bubbie.

" I don't even want to have to look at her anymore." Her bitter toned words caused my grandmother to have deep concerns for my safety. When I looked up at Bubbie's face it was filled with doubts and confusion. It was as if she could find no reason for her daughter's acrid comments.

From the innocence of a three year old, I would not believe Momma meant what I heard her say. Bubbie did. Momma's cold emotional words spoken to my grandmother aroused distrust and mistrust about Momma's future intentions. For this reason my Bubbie would show-up early, and each day take me away with her.

Where Bubbie's good nature and kind heart led her to where ever she was most needed, Momma was different.

It was hard to believe she came from the same family. My gandmother's daily appearance, spared me many days of boredom and lonely sad moments. When she appeared, she injected a glow of life into me. Just to know she was there, made my soul jump for joy. I had been made aware, that someone else, other than Daddy, cared about me. I thank God for giving me both Bubbie and Daddy.

Bubbie had her own unlimited house hold tasks set-up for her.r Shopping, cooking, cleaning, washing and ironing, were only a few. These were the normal duties to be functional. Aside from this, there was the chicken shop she and Zada owned.

Along with tending other needs of Zada, my grandfather and her teen age son, my Uncle Harry, were the additional responsibilities.

But how she managed to put aside her own personal accountabilities, just to come and fetch me, to this day, for me, it remains a mystery.

In order to meet the Jewish Orthodox religious standards, Bubbie kept her two room apartment, spotlessly clean. I watched her wet mop the kitchen floor, with systematic patience.

I believe this life style came out of the words from God. When HE said, "And the Levites shall be mine", HE requested that in handling the "utensils" of the "Meeting Place" their handlers keep themselves clean.

Bubbie follows this rule to the letter.

She would sink her mop slowly and carefully into a pail of soapy water. Then meticulously sloshed it on to the floor.

The next step was to wring out the mop and absorb the excess water. The final outcome was delightful. The floor came-out shinny and bright, looking as if it was brand new.

When the floor was dry, Bubbie topped it with newspapers. On a weekly basis, I would watch her scrub and wipe down the kitchen and bedroom with precise accomplishments. The bathroom on the second floor was shared by two families. Most of the time, Bubbie cleaned and scrubbed it until it shone. All that was done, was in part, for the preparation of Friday night. A religious Holy ritual.

Bubbie was short in size, but with a multitude of stimulated energy. She could move in her tracks and accomplish more than any other quick moving individual of the same age.

Bubbie and Zada owned a little chicken shop. Thursdays and Fridays, women came in to choose their preferred bird, for the Friday night meal. This was the night that was considered to be a "Religious evening."

After the Friday night services at the Synagogue, Zada came home for that specially cooked meal. The chicken and chicken soup, mashed potatoes, combined with chicken fat taken from the skins. Afterwards, they were cut-up and fried. Then, added to the mashed potatoes gave them a crispy crunchy taste.

It was the chicken fat which was to become one of the greatest in roads towards the Cardiovascular disease. Sadly, it became the final step. It took my Angel Bubbie, out of my life and back to God. I believe it was for further duties he had for her, that would lie ahead.

Bubbie was someone special, who always thought of others, ahead of herself. She would take time out from working in their little chicken shop, to come and get me. Once in her care, she was sure I would be alright.

Thursdays and Friday's were special. On these days, I would be taken with her into the little chicken shop to watch the excitement.

When she came to get me, and I'd look-up into her smiling face, it sent thrills of joy and happiness through-out my body. Her love for me, fulfilled me with an awareness that I was loved and wanted.

On Chicken buying days, when the women came in to make their purchases, Bubbie gave each one her time and special attention.

When they arrived, they seemed unsure. When they left, it was with faces filled with satisfaction. Bubbie always made sure her customers spent their money wisely. When they left with a smile on their faces, she knew she had succeeded.

Each week, I recognized the same ones would return. It was my Bubbie's good heart that sold itself.

FRIDAY NIGHT RITUALS

The store was located on a busy street, in Philadelphia, next to a row of crowded shopping markets. The area was known as Strawberry Mansion.

Once inside the shop, I hung close to Bubbie. This way I was sure I would be able to observe more clearly. It was the only time of the week, when business was at its best. It was also, the only entertainment I got on a weekly basis.

The shop space was no greater than an eight by ten sized room. It was tight to move around. There was merely enough space for two or three people to maneuver about.

One person at a time, could proceed comfortably to check the chickens in the chicken coops. I liked watching them make their selections.

To make the proper selection, they poked their fingers into the behinds of the birds. This was in search of the one that had the most fat. Their interest was in the amount of grease they could get from the chicken fat, and the fried chicken skins.

When they thought they had come upon the right selection they shouted over to Bubbie, "I'll take this one!" She would hurry over, remove the bird from the cage and carry it downstairs to the basement. Here, Zada, was ready to do his job. Slaughter the bird in the religious manner. It was done in a way that it felt as little to no pain at all.

When you came into the store, you were met with loud squawks and stinking smells. it was difficult to decide which was more horrible. The noise or the odor.

The bird sounds were so loud that it caused the customers and Bubbie to yell back and forth, over the asking prices.

Only one wall could be used for shelving. Every inch of that one wall was filled with chicken coups. Squeezed together, with no room to move, were complaining birds. Between the odor and the noise, it made the shop an unpleasant place to be in.

It was getting close to late afternoon. I loved being with Bubbie. She made each customer feel special. When they left, you could spot this on their faces. That lady could warm anyone's heart and soul with love and compassion, just as she did to me.

I joined her in mounting the stairs to her second floor apartment. Once it was reached, we took a left turn into her small, neat and clean kitchen. Here she would begin getting ready to lite the Friday Night candles. It was a moment in time, when I was floating mentally, somewhere else, other than being on earth.

As evening closed in, Bubbie placed, two silver candle stick holders, near the end of the kitchen table. Then she inserted two white, tall candles into the holders, ready for lighting. Just to be certain I didn't miss anything, I took a side step, and moved in closer.

Now, I felt comfortable enough to watch and share in the ritual. It was an occasion in my life that became a treasure trove of memories. It had the capacity to leave one with a gratifying and heart warming remembrance, that was never to be forgotten. As these priceless treasures, were forged into my brain and mind, they were left for me to unearth at any time, when there was a need.

She cast a large scarf over her head. Then she lit the candles. She covered her eyes, by placing the fingers of both hands across her face. Fascinated, and in total awe, with my mouth slightly opened, I stood by and watched.

Quietly, almost in a whisper, Bubbie said a prayer. Then, removing her fingers from her face, she took one hand and passed it over the other, on top of the lit candles. It was a motion I had witnessed many times before. The feeling I was left with, was always the same. I was deeply impressed.

Yet, to be here, to witness and attend, was as if for the first time. Each instant filled me with an astonishing glow of inner peace.

With the prayer service completed, she would give me her attention. She held far away look. It was as if she had just returned from a glorious place.

She looked down at me. Then I heard her say, "Geet Shabbas." I was surprised to see something I had missed. Standing close to her, I could feel a warmth coming from her body, that made me relax and feel a glow inside. Hearing the way she spoke the words, "Geet Shabbas," overwhelmed me with a great love for God and Bubbie.

Experiencing a sense of relaxed contentment, I could feel a smile coming on my face. Then I responded with, a "Geet Shabbas Bubbie". We had wished each other a" Good Friday".

Friday nights were the second most Holiest Nights in the Jewish Religion. That is, besides "Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur".

On Rosh Hashanah the" Book Of Life" is opened. It states when you will be born, how long you will live, how you will die, etc.

On Yom Kippur, the Book Of Life, is closed.

Being with Bubbie, while learning all about Judaism became my "treasure trove" in life. These were my memories, that I could unearth at any a needed moment to escape from time.

When situations become more than I can handle, I dig back into my mind and bring forth treasured moments, filled with Bubbie, that take away the sadness replace it with peace and joy. Then, for a short period in space, I have become refreshed, thus enabling me to move forth, ready to face these challenges.

The aura that came from these rituals, took me out of an occasion and located me onto another dimension. I would suddenly find it was the place where I belonged. This was where our souls had connected.

The room had turned into a dimension, somewhere in heaven, where Bubbie and I stood, close to one another. It was a sensation of happiness that was all mixed in together with a period that held no time.

It was a way, in which to open my eyes and see a huge radiance of brightness, that engulfed the entire room. It became an opening, for me to envision, with only the positive side of life. Suddenly, I realized, it had always been there.

Part of the ritual was baking or purchasing freshly baked "Challah" bread. It would then be placed on a " specially" large, oval plate, which was laid out on a clean, white, ironed table cloth. It was covered with a white, freshly washed and ironed, cloth napkin. It was situated near the table setting where Zada sat.

Bubbie stepped back, to view the final outcome of her work. As I watched, she inhaled and drew herself up to her full height. Then pulling back her shoulders, it all appeared to be a gratifying form of pride and satisfaction.

The Challah came out of the the oven with brown baked lumps. Part of the evening ceremony, was for each one to break off a lump, then pass it around and and share it with the rest of the family. Zada had the honor of tearing off the first piece. We were all left with the delicious taste of a freshly baked Challah.

In the Old Testament, when God spoke the words, "And the Levites shall be mine." HE spoke of cleanliness for one's self when in caring for the Utensils for the Meeting Place. The Meeting Place would later be known as the Temple or Synagogue. Zada was a Levite. Both Zada and Bubba were proud to be chosen to serve God.

They were strict, practicing Orthodox Jews. Their choice of Religious habits were never forced onto their five children. It was considered to be a subject of "free will."

Each went their own way. None chose to follow in the strict laws of their parents traditions. However, each one felt privileged to be a part of it.

When something pricks my memory of the past, having to be associated with my grandmother, I am once again filled with the adoration and love I have always had for her. In returning to the most glorious memories of "Buried Treasures", I begin to realize, how priceless the past was. Just being with her, was like standing besides the soul of an Angel from Heaven.

During the hard, cold periods of the Depression, Bubbie and Zada had very little money to live on. Nevertheless, when Bubbie heard that the people next door were starving, she collected all of the food she had been saving from their kitchen cupboard and placed them into a small bag.

Hurriedly, she ran next door to the neighbors house.

She knocked at the door. When it was opened, she said, "Can you believe this? Look, look at all the food I have left over! It's a shame to waste it. Do you know anyone who can use this?"

When I was four years old, Bubbie came and took me to her place. She lived on the upstairs second floor of a family home. Her two rooms were rented out to her as an apartment. The one and only bathroom on the second floor was shared by both families.

At the time, Uncle Harry who was in his late teens, lived with his parents. The house was owned and utilized by a family named, "Zagers"

They had a daughter, who was several years younger than Uncle Harry. Her name was Bessie. Living in the same house and seeing one another often, started a lasting friendship that bloomed into a romantic relationship. It was not too long after, Uncle Harry asked Bessie to be his bride. She agreed and the plans for their wedding began.

With a new beginning for a new life, my Uncle had to face different kinds of responsibilities. This left no room in the day for visitations. As the fast flowing rivers of time surge on, so must life. In turning away, to face new challenges, we move on. And so did my most dearly best friend, Uncle Harry.

One day, standing in Bubbie's bedroom, leaning against Bubbie and Zada's bed, I saw her gaze into a mirror, that was attached to their bureau. What came next, nearly took my breath away. It became a total surprise to me.

I always envisioned Bubbie as a much older woman. I soon learned just how wrong I was.

Their front bedroom was small. Behind me, were two windows. They looked out onto the street.

I watched and wondered what Bubbie was going to do next. Here she stood looking into a mirror, attached to her bedroom bureau. With anxious eyes, I watched. What I saw, I never expected. Bubbie pulled off a wig, that was on her head and let her hair fall down. it reached to about six to eight inches short of her waist. I thought the wig was her real hair. How wrong I was!

She had long brown, shinny hair with red pigments streaking through. The sunlight came from the window behind, and streamed in, and onto the back of her head. I stood there with the look of amazement. What I saw, were flashes of red. As she ran the comb through her hair, the natural oils became the fuel that lit up. It sent tiny sparks to shoot out. It was like watching small bits of fireworks.

She was younger than I had believed. Her clear skin and slightly pink cheeks, brought out a youthful look. I was absolutely fascinated with the blushing pink in her cheeks. Watching the sparkles flashing in her hair, caused me to be flabbergasted. I could no longer envisioned her as my old Bubbie. Unveiled, and standing before me, was a younger, fresher more beautiful lady, who was my grandmother.

She stood about four foot eleven inches tall. She had a well rounded figure. Looking back, I would probably guess her weight to be about one hundred and forty pounds. Little consideration was given to what they consumed.

Due to the customs in their diet, she followed the eating habits that led to extra weight. Fried foods such as chicken grease, small pieces of crispy fried chicken skins, were added into the mashed potatoes.

