»»» THE SAGA OF THE CORSON CLAN «««
I started writing this in July 1990, at the request of cousin Dr. Candace Corson. In October 1990, while visiting New York City and Philadelphia, I read to the cousins I met there what I had written so far. They all became excited and much input resulted; also much urging and prodding to get on with it. So here goes.
"Mom, tell me about when you were a little girl." That is how I used to pester my mother on rainy days, when I could not go out to play. That was before TV and even before radio! We had to entertain ourselves - by talking to each other. These are some of
the things I remember her telling me.
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My mother was born in a shtetl called "Pokatilov" located in the Ukraine, in Kiev Gubernia, about twenty miles from the city of Uman. Her family name was Corsonsky, later shortened to Corson, upon arriving in America. There are other spellings for the same name, i.e., Korsonsky, Kursinsky, Korsen, Korsun, etc. Her mother's name was Rebecca (Rivka). Her father's name was Samuel (Shmeel, or Shmuel). Their children were as follows: Burach (Ben); Leib (Louis); Duvid (David); Herschel (Harry); Ruchel Laya (Rose Leah), my mother; and the youngest, Ben Zion (Benjamin). There were two more babies, who died either at birth or were stillborn. That was a very high per centage of survival to adulthood in those days. My mother was the only daughter. She had six brothers.
My grandfather Samuel was the agent for the "Puretz", the feudal landlord, whose name was Zagorsky. My grandfather purchased grain from the farmers in the surrounding area, on behalf of the Puretz, and arranged for its sale and transport. Occasionally my mother was sent for, to play with the Puretz's little girl, in the big house.
The Jews of the shtetl tried to have as little to do with government officials as possible. If there were disputes between Jews, they came to the person who was deemed to be the wisest in town, to settle arguments. That was my grandfather. So he was also unofficial local judge for the Jews.
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"Mom, what was your house like?" Well, they had a new house, consisting of two rooms, divided by a "ribba", a brick wall with a fireplace. In winter, the small children were bedded down on shelves built into this wall, to keep them warm. The entire family lived in these two rooms. In extremely cold weather, the domestic animals and chickens were brought into the house to join the family. The houses were usually built by women, assisted by the children. Wooden forms were put up, and clay or cement was poured into the forms. When solidified, the forms were removed, and there was a wall. I understand these were very thick adobe-type walls. There were glazed windows, but there were no floors. It was my mother's job, as a child, to "shmeer the erde with lame" (smear the earth with lime), a white powder mixed with water, and spread on the ground and walls. Sylvia and Anne (Avrom's) tell me that the floor mixture had an added ingredient: straw, including animal droppings, was mixed with the "lame". But my mother did not do an ordinary smear job. She added her own artistic touch. She painted designs on the floor and walls. "What kind of colors did you use, Mom?" Well, she collected droppings from various domestic animals and fowl to get different shades to mix with some "lame", and that was how she achieved her palette of colors. She used a little stick to apply the designs. Ingenious. Making do with what was at hand. This job was done every week for Shabbos (the Sabbath).
"Mom, was there a bathroom in your house?" "No." There were no bathrooms or floors in Pokatilov. "Well, Mom, where did you go?" "Just around behind the house. If a passerby happened by, you just ducked your head, hoping they did not recognize you."
When children were playing together and all had to go at the same time, they were sure to squat three steps apart, or mother would give birth to kittens. "Mom, where did you take a bath?" There was a bathhouse (shvitz) for the men, and a "mikveh" for women (ritual bath house). In summer there was the river for swimming or dunking.
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"Mom, did you have a grandfather, grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins?" Yes, indeed. My mother's grandfather was Solomon Corsonsky. He also was an agent for the Puretz. He dealt in salt. He was called "Shloime, zeltzer", meaning Solomon the salter. He was a redhead, with blue eyes. I have a vague recollection that he had three siblings, and many children, my grandfather being the eldest. I think there were three redheads among his offspring, but I remember only two: Fetter (Uncle) Yonkel Bear and Fetter Moishe.
Yonkel Bear lived in Canada and had four wives (one at a time). He had a redheaded daughter Gittel, and she had redheaded children, one of whom, Sophie, became my girl friend, even though that family lived in Brooklyn, and we lived in Philadelphia. Last October, 1990, while I was in New York, I met Sophie, and we put our heads together and tried to remember the names of Shloime zeltzer's children. There was Fetter (Uncle) Itzie, whom I remember from Philadelphia; Fetter Michael and Fetter Isaac, who lived in Toronto or Brantford, Ontario; Fetter Moishe who never made it to America, and Yonkel (Jacob) Bear. Sophie remembered Meema (Aunt) Raizie Sherman, who lived in Coney Island and had children Rose, Harry, and Samuel, who may have moved to Phila-delphia; and Meema Haya Flomberg, who had sons Samuel, Shloime, and one or two others, and who lived in New York City on 10th Street near Ave. C.
Fetter Moishe had a redheaded daughter "