Today it is recognized as a significant influence in clogging the arteries that lead to the heart.

Zada stood about five foot eight inches tall. Beneath the long black coat and black felt hat that he always wore, I would guess his weight to be about one hundred and eighty pounds.

He wore the same coat and hat, shoes shirt and tie for as long as I could remember. The hair on his head had a mixture of gray and dark colors. The beard he grew was gray, stringed with dark hairs.

His medium sized nose was slightly widened at the end. Along with his plain features, was a pale, uneven texture to his skin. It was so unlike Bubbie's pink smooth cheeks and clear skin, that I tried to reason out, why the difference. There was no answer.

Everyone who new my grandfather, looked up to him. He was regarded with respect and admiration. Especially from Bubbie. She held him in the highest of esteem. To have a husband as well educated in Hebrew, and with a mind filled with much wisdom, Bubbie felt honored. For him to have accepted her as his bride, there was no greater fulfillment.

Her loyalty and faithfulness was paid back by strictly following in their traditions. Pleasing her husband, came natural to her. He was truly aware of her efforts. For this, he greatly respected her and both were happy in their relationship.

The clothes she wore, were always the same. It was part of their religious customs. A long black skirt, long black sleeved blouse, black stockings and high, laced-up black heeled shoes.

The Orthodox, Jewish women, accepted and adopted to wear a special dress code. The intention was to cover as much exposed flesh as possible. Its intent was to prevent arousing outside male interests.

The reason for this dress code, came from the words of God, written in the Ten Commandments. It states; "Thou shall not covet they neighbor or they neighbors wife!"

The Ten Commandments were adopted by the American Court system and are followed today, throughout our land.

IN THE BEGINNING

I was born in 1926. During this time, there was evidence that the economy had begun to vibrate and crumble under a tremendous loss of financial security.

It was the beginning for a world wide depression. The newspapers were filled with horror stories. The once wealthy were committing suicide. They were discovered, jumping off of bridges and window ledges, from tall buildings.

We were entering into the onset of what hard and sad moments were. The period of the good times of desirable gainfulness, had come and gone. It was now the time to get ready, for the worst and the horrible.

Most had come to know what homelessness, hunger and starvation was. We faced a time, that had became the longest period of misery without hope, that we should ever come to know. It took out the mystery of what tomorrow would bring. All that was left, was fear and hopelessness.

When Momma discovered she was pregnant with me, her bitterness and hate for this oncoming newborn was not kept to herself. It was loudly expressed to her mother. " I already have an eleventh month old boy, that's all I want. I don't want anymore responsibility!" It was this negative attitude which caused her mother considerable fears for the safety of the oncoming newborn.

Much later in life, I learned the discussion Momma had with the nurse when she brought me into her room, for the first time.

While in the hospital, after giving birth, Momma refused to have me near her. I was taken care of and bottle fed by the nurses.

Most of the feedings ended-up with my throwing-up. Later in life, it was known as Lactose Intolerance. What was known then, and is today, the healthier babies were breast fed.

She said to my grandmother, "When the nurse asked me if I wanted to see my little girl, I told her, No. The nurse looked at me in surprise. She asked me if I wanted to put her up for adoption. Believe me, I wanted to say " yes" but I was afraid of what you and Pop would say. So, I told her, No"

At the time, my grandmother told this to a member of the family, she was unaware I was closeby. I was young, yet old enough to understand. The full meaning, came to me much later in life. When my mother revealed to the nurse about the new birth of her child, her words sank painfully deep, into my heart and soul. As young as I was, I understood.

Unknowingly, it became the indelible ink that has been engraved into every second of my past, present and future memory, forever.

Bubbie lashed out at her. "What are you talking about? Two children and that's too much? I had five. I raised you and four more. What's wrong with you? Your sister had three, and you want only one? "

Momma knew how her parents felt about family relationships with children. Raising a number of children, was an acceptable practice. It was in the Orthodox Jewish Religion, to be grateful to be a parent.

Unlike her mother, in the mind of her soul, existed none of her mother's characteristics. Caring about others was never there. Momma's ideas were set in stone. Satisfied with how they were carved out, Momma felt they required no changes. Her main concern was having less responsibility and more free time to herself.

Momma's final acceptance of me, was in my learning of what cold disdain and contempt was. As I look back, I think to myself, " Wouldn't I have been better off adopted? At least I would have been wanted and loved by the women who chose me."

From the age of four, I was passed off and around to remain with different family members. Sometimes with those on Momma's side, and other times on Daddy's side. I was left there there for days and sometimes longer.

it was difficult to adjust. Always feeling lost and unhappy, I desperately wanted to go home. Each night I went to bed saddened. I was too young to realize it, as being depressed.

When it was time to leave the hospital with her newborn, Momma told Bubbie she would not carry me. Uncle Harry and Bubba came to the hospital to take me home.

At the time, Uncle Harry, was 15 years old. He took me in his arms and carried me outside to the waiting cab outside. It was the first time in this new life of mine, that I came to know what tenderness was. He had the touch of a loving, gentle soul, with a kind heart. I would later come to know him as my Buddy, my Friend and my Uncle.

Four months of my life had now passed. Like every preceding day, early in the mornings, Momma would bring me downstairs and place me in the carriage. It stood in front of the living room couch. Then, just as before, she would disappear into the kitchen, leaving me lying flat on my back.

Unfortunately, I was unable to sit-up and be left alone. Both sides of the carriage were too high to see over the top. All that remained to look at was the ceiling. It was boring.

I thought to myself, "I wonder what the room looks like." The next thing that happened, was a jolting surprise.

All of a sudden, I was connected to the ceiling and looking down. It was as if my back was stuck there and I could see the entire room. Although it was amazing, I felt deep concerns. I thought, "What if I can't get back in? What happens to me then?"

I refused to look inside the carriage, fearing that something terrible would happen. I kept my observation firmly fixed on the living room.

Intrigued by some movement coming from the side of the room, I looked down and saw my two year old brother. He was standing by the living room stairs. This was on the opposite side across from the carriage. With his attention turned in that direction, he began walking towards the coach.

I was struck with a happy idea, "He's coming to play with me. I want to go back." The thought was no sooner completed, when I found myself back in body.

But unfortunately, what I had hoped for couldn't have been further from the truth. My brother did make his way towards me, but when he reached the side of the carriage, he put his left hand into the coach and stuck his finger in my right eye. I let out a scream of pain, followed by deep felt tears. Momma let out yelling words to him, "What are you doing in there?" My hopes for a relief of boredom, left as my brother turned and ran away.

Most of my days had been filled with joy and warmth when my grandmother and her then teenage son came to visit. When I would look-up out of the coach to see a wide grin and heard loud laughter my love for them both was aroused.

After lifting me out of the carriage, he kissed and hugged me. It was like a breathe of fresh air. I loved it and I adored him. After waiting her turn, my Bubbie took me in her arms and repeated the process, leaving me feeling wanted and appreciated.

Uncle Harry and Bubbie, looked much alike. They each had a round face and straight nose. Uncle had brown wavy hair. It was kept neatly combed and parted on the side. Momma had a slight resemblance to them both. But that was as far as it went. She lacked their warmth and compassion.

Uncle Harry's love, like my Bubbie's, was the defrosting needed to thaw out my soul. Ignored by Momma and longing for attention, I eagerly looked forward to seeing them. Lucky for me, they arrived daily. If one couldn't make it, the other one did.

Uncle Harry told me years later, " When you reached the age of nine months, you took your first step." He went on to say, " Not too long after, you were able to manage walking on your own."

When I was a little over a year old, something changed. Instead of Momma attending me, it was my Bubbbie. To me it was odd and confusing. When we got downstairs, I looked for Momma, but she wasn't there. It was Bubbie who came and stayed for the night. Days went by, without Momma. I missed her. I wondered what happened to her and where she was ?

Finally one day, the front door opened. Into the living room walked two strange men carrying Momma, seated on a chair. Just as they entered, their eyes combed the room searching for the stairs.

Once spotted, they moved to the left. While positioned at the bottom, they looked up. Momentarily they hesitated. Then they began the slow and tedious walk-up the stairs.

As they passed me. I was stunned at what I saw. Momma purposely ignored me. She turned her head away as if to blame me for the situation she was in. As young as I was, I clearly understood. I refused to accept what I saw and chose to regard her actions as a mistake.

Slowly, they made their way upstairs. It seemed to be difficult and tiresome. Without hesitation they continued to mount. Once upstairs, I could hear the sounds of their foot steps. They moved down the hallway and into the back bedroom. Again the front door opened. Two women followed the procession from behind. They hurriedly ascended the stairs. Upon reaching the top, they continued to make their way down the hall.

I did not recognize anyone, except Momma. She was in a position I had never seen before. My enthusiasm in wanting to see her was energized. I wanted to make her look at me, then examine her face.

In gaining her attention, it could mean she cared. Or, so I thought. My interest in investigating would deliver the answer.

However, I had a problem. As one who was a little over a year old, my walking experience, never perked enough of an interest to mount the stairs alone.

But now it was different. I had to see Momma. It took me no more than five minutes after they paraded by, to convince myself to take the venture. I was determined to see Momma, for myself. Without further hesitation, I went for the steps.

In accepting the challenge, I proceeded alone. Bubbie, who was seated on the couch, shouted out to me, "No, don't go." Ignoring her plea, I continued on as quickly as I could. Bubbie remained seated, and never did pursue. By leaning over each step, I amazed myself on just how fast I was going. Proceeding as fast as I did, I reached the top of the stairs in a shorter period of time than I had imagined.

Suddenly, I was at the top. Hurriedly, I ran down the hallway to the back bedroom. Stopping short of entering, I gazed inside. The headboard to the bed was leaning against the left wall. Anxious to see Momma, I peered into the room. She was sitting in an upright position with back support from two pillows.

She was telling a story that grabbed the attention of everyone in the room. The visitors were seated on the opposite side of the bed. Once I appeared, they withdrew their attention from Momma and looked at me.

Her company was distracted by my appearance. This caused Momma to stop talking and turn her focus towards the entrance. When she spotted me, her relaxed facial expression changed. Even the coloring of her skin seemed to darken. Momma was infuriated. I had received the sternest, most unkind look I had ever gotten by her before. She narrowed her eye lids and at the same time, pressed her lips together and clenched her teeth. I knew what I was in for. It looked like trouble. I turned and ran away as fast as I could.

Overcome with fear, I turned, nearly running towards the top of the stairs. Not only was my heart pumping loud and wild, my mind was filled with terror.

I halted at the end of the landing. Looking down the steep stairs, I suddenly realized I had never gone down the steps alone before. My question was how? I now faced two challenges. Momma's heated anger or going it alone. I was now given the opportunity to test my nerves.

Going up step by step, just leaning over, was not difficult. What was it like going down steep steps? The idea filled me with enormous apprehension. I had no choice. I had to take the plunge. But how?

There was danger in what I had to do. My cowardliness and getting on with the venture, turned into a tug of war between the two. But how do I get down safely? For once, I didn't think of Momma, I was thinking about myself.

I decided to sit down on top of one step, then slide down onto the next. It was scary to look down and see just how arduous it was. This was my first lesson in " mind self-control". I refused to accept danger. Instead, I chose to concentrate on each step as I went down. It made breathing difficult. But I was determined to win.

I found to my amazement, I made it. I suddenly knew the feeling of self- satisfaction and pride. I remembered why I went up. I wanted to see Momma. I thought maybe she missed me as much as I missed her. I was wrong. Nevertheless, I knew what made me move so quick. It was Momma's angry stare. I learned to my amazement, in controlling my focus during a dangerous venture, I would emerged in total safety. It made me feel good about myself.

It was years later, that I learned where Momma had gone and why Bubba came to take care of me.

Momma discovered preventive methods from having anymore children. It was the nearest method of getting a "special insurance" without having to buy one. It was called, a Hysterectomy.

First, she had to convince the Gynecologist to accept her point of view. He tried to convince her that at the age of twenty-eight it was too young to have changes made in her body. There were some discussions between the two before he would agree to do the surgery. Momma was determined to go through with it. She was willing to risk her health and limit her youthful years, in order to be free of anymore responsibility.

She told Bubba, "Oh I told him there was no doubt in my mind. I wanted no more children. And if this is the only way it can be done, then do it!"

As I grew-up, so did Uncle Harry. I began to see him as an older brother. He would arrive at the house almost daily. I loved his laughter and warmth. It filled a longing that was vacant, inside my heart.

If I was lucky to see Daddy early in the day, he would greet me with a wide grin and a twinkle in his eye. However, most nights I was already in bed. Daddy would come home to late to see. He was out searching for a job.

Daddy was about 5'5" tall. He had dark wavy hair and a nice nose. His manner was always pleasant, and his smile was contagious. If he arrived early enough, when he came through the front door and into the living room, I'd always be greeted with a smile and a wink before heading for the kitchen. As depressed and tired as he was, it never showed up on his face.

There was no common bond between my brother and me. Being twenty months older was all the closeness we had in common. Uncle Harry, was fifteen years older and I could relate easier to him than I could to my brother. He and his mother, my beautiful Bubbie, were very much alike. Both brought me the missing ingredient in my life. Their affection and love, filled the dark, lonely emptiness I longed for. So many times, when I was all alone, I wished my brother and Momma saw me in the same way. But it was what it was. Yet, I never gave up hoping.

Where I had a need for attention and affection, my brother's needs lay in other directions.

Each day took him to different parts of the neighborhood. This intensive research kept him away from house, most of the day. It was a routine which pleased Momma. Both had similar needs. To be left alone. I knew better than to seek attention from Momma. To her, it was not only upsetting, it could make her temper rise to unbelievable heights.

My brother's outside enthusiasm, drove him to rise early in the mornings, and leave just after breakfast. His thirst for information caused his little feet, to move like the wind. Energized by curiosity, he searched the neighborhood at all points of interest. This was done without leaving a stone unturned.

STRUGGLING TO SURVIVE

I was three years old. It was 1929. With the country hard hit, nearly all of the men were out of work. So was Daddy.

Like all of the mornings before I was put outside on our front porch, and left on my own. Without toys, there was little for me to do. I waited and watched for something to catch my attention. Time came and went. There was no movement. I could hear nothing but quiet. The waiting for something to move or be heard turned into a dull and boring morning, like all the times before.

With my five year old brother sticking his nose into strange places, I had to adjust to being all alone.

Even though we were both close in age, the character of our souls were molded into two entirely different beings.

I spent my time studying people by their attitude and behavior. While he had to know who and what was happening around the neighborhood. Down one corner was a Fire station, in which the firemen already knew him. Down the opposite corner and across a little street was a cemetery, in which he had visited many times. On another corner was a drug store. All, plus more, had been well investigated.

For me, I found scrutinizing people and watching their behavior, when they passed our house, turn into a safety net for me. If they were negative, it was a signal to beware. Nevertheless, all of my knowledge never did help very much with understanding Momma.

When Daddy was home, it was good to be with him. He loved making people feel good. When he laughed, it made me laugh. Sadly, I didn't get much time with Daddy. He was mostly out looking for work.

Like every other morning, I was put out on the porch. I had to find ways of entertaining myself. I searched for something to watch.

Separating me from going down the front steps, just off of the porch, was an accordion gate. It became the means between boredom, and freedom. However, something did catch my attention that would make this morning different.

After a period of time, I heard something that caught my attention. It came from across the street. I suddenly realized someone was singing.

Peering through the heavy carved spokes off the railing, I looked across the street. There sat a man on the top end of the wooden porch entrance, singing out loud, but to himself.

He was dressed in a shabby, rumpled suit. His hair was unkempt, and he looked as if he could care less. Totally relaxed, swaying from side to side, the young man sang his heart out. With his white shirt collar undone and a stripped tie hanging down the sides, he seemed to be free of pain and problems. The words I heard him sing were;

"Show me the way to go home. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Had a little drink about an hour ago and it went right to my head."

The last word was just about out of his mouth when the front door opened. A woman dressed in a light colored bathrobe and bedroom slippers, stepped down onto the porch. She quickly approached the man.

It was as if she wanted to shut him up as soon as possible. She grabbed him by the back collar, then dragged him to his feet. Turning him around, she shoved him into the house. Then she slammed the door shut behind her.

I was back to boredom. Not much time passed before something else caught my attention. It was in a form of commotion.

I found myself looking up towards the sky. Birds were clattering as they flew by. Joyfully watching their grace and beauty in flight, I found myself being envious of their freedom. Here I was confined. Totally locked out of being free. I began to envy my brother.

At five years old, he could select and decide which end of the block he wanted to begin searching first.

I had time on my hands and found myself hoping to find people to check over. Although they were seldom seen, the ones that did go by, I began to consider their differences.

By watching Momma's expressions, I tried to compare their facial expressions to hers. If they looked angry, It was safer for me to be on the porch. But times were economically difficult for all. Most wore a look of being lost in deep thought.

I heard a noise. I looked between the spokes on the porch railing and saw a little girl run up our steps. She unlocked the gate and stepped onto our porch. For a brief moment, I thought I had a playmate. Then it all fell apart. After looking in her face, I was drawn to her eyes. They held a wild look. I was overcome with fear and a cold chill.

She ran over to me. Her facial expressions made me take three steps backwards. I was frightened. She lifted both of her fists up, then banged them hard on the top of my head. It made me feel queer and dizzy. Then, they were slammed into the sides of my face. It left me with great pain. I shut my eyes waiting for what was next to come. I didn't have to wait long. She grabbed my hair, pulled and yanked hard. It was agony.

All of a sudden, the pain began to ease. The punches stopped. I wondered what was next. I was unstable on my feet. As I opened my eyes, I saw her leaving. With careful precision, she locked the gate behind her. Then turned, raced down the steps and was gone.

Since she was several years older, her actions made no sense. I thought she should be smarter than to strike me without reason.

The next day, as Momma was putting on my sweater, to go outside, I turned to her and said, "No". My insides told me there would be another attacking visit from that little girl. I had seen her once before, walking by the front of our house. She was built odd and acted strange. Her chin was almost on her chest. It was as though she had no neck.

Momma was not going to take any preference from me. She showed great annoyance when she said, "Oh yes you will"! I was shoved out the front door, then heard it slam shut behind me.

No more than a few minutes later, I saw the "little bully" running towards the front of our house.

I began banging on the front door yelling, "Momma, Momma." The little girl was quicker than I was in getting an answer. It was no more than a minute later, when the little monster would appear with loaded fists.

Quickly unlocking the gate, she walked towards me with "hells bells" in her eyes. I was scared. She stood about one head taller than me. This made it easier to hammer down on the top of my head. WOW! It left me feeling dizzy. My knees began to buckle beneath me. My leg support was failing. I was going to end-up on the floor.

Suddenly, the banging got softer. I opened my eyes, and saw Momma. She caught both of the little girls wrists in her hands and held on tight.

I was so glad to see her. I was now free from a wild beast's cruel beatings. While holding onto one of the girl's wrists, with one hand, Momma reached out, with her other hand to me. "Hold on to my hand," she said. We were both guided down the front steps and onto the pavement.

Once here, we walked towards the little girl's home. Her front door was even with the outside pavement. It appeared to be a basement apartment. Momma said to me, "Stay here and wait for me!" I did just as she said. She knocked at the front door. It was answered by a short, thin, slightly gray haired woman wearing glasses. She appeared surprised when Momma walked in, holding on to the little girl's hand.

Once inside, Momma let loose. She screamed at the top of her lungs at the other woman for permitting her retarded child loose in the neighborhood. What I heard were angry threats and loud words coming from Momma. To my surprise, Momma was fighting for me. I was ecstatic. Had the tide turned? For Momma to get that mad, causing to causing her let loose like that was a blessing to me. As I stood there listening to her scream at the top of her lungs at someone else other than me, was astounding.

She shouted, "If your daughter comes up on our porch again, I'll have you arrested!" There was silence. A minute or two passed and Momma came out. I looked up into her face, with renewed respect. Wearing that old tight expression, she turned and walked towards our house. I hurriedly followed from behind.

The next day, left out alone onto the porch again, I wondered what kind of a day it was to be. I remembered the birds and began to wish I could fly.

I walked over to the gate and began to climb. After placing one shoe into the side opening and then the other, I found myself caught. I couldn't pull either one out and I couldn't get down.

I heard a voice inside of me say, "Let go!" I leaned forward, towards the cement steps and my shoes were abruptly freed of their hold. I went flying down the steps, in a trip I have never and will never forget.

For the shortest second in my life, I thought I could sense the same freedom that the birds came to realize. It was a gloriously brief period, followed by the most excruciatingly painful experience that I would ever come to know.

My back hit the extending points, three times on three separate steps. I felt great pain.

My skull, would come to know an even greater sensation. It struck the following two steps even harder. What I heard, was the sound of a walnut cracking.

The next impact to my head, became he most excruciating agony, I would ever come to realize.

At the age of three, I was ready to leave a body, that had been attacked with pain piercing wounds, too much to bear. I wanted to die.

The younger the age, the closer it is to the memory in the mind, of the past experience. It becomes a shorter recollection of just how to leave the body and go to the light.

A second later, a wave of something like a liquid, swept over the damaged area smothering all of the bitter effect in the head. Then, something marvelous happened. I got a strong whiff of several, lovely fragrances and passed out.

The next thing I knew, all of the suffering returned. Momma was holding me in her arms shaking me to respond to her calls. All of the memory of what was felt returned. It was more than I could take. She kept shaking me and calling out my name. I found it impossible to speak. Yet, she had to know if I was dead or alive. I forced some sound out of my throat. I answered with a moan.

Picking me up into her arms, she headed for the Pharmacy down the other end of the block. Her fast moving steps, combined with bouncing movements brought back the harrowing suffering to my back skull, and head. I had hoped it had all diminished with the flowery essence of a moment of delightful smells. It had not. I couldn't endure any more suffering. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to return to that state of unconsciousness where there was no pain.

Once inside the Pharmacy, Mom anxiously yelled out to the Pharmacist over the counter, "What should I do?" He responded, "Is there any blood?" She said, "No". He replied, "Then don't worry, just let her sleep."

I grew up feeling the most agonizing pain in my spine until my later senior years. I never told Momma of what I was going through. I always hoped it would just go away. I learned to live with the hell only to find out later in life, I was diagnosed with Spondylolisthesis. The displacement of the forth and fifth vertebrae. I think this is what I read from a medical version of explanation. Still I am not sure how to explain it in everyday terminology. Somehow, I think it is responsible for my not growing very tall.

The Concussion and Skull Fracture left me with inadequacies in brain power. My prime concern was to keep from failing in school. I found I had to create my own techniques in which to learn how to memorize. Trying to remember, by using the conventional methods that come from having a healthy, normal brain, was simply out of the question.

Learning and remembering was the problem. I understood what the teacher said as soon as she went to another subject, the previous one was forgotten. I had not been able to grasp and hold, thus programming the brain. In order to keep up educationally wise, I had to adopt a plan that could help me to maintain memory. I discovered I had to work harder, by putting in more studying time just to stay even in grades. I wrote and re-wrote that which I had to memorize. It took hours, but it worked. I came away feeling satisfied with my efforts and hoped they could be maintained.

Momma let me sleep for twenty-four hours, before I was fully awakened. It became the reason I had many difficulties with Dyslexia and other more serious memory abilities. But the worst of them all came immediately after the fall. The fear of being lost. Up to today, it continues to remain. I am geographically blind. Often I will awaken from night sweating dreams of being lost. I am abruptly awakened from a sound sleep with a pounding heart. This leaved me lying for awhile, wide awake before I am able to return to a restful sleep.

Two days later, just as my five year old brother was about to leave the house, Momma called out to him saying,. "Take your sister with you!" I was ecstatic. I would be free. No more "porch boredom". I would have the same freedom he and the birds had.

As I followed my quick stepping brother out the front door, I found myself hesitating at the top of the steps. I was remembering that horrible experience just a few days before. Now, I had to go down alone and unaided.

My balance wavered. I didn't want to fall again. I looked for my brother's help. Acting as if he had something important on his mind, he raced down the steps without looking back. Just as he reached the bottom, he was off and running down the block. I was still perched on the porch looking down some very steep, high steps. Would I quit and back up on the porch and continue being bored?

Breathing became difficult. My heart was racing. For the first time in my life I was faced with a decision. Boredom or take the risk? With my past experience, still fresh in my mind and my brother off and running, it was time to decide. I had no other way out. Go, or remain behind.

My first step took a little time. It was a quite a shaky one. The few seconds it took to balance myself, were frightening. Finally, when my full weight was on both feet, my confidence seemed to slowly creep back. The next step had a little less question in it. Then, as the following ones grew a little easier, I moved on.

By the time I reached bottom, my brother was nearly out of sight. I was overcome with a new feeling. The fear of being lost.

It was something I never before experienced. I didn't want to go back, yet my brother was nearly gone. Far down the other end of the street, if he went to the right or left, I was lost. There was no time left, but to hurry. The fear of loosing him grew strong. If I didn't catch up, I wouldn't know how to get back. Which house was mine? I had never seen it from the pavement before. How would I know which one was mine?

In my thoughts, this fear dug deep inside my guts, as well as my mind. It was a sensation that hangs with me to he end. I sometimes wonder. Was it the skull fracture or the concussion? Or, was I born with this in mind?

Once on the pavement walk, I hurried to locate my brother. With all of the concentration I could muster up, I forced my eyes to focus on trying to find him. My attention soon caused me to stop, I had come to a small street. I had never crossed one before, yet I knew I had to go over. I could see him bending over something on the ground. I heaved a big sigh. I found him. I was safe.

Moving like the wind, he was fast on his feet. He seemed to know the area very well. He never looked up or back to see if I was following him. I was disappointed.

As I came closer to where he was, I was totally overcome with the surrounding view. I was entering into a "dream world," a place where I had never been before. It was magnificently, breath takingly, beautiful.

Outside of our house, close to the pavement were tiny little patches of green grass. Standing here, looking about, I had never seen so much of it in one place.

There were no trees on our street. To look up to see a lovely green tree for the first time in my life was exhilarating. This became my first introduction into "Mother Nature's" wonderland. I inhaled deeply, breathing in more glory than I had ever before come to realize. This turned out to be my first connection with elation and excitement. I was so happy to be alive.

As I looked down close by my feet, I noticed there were many small, standing stones all about. Placed before them stood lovely vases. In each one were bunches of exotic flowers held together with colorful ribbons.

For a three year old, this was a new adventure. It was an eye appealing splendor, that filled me with total happiness. I couldn't believe I was here, and being a part of what I was seeing.

I quickly returned to reality, watching my brother pull off the brightly colored ribbons that were tied around the flowers. It was difficult to believe what I was watching. It was wrong. He went on taking more. It made me feel uneasy. All I could think of was, Momma blaming and screaming at me.

As I moved in closer, he shoved several ribbons into my hands. I was appalled. He wanted me to have them. I was frightened. I moved a step back. I didn't want them. I didn't know if I should drop them or give them back. My brother had a strong will. When he made up his mind, no one dared to challenge him, mainly me. He sounded like Momma.

If Momma had the slightest reason to raise her voice, this was it. I deeply feared the results.

In moving backwards several paces, still holding on to the ribbons, I shouted, "No! Momma will holler at me!" The look on my brother's face was something I had never seen before.

He turned in my direction and glared at me. He narrowed his eyes and his mouth took on a firm look. In an authoritative voice, I heard him say, "No she will not! "Take them!" I took another step backwards. He came towards me, holding out the ribbons for me to accept. Then he pushed them into my hands with a shove and a voice that grew firmer, " You take them, do you hear!"

Only twenty months older than me, my brother was in control.

This was for me, the first contact with what his character was like. Unwilling to argue, I held on to the ones he first gave me and accepted the others.

With a strong push down into my hands, he placed several more brightly colored ribbons that were removed before. I now held two fists full of wide, brightly colored ribbons. I was not impressed with them and I didn't want them. My inner feelings told me it was wrong. I had no desire to take something that did not belong to me. I feared the oncoming consequences. What would Momma say and do?

Disgusted with my outburst, and anxious to prove he was correct, he suddenly turned and made his way towards home. Hurriedly, I followed from behind. The timing of my pace quickened, when I realized, without him, I didn't know my way back.

Years later, when the incident reappeared in my mind, I realized, after his being here many times, his thoughts were on the ribbons. My brother must have imagined how much happier I would be, wearing them, than having them sit on the ground being useless. Knowing him now as I do, he probably saw the pretty ribbons as having a place in my hair. It was a gift from him. For me to refuse, was an insult.

We approached our home, on Harold Street. I was able to see it as one in a row of attractive brick houses with open front wooden porches. Although the street was not wide, the houses were well kept and stood out as quite impressive. Daddy and Momma were proud owners to be living in this development.

With his head down and seeming to be giving thought to what he would do if there was opposition, my brother plowed forth like a bull in a china shop. I was amazed as his confidence. If it was me, I'd be scared to death.

As I followed him, making his way up the stone steps to the front porch, I soon realized to my surprise, that going up, was not as difficult as going down.

Out to prove he was justified, my brother pushed open the front door and went inside. Cautiously, I came up from behind, carrying a fistful of guilt. I gave a quick look around the room. Where could I stash the loot?

I spotted the couch. As fast as I could, I made my way towards the cushions. Shoving them underneath could save my life. I worked as fast as possible. I had hope of getting away with it. I was too slow.

Momma was quick footed and shrewd. Always looking for any of my wrong doings in my diction. There didn't have to be one, she could always come up with one.

With great urgency and nearly completing the task beneath the couch pillows, Momma walked out of the kitchen with her eyes focus on me.

Walking forth, wiping her hands on a towel she took one look at the tails of the ribbons hanging out and let me have it. She let out screaming accusations that could raise the roof on the living room ceiling. "What have you done? Why did you take those ribbons? They are not supposed to be removed from the cemetery. Who told you you could take them?"

I stood there dumbfounded. I could not come p with an answer to save my neck. I remained leaning against the couch trying to hide the evidence.

Suddenly, I was saved, by my attorney. My brother stepped forward and responded in a way that sounded mighty familiar. I was shocked. Not only from his words, but how very much it sounded familiar. The tone of his words came back in a sound of defiance. He loudly declared, "I gave them to her!"

Momma's face took on a look of surprise. It took less than one second before I saw something that left me stunned. Momma clammed-up. Next she completely turned around, and went back into the kitchen. I was free and let out of jail.

What was even more astonishing was just how silent the room became. If both of my ears were stuffed with cotton, there couldn't have been a greater form of silence than there already was. She never uttered a word. This in and of itself took me totally by surprise. I would never have been so lucky.

However, the most important reason for sharing my story with others, begins with an Angel of God.

My beloved grandmother, I called Bubbie. From her, we were so very lucky to have been gifted with her genes. This little lady, who always greeted everyone with a warm smile, came into this life with a special gift. A heart filled with love, affection, and compassion for all. To have all of these characteristics, formed into one soul was a blessing. I had a desperate need and Bubbie was sent to me as an Angel of God.

In my mother's care I was given as little attention as possible. I felt alone and lost. Much later in life, I came to know this as being depressed. It was Bubbie who was sent to turn my misery into hope, happiness and love.

During the Depression years in 1929, my Dad spent hopelessly long days and late nights, searching for work. If I was still up when he came home, no matter how late it was when he returned without success, feeling tired and down trodden, I was greeted with a smile and a wink. All of his melancholy disappointments were kept in silence. He never spoke out to burden anyone else. He packed his misfortunes well within himself.

In the mornings, I was let out on the front porch. I stood there looking around waiting for some type of movement. Anything to attract my attention. There was nothing. No cars, no one walking down the street. The Depression had befallen all. Every home pondered the same question. What about tomorrow? Where would the next meal would come from?

Night after night, as he arrived home feeling low and exhausted, I got a weak and a smile. For Momma, he had the same news as the day before. No jobs. The following day, Momma placed an ad in the newspapers to rent out our middle bedroom.

A day later, Daddy came home with a different look on his face. A "good news" day arrived at our household. For the first time, Daddy came into the living room wearing a big grin. In his hand he lugged a large, black, handled suitcase. Shouting out loud, he called to Momma in the kitchen "Come into the living room! I got something to show you"

Momma walked in wiping her hands on a towel. The big black case was placed on the floor. Daddy bent over and lifted off the top. It worked like a box, with a connecting handle. Daddy called it a "suitcase."

" I gotta job. Look, I'm selling Hoover Aprons!" When the top came off, it revealed different colored fabrics. "

Look, at this!" Selecting the top one, Daddy put it on over his head and tied it behind his back. Then, he placed his hands on his hips. He began to dance around the room. Swinging his arms up into the air he danced and sang a little tune. It was unlike anything I had ever seen him do before. It looked so funny, I laughed out loud. It was something I had never done before. For the first time, the sound of my laughter frightened me. I stopped, stood still and tried to figure out what I had just heard. It was something that made me feel good and yet scared? I was confused.

Still tight lipped Momma did something she never did before. She smiled and nodded her head approvingly. It was a moment of hope and joy. It reached every corner of the room. There was a feeling in this room, that had never been there before, hope and happiness.

Daddy's positive attitude, had opened a window to a bright and shinny future ahead. The probability of seeing disappointment and sadness disappear, had finally arrived.

My brother knew our parents wanted to sell the house. Upon hearing that the neighbors, who lived down the street, were searching for a house, my brother found us potential buyers.

Eaglesville Sanitarium

Standing on the front porch without a gate attachment, I heard a sound. Before I fully knew what it was, a woman walked-up onto the porch. She made her way past me without notice. She seemed to be pre-occupied in thought. I watched, fascinated by this short, thin little woman who seemed very uncertain. Dressed in a worn, black coat and hat with black laced high heeled shoes, the woman appeared uncertain and tired.

This incident confirms just how sad and hard the effects of the Depression were on the population.

She walked up to the front door and rang the bell. A moment later, it was answered by Momma.

I heard the woman say, "I am here in answer to your newspaper " ad".

I watched Momma's face lit-up with a wide grin. I heard her reply, " Oh, yes, come in!"

I don't believe it took more then ten minutes before the woman stepped back out onto the front porch. She turned around to Momma and said, "We will return later on today." Momma smiled and said, "That will be fine."

True to her word, it was late in the afternoon when the woman returned. She was joined with a man.

Momma let them into the house. He was hunched over appearing not much taller than she was. His hat and coat looked more worn than hers. A large hankie covered his mouth. He coughed a continuous cough that caused me to take another look at him. With each hacking sounds, it came with a bent over wrenching form, seeming to come from the bottom of his guts.

With gentle consideration, the woman aided him up the stairs. They followed Momma to the middle bedroom. Minutes later, I heard the door close and Momma came downstairs. I searched her face for answers. There were none.

As I leaned against the couch, I wondered what was wrong with him. Even though I was only three years old, I can still remember feeling a measure of apprehension. It was more fear than anything else. The thought of living in a house with a sick man, such as this, caused me to take special care of where I went.

It wasn't long before my five year old brother opened the front door and came in. It was something he had not done before. He now had a new place to investigate. It was upstairs.

I wondered how he got word so quickly about our new tenants. He was one little five year old, who could certainly move fast. It took only seconds for him to decide whether to go upstairs or not. Before all of my thoughts came to a resting decision, he was almost at the top of the stairs.

I could hear the man coughing harder and harder. It sounded as if he was reaching the bottom of the pit. I wondered why my brother would want to go up stairs with sounds like that.

He must have stood outside their opened bedroom door, when I heard, the man say, "Come on in, come in!"

Then came anxious words from the woman. She cried out, "No, it's only a child, don't invite him in!"

The man said, "Nonsense, let him come on!" They were the very words my nosy brother wanted to hear.

At the age of three, I was more wary than he was at five. It was amazing how strong his desire to investigate was greater than his need to be cautious.

As young as we were, I can remember the entire scene just as if it was yesterday. The effect of this incident took such a drastic change in our lives, that we shall all remember it to the end of our days.

It didn't seem to be very many days later when an ambulance arrived and took the man and the woman away from our house. I never saw them again.

Daddy came home late that night, dragging by his side the big, black heavy suitcase.

After shutting the front door behind him, he slowly walked past me. Appearing to be lost in deep thought, Daddy made his way into the kitchen, without his usual wink and smile.

Their voices were hushed. Still, I heard everything. The acoustics in the rooms, made hearing sounds come through clear.

Daddy spoke in a low voice. He sounded sad. I heard him say to Momma, "I can't sell a thing. Every door I knock on, I get the same story. Everyone says, I can't buy, we are out of work."

Momma's dream of coming to America, getting married and being free of financial responsibilities never played out. The years of the Depression wiped out her hopes and dreams. The words she heard in Russia, that echoed in her mind, "In America, the streets are paved with gold."

It was a fantasy that never played out. Daddy's daily hopes of finding a job never came true. Their remaining finances were nearly gone.

The sale of the house was the only thing that would save them. With the neighbors still intent on purchasing the house, the sale was inevitable.

It wasn't very long before my brother fell ill. He was put to bed. One day when Momma was upstairs,I heard his outcry of a piercing agony. It made my insides cringe. It was a kind of torment I had never heard before and have never forgotten since.

The door bell range. Momma went to the door and I heard a man say, " I'm Dr. Lowenberg, the Pediatrician."

Momma guided him into the living room. I anxiously watched while leaning against the couch. This was a short, stout man, with a wide round face. In his hand he carried a leather bag. Without noticing me, he passed by wearing a somber look on his face. Momma went first. He followed, each making their way quickly up the stairs.

Seconds later, I heard my brother scream out with a sidesplitting yell. I lowered my head and pressed my chin hard against my chest to remove the pain from him. I tried to cover my ears. I wanted his torture to go away.

I asked myself, "Why does the doctor hurt him ? He's not a good doctor. He's mean." Knowing how sick he was, I went on questioning myself. "What is he doing to hurt my brother even more?"

As young as I was and understanding how very ill my brother was, I found the doctor's methods questionable. My brother again burst forth into loud, hurtful outcries. This was something he had never done before. I hung my head feeling sadness for him. It was as if I could feel his tormented torture.

A short time later, the doctor and Momma came down the stairs. What she learned, left her in a state of shock. I remembered how awful the man who was removed from our home sounded. I wondered if he was responsible for causing my brother's illness. As young as I was, I felt the possibility could be real.

Left with little to no money for food, Momma's determination to rent a room without asking questions seemed to be, form of left handed wisdom. Were the funds so low that seeing and hearing how ill he was, could blind fold her. For a woman of thirty years of age, couldn't she see, that she was playing with danger?

How do you invite in, a man who looked and sounded so seriously ill, to live in your home? Could anyone have be come so desperate, that they could easily overlook the vulnerability of inviting in trouble? An illness that could affect your children?

These are the questions that continue to beleaguer, me as I look backwards into time.

I soon learned to steer clear of Momma. She wore a look on her face that gave off loud distress signals. There would be no sympathy for me. Momma was in no mood to take prisoners.

Ear Infection - - Mastitise Surgery

It would be two years before my brother and I saw one another. The world and this country, was at a point in time, when the economy was in total collapse. We were sunk deep into a mire of a Depression.

With my brother fighting for his life and Momma pinning for him, she seemed far removed from her daily routine.

Suddenly, I began to reminded her of something she disliked.

When she gazed in my direction, her facial expressions changed. What I saw jolted me with fear. Her lips were drawn and the look in her eyes told me I was in trouble. For safety purposes, I ran from the room as fast as I could. Sometimes she would yell out, "Get the hell out of here you little bitch or I'll kill you!"

It wasn't what she said, but the way it sounded that I wanted to hide and never come out.

Momma could lower my self-esteem with half a look. It was a way for her to free her conscience while making me the "scapegoat," for her mistake.

At the age of four, I took sick. I contracted a head cold that led into something more serious. The same Pediatrician that diagnosed my brother with Tuberculosis, was called to the house.

Not long after being notified, this short, fat little man, with a very round, serious looking face, arrived.

Holding tight onto the handle of this familiar leather medical bag, he placed it on my bed. He put his hand on both sides of my face. Gently he pressed his fingers behind my right ear, while gazing into my eyes. A thermometer was withdrawn from the leather bag and out of its casing. He shook it several times then set it into my mouth. A minute or so later, it was removed and replaced into the holder and then the leather bag.

Shortly after the examination, he turned to Momma and said, "Your daughter has Mastitise. It requires surgery. She has to go to the hospital as soon as possible."

I had no idea what the diagnosis meant, but the look on both faces made me realize I was not " in for a good time".

The doctor left ad Momma called a cab. Within minutes, it stood waiting by the curb, outside the house.

I was worried and wondered what was going to happen to me next. Fear was mounting inside of me.

If I expected a kind word from Momma, I would be sadly disappointed. Instead she chose to appear to be, vexed and annoyed.

I was treated as if I had brought on the illness purposely. Why did I get sick and involve her with more responsibility? Momma was already involved with much more important matters.

Her irritations mounted as she grabbed for a blanket. Then I was forcefully wrapped up, from one end to the other. I felt like a tightly wound up clock. With the fever running high, I ached all over. The pain behind the ear was mounting and reaching high limits. I needed air, the blanket was so tight, I could hardly breath.

I searched her face for compassion. All I got was a look of agitation and disgust. There was a continuous throbbing pain behind my right ear. Earlier, when I touched it, it was swollen and burning hot.

I was too ill to complain. I wanted to be left alone. If I was looking for sympathy, I could forget it. Her pity lay with my very sick brother, struggling to stay alive.

In a manner of speaking, so was I. I had no knowledge of what I faced in the future. It was a time, when a kind word would have staved off fear and fright.

I longed for the blankets to be loosened, yet never said a word. The pain behind my ear dominated the moment.

She opened the right side of the back door, and plopped me down in the corner. Then to my surprise, she shut the back door hard.

The cab driver turned around from the driver's seat with the look of surprise in his eyes. His mouth opened as he inhaled deeply. After staring at me, he turned and looked at her.

His manner of astonishment was no greater than mine. I expected her to get into the back besides me. She did not.

Instead, she moved towards the right front door. It was opened and she quickly moved inside. After seating herself down with some force, her manner of behavior showed up as that of being vexed.

The door was slammed shut. Her attention was purposely pointed straight ahead. From the back seat, I could envision her chin held high with a look of firm determination.

This time, I didn't care. I was too sick to worry about Momma's love.

I heard the driver ask, "Where to?" Her response sounded bitter. "The South Philly Hospital".

The driver threw a quick look back at me, then turned his focus straight ahead. He stared up the motor and we took off.

What seemed to be a long ride, the cab finally pulled-up in front of the hospital. Still seated, Momma turned to her left and paid the driver. Then she got out of the cab and walked towards the left back door.

Once opened, I was lifted out and hoisted up into her arms. Briskly, she made her way towards the front door of the hospital.

I was then placed on towards her right side. With her left hand, she yanked hard to open the door. When she let go, it began to close. These were double doors and more force was needed. Again, she pulled the right sided door with an added force of energy, causing the right door to remain open longer enough for us to move inside without interruption.

The hospital interior, seemed unusually quiet and empty of people. Momma turned and went into the first door on the right.

A nurse stood there as if waiting for us. She took me out of Momma's arms and sat me on a table. After removing the blanket, I suddenly felt chilled.

The nurse laid me down on the table. She then parted my legs and gave a quick shove of something burning hot into my Vagina.

Aside from shock and surprise, I gave out a loud scream of extreme pain, then ended up crying my heart out. From either one in the room was there a word of comfort or sympathy. I felt alone and frightened. Seconds later, Momma turned and left.

To this day, I wonder what the nurse's intentions were. Did she think I had been raped, or was she just in charge and decided upon herself to inflict agony on a four year old?

I was carried by the nurse to an elevator. She pushed the button and we waited. I turned all of my attention to the little light above the doors. They went on different numbers before finally coming to a halt.

I thought it took its time before coming to a stop. The double doors opened and the nurse walked inside. Then, she pushed more buttons. Again, we waited, and much sooner than before, the double doors opened and the nurse stepped out.

I was carried to a room, placed into a hospital bed, and the side was lifted up. I had never seen a bed with a side before. I realized it was to keep me inside. At this point in time, I didn't care one way or another. I was burning up. The pain behind my ear was unforgiving. I wanted to lay down and go to sleep.

Another nurse showed up. She lowered the right side of the bed and began to attend to me. I was undressed, then fitted with a white gown. The sides of the bed were lifted up and I had the chance to lie back and wait and wonder when the next form of torture would begin. Looking around, and seeing both sides of the bed barred-up, I was a prisoner awaiting the unknown.

On my second day, early in the morning, a nurse came in to my bedside. She lowered the right side and picked me up.

I was removed from my bed and taken into a large room called the" Observation Room".

The nurse sat me down onto the table and said, "Someone would be coming in shortly to see you." She left and I remained all alone, sitting and fearing what was going to happen next.

I looked about the room. It was large, sparse, and spotlessly clean. As the throbbing behind my right ear continued, the pain began to mount. My body ached all over. The longer I sat and waited, the more time I had to worry. I kept thinking over and over, "What's going to happen to me?" .

Minutes later, a short fat little, with a round face, man dressed in a black suit walked into the room. It was Dr. Lowenberg. He appeared to be followed by three young men, also dressed in dark suits.

The doctor told me to lie down. He then instructed each of his associates to hold down my legs and arms. He then turned my head to the left side. exposing the swollen ear on the right side.

Something was poked into my ear. He gave a quick jab, which left me with an excruciating, agonizing pain. It caused me to scream before passing out.

My outer right ear drum was destroyed. After that, for the rest of my life, I was never again able to hear out of the right ear.

Much later in life, I learned, what the purpose then was in order to relieve pressure behind the ear, they break the outer ear drum.

To this moment, I have never been able to find a valid reason for either what the nurse did the day I arrived, or what this physician had done, the next day.

In both cases, it made no sense. It achieved no accomplishment, only torture and destruction.

I was operated on the very next day. I often wondered if the surgeon knew what the Pediatrician had done to the right ear. I also questioned, would he have agreed to such a procedure.

Early the next morning I awoke. The nurse came into my room. She made an announcement. I heard her declare, "You will be taken down to surgery this morning. You will not be eating anything." Then she left the room.

I thought about what she said. I became bewildered. " What does all of this mean"?

She returned later. The bed side was lowered. I was lifted up and carried out of the room. We stopped just outside,. Now we were in the hallway. Standing against the wall was a long, black leathered top, stretcher.

Here she placed me at the far end of a waiting stretcher. It was then rolled down to the outside of the room next door. The nurse left and went inside. She came out carrying a small boy. He appeared to be about my age. She placed him at the other end, then proceeded to move on. The boy and I had the same question and frightening look in our eyes. " What was gong to happen next?"

We were wheeled down the hall to the elevator. Soon the doors opened and we were rolled inside. The double doors shut and we felt the elevator go down. It stopped. The doors opened and we were driven straight ahead and to the right. The nurse pushed us towards a window. My back was placed close to the window. The nurse left.

Minutes later, the double doors that were opposite the elevator opened. A nurse came out. She was dressed all in white with a blue apron covering her uniform. Her hair was hidden beneath a white covering. On her face, just below her mouth, hung a mask. My heart pounded as I wondered who would go first.

She came for the boy. His look of surprise, shock and fear were seen in his eyes. I checked myself to see if I wanted to go first and get it over with, or just glad he was chosen. It didn't matter. I turned to look outside, imagining I was out there, I looked upwards towards the sky. There were birds flying by. How I wished I was one of them.

Soon, the nurse came out for me. I went with her and through the double doors. They put a mask over my face. It smelled horrible. I couldn't breathe. I twisted and turned, fighting for my life, a breathe of air. Suddenly, nothing mattered much anymore, I was unresponsive. I was out.

Someone was trying to get me to sit up. I heard female voice say, "I just want to change your bandages. Can you sit-up for me for just a minute?" Without opening my eyes, I tried to sit-up. It was useless. I was so sleepy, I couldn't do anything except let go and lie back. She soon left. It made me aware I was out of the operating room and in the hospital bed. I was so glad.

A day or so later, it was visiting time. The nurses came in and pushed the beds up close to face the windows. No outsider was permitted to come in close contact with the patients. On each visiting day, it was the same. Visitors saw their children through large, wide glass windows. Once again, my hopes would rise. It had been two weeks since I had been taken to the hospital. Momma might come.

When all of the visitors left, the doors were once again opened. The nurses appeared and returned the beds to their original positions. Each time when my hopes would rise to see Momma, it would turn into another day of disappointment. "Maybe she's a little late", I thought. I would move closer to the window and look down the hall. She never came. I moved back towards the pillow and away from the large plate glass window. My insides felt empty. It became another moment of despair. Each day, I sat up leaning against my pillow, watching it melt into another form of lonely reality. Would Momma ever come?

One day, on visiting day, Daddy arrived. As always, he came with his big smile. He removed the felt hat he was wearing and revealed dark brown wavy hair. When Daddy smiled he could put sunshine into anyones life.

Daddy stood about 5'4" tall. Slightly stocky, and well dressed, in clothes that were the best he could afford. It showed him off as being very neat, spotlessly clean, and quite proud of who he was.

Daddy stood with his shoulders pulled back. It was a show of pride that was put forth well in the way he carried himself. Normally, I wold be glad to see him. He always made me feel good.

But, not this time. I was so sure Momma would be there. His efforts in trying to cheer me up were in vain. I asked for Momma. He said "She couldn't come". I put my head down and didn't lift it up. Daddy finally left.

The day to go home appeared. Momma came bringing the clothes to be worn. they were handed to the head nurse down the hall. No one was permitted into the room. It was a hospital rule.

All the time, I was unaware that she was standing just outside the room, in the hall. The nurse dressed me. I was lifted out of the bed, and stood along side of the bed post. Here I hung on with both hands for support. I felt weak and tired. For the first time in two weeks, since surgery, I was on my feet. I held tightly onto the post, for dear life.

I wondered when Momma would come in to get me. I was anxious to see her. I was getting mighty tired. It had been quite a few minutes since the nurse left. Being the only patient in this room, Momma was permitted entrance. I was shaking from weakness. I hoped she would come soon. I imagined myself sitting down on the floor if I couldn't hold-up much longer.

She took her time showing up at the doorway. When she finally came, she stood there in utter silence. I was shocked. I imagined, when she finally came, she would be glad to see me. How wrong I was. With the same tight lipped look, there was Momma in the doorway standing and looking straight ahead, never crossing over the thresh hold. I was saddened and heart broken.

As I stood waiting for her to come and get me, she remained in the same position staring into space. I was being completely ignored. I had mixed feelings. Happy to see her but recognizing it was not shared. She never turned her head to look or say a word.

For me, it was a moment of disbelief and disappointment.

I was getting very shaky on my feet. Without support I questioned my ability to make it by myself, to where Momma stood. I didn't need any persuasion. Testing my skills were strictly my responsibility.

Weak and wobbly, I forced my way over to her side. She took my hand and began pulling me, hurriedly down the hall. I couldn't keep-up with the pace. I pulled back. She came to some realization that I was weak.

Here, she held back but continued on in my tempo. Even slowing up in the timing I set, for me was an even greater effort to meet.

We walked to the front door and then outside into the fresh air. By the curb stood a waiting cab. This time, when I was placed in the back seat of the cab, Momma joined me. I was too tired to care.

So far, she had not said a word to me and I had waited so long for her attention. I loved Momma and wanted her to love me.

I never stopped trying even though I wasn't going to get it. The disappointment began to dig in. I was fighting a loosing battle. Finally, at this point, I was feeling much too weak and tired to give anymore thought to my disappointment.

The cab pulled-up in front of a new residence. We had moved again. It was later known to me as French Street. We got out, she paid the cab driver and holding onto my hand, led me into unfamiliar territory.

One inside, I was lifted up and place in the corner of the couch. Then, she left the room. Still dressed in a hat and coat, I let go and laid my head against a small corner cushion. Within seconds, I fell sound asleep.

Upper Darby, Pennsylvania

Bubbie came to get me. We were living in a little house on French Street, in Strawberry Mansion, Philadelphia. From here I was to travel on an extended trip, to Upper Darby, Pennsylvania. It was longer than I had ever traveled before. It took over an hour.

It was here I came to know a beautiful woman, who was like my Bubbie. It was my Aunt Gert. She was Bubbie's oldest daughter. It was hard to believe there could be another generous loving lady like Bubbie. She looked like Momma's double but that was as far as it went.

During the entire trip, Bubbie didn't explain where we were going or why. She seemed to be side tracked in thought. I entertained my brain by looking out at the sights during the travel. I had never before been on a longer ride than just a trolley ride. At first it was a trolley. After many minutes passed later, we finally got off. I thought we had arrived at our destination. But I was wrong. We boarded a bus. The changing of vehicles was exciting, but the exercise of getting off and onto another vehicle was even more enjoyable. With so many entertaining views, I was happy to be on this trip.

Only later did I learn what the venture was about. Momma was sending me away. Bubbie was in charge of taking me to Aunt Gert's, for whatever reason, I didn't know. Bubbie was a little upset when she took my hand. In her other hand, she carried a little brown paper bag with my clothes in it.

When we arrived and were met at the door by Aunt Gert, she took the paper bag from Bubbie and Bubbie said," goodbye" and left. I didn't know I was to be left alone. I thought Bubbie would come and be with me. I felt lost inside. I wondered why she left me without an explanation.

I don't think I could have endured the many years of my mother's anger and violent displays without the love and compassion of my Bubbie. Now, I would get to know another much like my Bubbie, Aunt Gert. Many times I had wished Momma was like her mother. A woman of so much warmth and love that was wide enough to cover the whole world. It never rubbed off onto her.

Aunt Gert took my hand and led me inside. Just from her touch, I could feel her warmth and affection. She called to her oldest daughter Jean."Jeannie dear, come meet your cousin!" A pretty girl approached me. She looked to be several years older than I was. She came and stood before me, staring, never saying a word. I felt lost and lonely. Staring leaves one feeling uneasy. It also made me shy.

She didn't say a word. I lowered my eyes. She turned and left. I wondered if it was because she didn't like me. I wanted to be liked. It made me feel sad.

Then Aunt Gert called out, "Ruthie dear, come down and meet your little cousin. Down the stairs came another pretty little girl. I had been seated at the bottom step when my new cousin Ruthie came and sat down besides me. She said, "Hello," wearing a big smile. I felt welcomed. I liked her right away. Being two years younger than I was, made her closer to my age and easier to relate to.

I tried to feel happy. I wasn't bored and I wasn't alone. Still, I wanted to go home.

Aunt Gert and Uncle Henry treated me as one of their family. By being sent around to the other family members homes, I wonder if that is what it is like to be a Foster Child.

As much as all of the family members tried to make me feel comfortable and being sent from one family to another, it was not the same. There was nothing like living in your own home. I had stayed with Daddy's family and Momma's family. Both were so loving and kind. Why not Momma? What made her so different, especially to me?

Bubbie had informed Aunt Gert of how Momma felt about me from Momma's negative outcries.

As much as air is needed to breathe, warmth was the only place where I would be able to find faith within myself. Aunt Gert and Aunt Mammie's love and affection was given to me in an abundance. Yet strangely enough, I wanted to go back home where it was hostile, lonely and sad. I wanted Momma's love.

Uncle Herman was Momma's older brother. Financially, he was doing exceptionally well. It enabled him to afford a lovely single home and an expensive, large sized black automobile, called a " Packard." Not only was it unusual to find people driving expensive cars, but to own one, was rare.

His economical worth came from opening a small department store in Mount Holly, New Jersey. On several occasions, on Momma's request, he would arrive at our home to take her to see my brother in Eaglesville.

A Surprise Meeting - After Two Years

In 1931 when Uncle Herman came to call, he took both Momma and me, for a ride. That was all I knew. Nothing had been said or explained to me. I was confused and had long ago learned not to ask Momma questions. This trip, for me, would end up as being quite a surprise.

Momma wanted me to be kept in the dark. Here, she could secretly watch the entire effect it had on me, while enjoying the outcome.

When we arrived at the destination, I still didn't know were I was. The car came to a stop. I sat unknowingly in the back seat and waited and wondered.

What I didn't know then, was that I was being taken to Eaglesville Sanitarium, to see my brother. After an absence of two years.

It was inconsiderate and lacked sensitivity. Under her domination and controlling methods, I had grown shy and withdrawn. To have my brother brought to the car, without any previous information, was without a doubt mean and cruel. But Momma's pleasure was placing me into uncomfortable positions and watching me squirm. It was all that I got out of her from the time I was born.

A few minutes came and went. I grew restless. I had to remain seated in the back seat. I was not permitted to leave.

Suddenly, a young boy came out with Momma. He looked pale, thin and sickly. He and Momma walked towards the back window, where I sat. He peered inside the back window. His face was covered with the look of astonishment. His mouth hung open. His eyes widened. I sat, and was looked upon as some would be animal, caged in the Zoo.

The whole scene sent uncomfortable feelings throughout my body. I cringed as he stood riveted to the ground. He remained standing and staring. His continued look of shock, made me want to recoil within.

I glanced at Momma. She had a wide smile on her face, seeming to enjoy my discomfort and his amazement. As the show played on, I began to slide down further, in my seat. By nothing being said, I was left with no idea who this was. I so much wanted to leave and go home.

After what felt like it was a long time, the boy asked, "This is the baby?" Momma's smile widened. She nodded and grinned, ignoring my emotional discomfort.

I asked myself, " Who was this boy?" To me he was a total stranger. We were both too young to realize, that in time, changes comes to all of us. Leaving nothing in life to look or stay the way you last remembered.

At the age of three, I could easily mount the steps. It was unlike when I was at the age of one year old. Yet to go upstairs to investigate the renter, to me, was clearly a mistake. His incessant cough was heard by all of us. The sounds came from the very depths of his guts. You had to be deaf and blind not to hear or see how sick he was.

For Momma to remind us to stay away from the middle room, never seemed to be on her mind.. If Momma didn't see it, it was because she didn't want to. More than likely, it was passed off as a head cold. However with funds so tight, ignoring reality might have been anyone's choice.

Bubbie came daily to take me away. She heard the man cough yet said nothing to her daughter. This was her way of avoiding an argument with Momma. By coming for me daily, Bubbie saved me from contacting a deadly disease and removing me out of Momma's sight.

Momma's constant thoughts were about my brother. If I went anywhere near her, it made her angry. Yet, all I had to do was hang about by myself in the living room. Day after day, I took up my position leaning up against the couch waiting. What I waited for, I had no idea. I was learning patience while it made me sad and lonely.

I wanted to go into the kitchen just to be close to Momma. If I did, I knew she would get angry, then yell and scream at me.

I could still remember, and feel the times when she struck me hard on my arms and face. I was beaten good and proper. It was with as much energy. as she could muster-up. As soon as she let go, I ran out of the kitchen, crying. It was not only the agony it caused, but that which was in her face. She looked straight at me with bitter malice. I knew It had to stay out of her way.

Looking back, I find it hard to comprehend my long term goal. As much as I feared her, I wanted her to love me. Even as young as I was, I knew it was impossible. But I was bound and determined to make her love me.

Each time I ventured near when she was busy in the kitchen and in thought, It always ended with my running away crying. Not only from the pain, but knowing how much I was disliked. It left me running tearful into the living room.

It was what happened one day that really roused my cry of anguish. Momma found a new way of causing torture while receiving satisfaction.

She grabbed a chunk of flesh and twisted it. As this was done, my mouth opened as the stinging emerged and my eyes widened. It hurt so bad, I couldn't believe she did this to me. I ran into the living room. When I got to the living room, I began to cry.

Once here, I could console myself by drying off my tears and taking up my stand against the couch. Once again, I was alone. So, I stood and waited. Without games or toys, and no one to play with, I bean to learn patience. It gave me something different to work at. How to work out my life through mental concentration. I knew I had to stay away from her, but it didn't justify why. Her stormy frenzy, only made me want her to love me more.

Being diverse in character, made our types of needs different. I was affectionate and longed for fulfillment. Momma was quite the opposite. Her requirement was attention from others, not that to give.

As time slipped by, I tried again and again to reach my mother's cognizance. The longer my brother was away the deeper her thoughts were on his struggles. He had been gone for more than a year. Watching her move further and further away from me and into her meditations, I was forced out into left field. She wanted no parts of me. The harder I tried, the easier her anger appeared, the more pain ensued. I wanted her love more than I cared about the pain.

I began to notice a change. When she backed off, I recognized this as her being satisfied with the results. I always left crying and feeling unloved. Although what she did was hurtful, I was left confused and more lonely than I had ever been before. I never understood what I did to raise such harsh treatments.

Each night, when I put myself to bed, I was left with a heavy, sad feeling inside. In looking back, I recognize it as a form of depression.

When Momma was born, the character of her soul was already set. When the body dies, the soul moves on to live again. If no changes for the better are made, a duplicate of attitude and behavior is repeated in the next life. I believe Momma was the same, in her previous life.

Selling And Moving

After we sold the house on Harold Street, we had moved four times in two years. During this time, when Daddy was out, in competition with so many others looking for work, the end of the day was the same. There were no jobs. Living off the sale of the house on Harold Street, was now proving to evaporate more quickly. Daddy was becoming desperate. Momma had already begun to dig deeper and deeper within her own mind and body. Her facial expressions and her posture showed, impatience, along with an unwillingness to support Daddy.

It was 1931, after Uncle Herman had driven Momma to Eaglesville Sanitarium. Daddy informed Momma that he came to a decision. He would go into the grocery business. Daddy rented a store in the Northeast part of Philadelphia. It was located on the corner of Randolph Street.

Encouraged by his sister's success in the grocery business, Daddy decided to try his hand in this same enterprise. To make a success at selling, the site of the real estate chosen, was vital. He neglected to observe where his sister's operation was located. It was on a corner, situated next to a string of busy shops. The area was known as Frankford Avenue. Outside, you could see and hear the busy operation of the Frankford Elevator. It ran daily.

His many tries for a decent job that ended in failure, caused Daddy to overlook in a very important direction.

Relying on his energetic, positive outlook, and determination, Daddy. was convinced he too could achieve equal success.

He missed the most important point. It was derived from an old saying; " For a business to be successful, the words were, "Location, Location, Location."

Daddy's shop was directly across the street from a Catholic Church. Practically all of the neighborhood were the congregates. Their view on Judaism was nearly all negative.

The Russian Pogrom

The lack of customers left Daddy feeling lost and hopeless. As reality began to sink in, it connected with something wild at night. Daddy began rationalizing the actual past, in his nightly nightmares.

We were both together, waiting in the shop for customer to arrive. Daddy was behind the counter and I was leaning up against a wide wooden window ledge that could be used as shelving.

I popped up with a question. I asked, "Daddy what does Bolsheviks mean?" With a look of surprise, he quickly turned his head towards me. His eyes held a deep and serious look. "Where did you hear that," he asked.

I suddenly realized I may have opened a can of worms. "I heard someone say it and I just wondered what it meant", I replied. I didn't remember where I heard it, but I did hear it somewhere. It was also a way to have a conversation with someone. Momma avoided me and never spoke unless it was absolute. I had no friends. Daddy was all I had.

It had been mentioned someplace and at some time. I must have stored it away in my mind. I thought now might be a good time to find out the answer.

Daddy first explained the meaning of the word, "Pogrom". He said, "It was a massacre out to destroy the lives of Jews." As he spoke, I became alarmed. It was his eyes. It left me stunned watching him. It was as if he was reliving every horrendous detail he now explained in words.

Daddy was in two places. Here and now, and back there and then.

He said, "The Russian politicians saw a simple solution for a bad Economy. "Turn the peoples attention away from the lack of food, starvation and no jobs into hate, and anger. That was how they came up with organizing an Army of Bolsheviks. They were the best horsemen, and mastering swordsmen, trained into fighting and for slaughtering Jews.

They knew that the Jewish people could be found living in the surrounding towns and villages outside of Kiev.

It wasn't long before word got out that they were on their way. Everyone on our street began to scramble to their homes for safety and protection.

As the Army of Bolsheviks grew closer, the rumbling sounds from the horses hoofs, grew louder. The Earth began to move and shake, so did buildings as they passed by. It felt like something close to an Earthquake.

The nearer the pounding hoof sounds were heard, the more panic and fear was struck. We could hear voices outside our house, shouting, " Hide, the Bolsheviks are coming, the Bolsheviks are coming!"

There were others running running up and down the neighborhood streets shouting out loud cries, "They are on their way. Run hide, they are coming near, the Bolsheviks are here!"

It was all so very real. The responsibility for our lives, was now in our hands. How and where do we find the right protection to live, was the question?"

My Dad went on, " At the time, I was fourteen, my sister Mammie was sixteen and the youngest in our family was my sister Lillian, who was twelve. My older brother Robert, was nineteen. He was my idol, and my hero. Oh, how I looked up to him. He was so smart. He knew about everything.

My parents told us all to go down to the basement and hide. But, my brother Robert refused. He shouted out, "No, I will stay with you both. Let the others go down stairs!"

There was little time left. Suddenly, the house and the ground underneath began to move. We all looked at each other feeling nothing but fear. We just stood there staring at one another. The house shook more and more, each time feeling greater and stronger as they came closer to our neighborhood.

It sounded like hundreds of horses hoofs hammering the earth as they pummeled in towards us. Then came threatening, angry cries from the mouths of horsemen that sent additional chilling fears throughout our bodies and minds.

There was no time to argue with my brother for his safety. We fled to the basement.

Daddy stopped speaking for a second. His eyes held a far away look. It was strange and distant. I was amazing just watching him. Daddy had a recurrence to a time that was connected so deep and strong within his mind and soul, he could return at will.

It was similar to a return to the light, that was within one's mind.

His face held a faint, but forced smile, as he chose to go on. "That's funny," he said, "My sisters and I used to play at hiding in the basement. We had fun then. I guess neither one of us ever thought we would have to go down and hide, just to save our lives."

"We ran down the steps into the basement. Everything was just as it was when we were kids. The old carpets still lay in the corners of the basement. All around were the old familiar hiding places we used as children. Then it was just to play games. Now here we were, once again trying to squeeze into places that once was easy to get into.

" I lay squeezed into a small damp and smelly corner, listening to screams and cries from the outside. People were being massacred. We could hear the Bolsheviks yelling back with menacing, hateful words. It sounded like it came with each strike of their swords.

Everything that moved was slashed into segments. People's front doors were broken into and smashed down into bits. From inside, I could hear the neighbor's pleading cries and horrendous screams of pain.

The Bolsheviks made the streets run with blood. I heard excruciating loud cries coming from everywhere. It made my guts shake inside. I kept wondering when we would be next. It was something I can never and will ever forget.

Finally, the front door to our house was smashed in. The sounds that we had not heard before, were now here. They were foot steps, that came with screaming threats out of the mouths of the Bolsheviks.

I put my hands over my ears. I prayed to God to please let us live. I lay there feeling cold and sweaty, listening and shuddering in my hiding place, which I saw as my grave.

There were painful cries and screams coming from the upstairs where my precious parents and wonderful brother were. They shook my insides with the same quaking, pounding vibrations from the horse's hoofs. In such a way, I hope and pray I never know it again.

I could hear the most horrible cries coming from upstairs. My most wonderful family were being slaughtered.

I covered my ears, trying to drown out their cries. I could not believe what was happening to people I knew as so loving and giving. Was my turn next? I kept wondering, where was " God?"

All of a sudden, there was silence. No sound, no footsteps. We three waited for what seemed to be hours. Then, slowly we came out of our hiding places. It was quiet every where. Carefully, we checked each other out making sure we were alright, yet knowing we had to go upstairs.

When it seemed to be quiet upstairs, we silently crept out. Taking one step at a time, we went upstairs. What we saw at first we didn't believe. I thought we were in the wrong house. When I looked again and saw things that were familiar, they were all soaked in blood. It was so ghastly, and gruesome, I wanted to throw-up. The memory of that experience, will last forever, in each of our lives."

My Dad was lost in thought and a mental return to a nightmare past. As he told the story, it was as if he was reliving each and every moment of hell. He had such a far away look, my Dad was lost in another time and another place.

As long as it took to tell the tale to me, not one customer came in. As Daddy returned to reality, it came with the look of depression and morose.

Daddy came from a warm and loving family. They were totally dedicated to one another. Now, nothing was left for them. They were three teenagers who remained alone and homeless. Where could they go, and be safe? Where do they sleep, and what do they do for food? Daddy never went on from there. The subject was dropped. I began to imagine the incident and realize that six lives were intentionally destroyed without any legitimate reason.

As hate and anger is joined with domination and control.

Daddy's Grocery Store

The store shelves were barely stacked. Most of the remaining funds they had left was spent on opening the business. Daddy put time and energy into getting the shop looking spotlessly clean. His hopes of being able to fill the shelves, from the sales in the shop, was turning into a loosing battle.

All during this time, Momma was getting more and more anxious to bring my brother home from the Sanitarium.

There was some talk about a growing unrest in Europe. Germany began to flex its muscles. The same kind of sick minds that began a "Pogrom" in Russia, was now gaining mobility in Germany. The Germans were finding success in joiners with debilitated minds. Nazism was being born.

The business was struggling on it's bare bones. Hardly paying for itself. Days could go by without a single customer. This was another one of those days.

Daddy's high hopes for a thriving business, was beginning to thin out. Momma lost patience with him and his idea of achievement. Her look of "high annoyance" was taking an effect on him. She soon changed it to her more desirable expression. Drawn in lips, joined by tightly clenched teeth. It was the look I chose to steer clear of.

You couldn't miss it. Daddy was aware of what it meant. He tried to ignore her. Momma was most effective in her psychology. She could bring a bull down when she lowered her eye lids and tightened up her mouth. It was a look of anger and disgust. It didn't matter. It was too late to play the game. The sad evidence was in the cash register. There was no cash.

There is an old saying. For a business to be a success, it was, "Location, Location Location."

Unlike Aunt Mammie's choice of site, her operation was centered on the corner of a very busy street. It was lined with shops for several miles. Once the customer felt comfortable, they established a shopping routine of returning daily to the same store. This, made Daddy's optimism fade. We didn't have a chance.

Directly across the street from our shop was a Catholic Church. Next door to the store lived a little girl, about my age. She had light colored curly hair, green eyes, and a pretty face.

That is, until you looked closely into it. Here was a little girl of five, going on fifty. She behaved like that of an older person, with a closed mind and a heart filled with negative opinions.

The first time we met, she came running out of her house with a mean look in her eyes saying, "My Momma says you are nothing but Jews!" Strongly emphasizing the word "Jews.

It left me stunned. I had never heard the word "Jew" before. I had no idea what it meant. It made her face and body movements appear tough looking. The sounds of the words and the look in her eyes, sent fear waves throughout my mind and body.

Suddenly I was informed of being different from others. Hurt by what I heard and sounding much like a warning, I turned and went into the shop.

Several days later, when I was standing in the fresh air and sunshine just outside the store, the little girl came out of her house walking briskly towards me. I stood there as if startled. She grabbed my hand and dragged me towards her house. Pushing from behind, with her finger into my back, we mounted the steps to her front door. Coming up on the side of me, she opened the front door and shoved me inside.

To my surprise, the living room was crowded with people. Just as I entered the living room from the foyer, there stood a man sipping liquid from a glass. Although the room was packed with people, they all spoke in low tones. It was a moment in time I had never seen before.

The girl, firmly led me towards the left side of the room. There stacked up against the wall was a large opened box. Just below the box, on the floor, was a dark, leathered covered stool.

In a commanding voice, she said, " Step up and look inside at my grandmother." Her dominating and commanding voice deeply troubled me. I didn't want to cause an attention from the crowd, so I obeyed. What I saw when I looked inside, left me in sheer horrifically. I had never seen the dead before. It frightened the daylights out of me. My heart began to pound and I had trouble breathing.

Lying stiff and colorless, was a Grey haired old lady that looked as if she was carved out of stone.

Forging forceful fingers into my back, the girl demanded, "Touch her!" I did. The figure was ice cold. There was no more room left inside of my pounding heart to hold any more fear. I had to get out of there and quick. I stepped off the stool and ran as fast as I could out of the house.

M belief that we never died was gone. Seeing life and death all together made my head spin. I had to re-think life and who I was and where I was going.

As I look back, I can envision a sick expression of satisfaction on the little girl's face. Could this be how debilitated minds are born? Or, was the soul already in this state when it enters into the body?

From that moment on, I was newly introduced to life and death. One does not, continue to live forever. It left with great concern. I was now forced to accept life in a more realistic view. With a limited time frame.

Our newly opened grocery store was a short distance from Daddy's sister's shop and dwelling. Aunt Mammie was a gentle loving soul with a big heart. She was very much like Daddy. Yet when I found myself being taken away from my home to go to another, my heart always sank.

There were times when Uncle Herman, Momma's oldest brother, arrived with his new car. It was at Momma's request. Here, he would drive her to see my brother at the Sanitarium. When they left, I would remain behind with my father. It was an arrangement I was happy to obey. It was always nice to be with Daddy.

Aunt Mammie had two children. One older and the other one younger than me. This left us with nothing in common. Although they went out of their way to make me feel at home, it wasn't my home. Still, I had been left here several times before.

In the past, the reasons were, either Momma was going to see my brother, or she was moving to a less expensive rented house. In either case, Daddy was out searching for work.

There was a wide ledge inside the shop window that I could lean against, while watching for customers. If Momma was alone in the shop and standing behind the counter, as the customer arrived, they were greeted with a firm forced, smile. Her irritation in waiting on customers had not gone unnoticed, by the customer, or Daddy. It was a different welcome from the one Aunt Mammie or Daddie offered. However, with both Momma or Daddy, the ending was the same. After making one or two purchases, the customer left quickly.

A realization soon took hold. It seemed hardly worth the financial or physical effort trying to keep the store open.

When a customer arrived and Daddy was behind the counter, Daddy could put sunshine in the room and make it look real. As soon as they entered, he would smile and say, "Hello, come in, how are you? It sounded much like the welcome Aunt Mammie would give. His happy look seemed genuine. He went out of his way to make them feel good. But the customer remained with a fixed expression.

When there were no customers, Momma came up with her psychological attacks on Daddy. Her remarks were like sticking a pin into his side. It made him feel low and sad. As hard as he tried to convince her the business would work, she had her mind made up and was not about to give in. "If we just wait and allow it more time," he would say. " I know I can make it work."

In back of her mind was an idea, that had long been forming. The store was not her idea of supporting. When she made a decision, it was as if it was formed out of iron. Momma was a proud woman who saw herself as being superior in waiting on customers.

Momma went on. As her anger rose, her patience ran low. There was no let-up from her. "It's no good! It will never work! I want no more of this! Let's get the hell out of here!"

Unfortunately, Momma was right. If we remained much longer in this neighborhood, we would soon starve. The remaining funds from the sale of the house on Harold Street would all be gone.

As the end of the day neared, Momma called me into the kitchen for dinner. Daddy, would be left in the shop, standing behind the counter, waiting for customers.

When Momma called, I was quick to obey. It ended up in the same manner as it had on days before. I would get up from the ledge and walk towards the living area. As I neared the entrance into the dinning area, there would be two steps I had to mount. It led into a small, cramped, room filled with over-sized dinning room furniture. Walking straight through, this led into the kitchen. Once inside, I walked towards the kitchen table and pulled out a chair.

Half hearted, I would step around the front and sit down. The same scene was played night after night. Here it was again.

With a plate of food in her hand, Momma came over to the table, slide the plate towards me then stood close by. It was accomplished in the same manner each night. I felt as if she to make me feel uncomfortable.

Then came the next psychological test. She stood, almost over me and stared down, watching my every move.

I could feel the hard tight look she wore daily on her face. It made me want to crawl inside of myself. Looking down at the plate, everything I saw was unappetizing. Unable to free myself of the uneasiness and self consciousness, I slid off the chair and without looking up, said, "I'm not hungry," and hurried away.

She remained steadfast in playing the same game every night. Being seated alone at the table, didn't help. It made me feel as if I would be better off, hiding beneath the table. As the same scene played each day, I was forced to leave the table, and end up going to bed hungry every night.

I awoke the next morning to hear some frightening news. My brother and another patient, a young boy, at Eaglesville Sanitarium, ran away. When the news came to us, we were all left in shock. What now? Momma and Daddy exchanged words almost in whispers.

Stricken with Tuberculosis, does not leave one with very much energy. Luckily, the boys couldn't get very far. Left too weak and tired, to go any distance, it was hours later when they were found by the police walking on the highway. Fortunately, they were unharmed and glad to be picked-up. The two learned a lesson. They had to be patient and wait for the body to heal before taking on such a challenge again.

This left all, including me, with concern. Much of the time, I knew Momma's thoughts were only with my brother. I was jealous and would have given anything to have been cared about as much as he was. Still, I was glad when he was found to be alright.

"I wonder what he looks like today." My thought rambled on. I could only recall what he looked like, at the age of five. It was now, two years later. "What does he look like?" I asked myself.

Daddy's stock could easily be bought up and sold. It was similar to what his sister was selling in her shop.

I referred to Aunt Mammie's husband as, " Uncle." He was a short thin little man with a gentle, kind heart. I could always see him walking about with a smile on his face. I'm sure it made him feel good, because it made everyone else like him. Aunt Mammie and her husband had a supporting relationship. It made for a comfortable atmosphere for all.

For Daddy to sell his stock, it meant closing the doors on any opportunity he had hoped for, in being successful in his own establishment.

Aunt Mammie and her husband Louie, supported one another in the grocery business. Very much unlike Momma and Daddy. Uncle Louie was a short, thin, little man with little to say and ready to fulfill her wishes.

Their mutual respect showed how well they got along. It created very close family ties. This was the important element missing in our home. The center of a family is the mother. She is similar to the motor of a car. Most of the time, if she is happy and content, this is passed off onto the rest of the family. It was sorely absent from our house.

Aunt Mammie considered everyone's welfare before hers, even when attending the customers. After watching both at work, it was obvious to a five year old, that Momma's thoughts and attitude were not with the customer, but elsewhere. As I watched their faces, this was well observed.

Daddy's nightmares came every night. It would begin when he'd let out a loud, wild, yell. It would turn into a scream. He would jump off the bed and race down the hall with a sidesplitting scream.

I could hear Momma, who was quick to follow. In catching up, she would say," It's alright, it's alright! It's, only a dream. Come back to bed!" Daddy would become quiet and obey.

As the business turned into a failure, the nightly nightmares returned. It was the most horrifying event that could occur in anyone's life. Jolting me out of a sound sleep,

Awakening out of a sound sleep, I'd clasp my hands over my ears, hoping to quiet my loud beating heart. I'd slide down under the covers and hold the blanket over my head. That's when I would wait and hope for the stillness and quiet of the night to return. Then, sleep would not easily return.

Momma kept nagging, "Sell the lousy business and let's get the hell out of here!" I couldn't help but worry where was I going to be sent? Each time there was a change in our lives I was sent away. I didn't have to wonder much longer, it was a drastic, upsetting change in Momma's behavior. She seemed to have gone nuts. When she got mad, she could make the fur fly off of an animal.

It was early in the afternoon. Suddenly, " out of the blue, all hell broke loose". As the business took in less and less funds, Daddy's hopeless dreams were turning into day and nightmares.

As the three of us stood in the shop waiting for customers. Momma suddenly screamed out loud. It was fiery, ear splitting words that were targeting me.

I couldn't believe what I heard. Yet out they came, directed at Daddy. "Get her out of here or I'll throw her the hell out into the street." When I looked at Daddy his facial appearance was the same way I felt. We were both stunned.

It came again and again. "Did you hear me! Get her out of here or I'll throw her out into the street!" I could find no reason for her anger. I didn't do anything to warrant it. The same words came out again and again. Each time, she screamed louder. It left him with the look of someone being lost in the "Forrest of nowhere".

"What have I done?" I asked myself. "She scares me to death, what have I done?"

It was greater than any fury I had seen before. When I turned to look again at Daddy, it was as if he wanted to run and hide. Finally, they hit him in the gut. There was no escape. The next move was his.

He didn't hesitate, I watched him turn and run upstairs. Here, I was left alone in the shop with her.

I searched her face for answers. She totally ignored me. To respond to my inquiring stare, she clenched her teeth and held her chin up high.

Purposely she turned her head away from me. If I was hit on the head with a two by four, it couldn't have have had a greater impact than what I felt at that instant.

Daddy soon returned fully dressed, carrying a small suitcase. He took hold of my hand and I followed him out the side door of our living quarters. We headed in the direction of Aunt Mammie's place.

Gentle, but holding on tight to my hand, Daddy rang the door bell. Aunt Mammie answered. She looked surprised. As we stood on the top step, he asked, "Can you take her?" Daddy was visibly upset and ashamed. This was not lost on Aunt Mammie. He went on, "She says she will throw her out in the street if I don't get her out." He begged, " Can you take her for a little while?"

Daddy looked and acted like a little boy caught in the act of doing something wrong. It was truly demoralizing for him to be brought to this point, before his sister. Standing besides him on the top step, I felt totally confused and saddened for my Dad. I wondered what the outcome would be.

Daddy never complained. All of his challenges were faced with ideas and ways of making a problem work. He was amazing. By finding ways of coming to successful endings, Daddy ended up being proud of himself and appreciating his achievements.

Aunt Mammie not only appeared shocked, but tried to look calm. Daddy and I walked into the room, that was on the side of their establishment. It was a lost cause. Aunt Mamie didn't quite know what to make of the whole situation. The next thing I knew , she picked me up into her arms. Holding me in an extended position and looking into my face she asked, "What's wrong with her? Why does she want to throw her out into the street? She's a cute little girl." Daddy didn't answer. He turned around and left.

There were several times when I remained with Aunt Mammie that seemed to last for ever. During these times, I felt low and alone. Everyday, I would ask her, "When can I go home?" I got the same answer over and over. She would smile and say, "Soon dear, soon." She had no more information, than I had, as to when someone would come for me. Nevertheless, there was no choice. I remained hopeful and waited.

In looking back, I now know what it must have felt, to be a Foster child.

For me to be staying with other family members, was just as difficult to adjust as it was here with Aunt Mammie. Even though this was a warm and loving lady, Aunt Mammie had responsibilities of her own in order to survive. All of her attention was given to the store and to the customers.

Everyone I was sent, to live with, had a different life style. It was unlike the one I had been brought up to know. However, with Aunt Mammie, I envied how close the family was. At dinner time, all sat down together to eat. If was a style I had never known before. Daddy was usually looking for work and would come home late. If a customer came into the shop, Uncle Louie was quick to get up and leave. But in most cases, it was dinner time for the customers too.

Aunt Mammie and Daddy resembled one another. She was a neat and tidy little woman. Her hair was uncluttered and combed straight back. It was fastened securely behind her head. Every day, she dressed in a freshly ironed skirt and blouse. There was a clean white apron pulled over her head, and tied behind her back. Although she was short and stout, it was overlooked by her warmhearted greeted smile, she proudly showed to everyone.

It reminded me of Daddy. As a lady with a big heart,. she made every effort to become successful. Everything she did, was taken seriously.

When both of my cousins were off doing something on their one, I went into the front shop and watched. I found a place where I could observe and be out of the way.

Here I could carefully take mental note of the attitudes and behavior of everyone who came and went. I was surprised to see how each one that entered, left with a smile and a look of satisfaction. When they entered, Aunt Mammie would greet them by saying, "Hello, come in, come in. How are you and how's the family?"

It sounded as if they were old friends. They responded with a smile and replied, "Fine, we are just fine." Auntie Mammie had a way of relaxing them and their pocketbooks. I watched as they left with one or two bags full of items.

Daddy would be warm and gracious, but Momma's face was far from welcoming. She had a forced smile that was obvious. It didn't support the business. If I saw it, others did too.

Was that the reason they didn't come? I don't think so. If it was anything to do with the little girl's attack of words, "You are nothing but a Jew," then we were in trouble and in the wrong place and at the wrong time.

Daddy was a man who was proud of his ability to be a hard worker. He sincerely believed, he could match his sister' success with his positive thinking. His " all out" efforts, in trying to find permanent employment, for two years, was a total failure. He was not alone. There were millions out there doing the same thing. He had one last hope. The grocery business.

After moving four times to locate cheaper rentals, the finances from the sale of the house on Harold Street, left us with very little funds to start a business. The shelves were barely stocked. There was more space than stock. It left the customers eying the spaces with a dim view.

The customers were slow to arrive. Daddy greeted each one with a big smile and eager to please. Momma appeared cold and had little else to say. Whether she was in the shop with Daddy or not, the neighborhood was not warming to the business.

I found the window ledge in the shop a place where I was able to watch and observe. Each day came and went, with barely enough business to keep the store alive.

I was especially interested in watching Momma. As the "big bucks" didn't arrive, her support for Daddy in this venture, began slipping away.

Her mind was primarily with my brother's condition. She missed him and wanted him home. The added disappointment came in finding that she could not afford to take him out of the Sanitarium, unless she took him to Florida.

The sayings she used to hear from the people in Russia was, "In America, the streets are paved with gold." She was forced to face the realization that it was not true. This left her with little hope.

The economic pressures mounted from all sides. Daddy's nightly dreams of horror set him off running and screaming down he hall. Filled with tension and fear, caused him to relive the slaughter and blood shed that filled the eyes of a teenager. Both of the demanding strains from the lack of business, and Momma's driving command, brought the memory of a past "hell" back to be relived. Daddy was bending under the pressures from Momma and the lack of business was adding to the strain.

As the three of us had less and less sleep, Momma's insistence to sell the business became a steady, persuasive insistent tool for her arguments. With no defense, Daddy had no choice but to give in.

The words of Dr. Lowenberg, appeared to be foremost in Momma's mind. "I'll have him released, only if you take him to Florida."

When Daddy came for me at Aunt Mammie's, I was delighted to be going home. I was happy and yet disturbed. What would happen to me now? Where would I go next?

Momma knew there was no way she could afford that trip without money. If the store was sold, it would be enough to get him out of the Sanitarium and into Florida. At the moment, with Daddy seeing it her way, my brother could soon be on his way out of the Sanitarium and on to Florida.

Daddy would be left with the burden of finding a way to sell the store. With the economy struggling to survive, who was going to buy the establishment?

Momma didn't care. She was leaving behind a business she hated to be associated with. Her strategy won out. The look of satisfaction, replaced the tight, flexed facial look, that had been fixed from the first day the store was opened.

It was time for bed. Momma had not ordered me to go upstairs and get myself ready for bed. Something unusual happened. She called me int the kitchen. She took a large galvanized tub into the enclosed porch area attached to the kitchen. I watched as she placed the tub on the floor. Here, she poured in hot water taken off the kitchen stove. Then adding cold water, she tested it by putting her hand into the water.

Satisfied with the temperature, she gently said, "Take off your clothes and get into the tub. In place of harsh sounding rough words were expressions that were soft and mellow. I was stunned. It was another side of her I never knew existed. As if in a trance, I obeyed.

I took off all of the articles of clothing and laid them on the floor besides the tub. This was the first bath I could remember since we had moved into this place.

The corner building was constructed in the early twenties. There was no toilet downstairs. If you needed to eliminate, you had to go into the backyard. There, the only toilet privilege offered, was an "out house".

Finally the last piece of clothing I had on, was lying in a heap on the floor. I now stood in the nude, besides the tub. Momma began encouraging me to step inside the galvanized tub. The top was too high, and I was too short to step over the top unaided.

Momma realized this and extended her hand. Just as I stepped over the top of the tub and into the water, her mouth fell open. As her eyes widened with a look of surprise, I heard her suck in air. It took me a couple of seconds to understand her behavior. I understood it to be about my not eating dinner. It must have caused me to loose weight.

I didn't care to look again at her actions. All I wanted to do was to get in and enjoy the deliciously warm water that now touched my skin. It was so good. Now, all I wanted to do was to feel the warmth and be contented.

With a gentle touch, Momma bathed my body. The look she wore, I can only describe as, "shock". I went to bed that night feeling clean and warm. It was different this time. Unlike all of the other nights, this time, I climbed into bed, without sadness, or being lost and unhappy.

To Be Continued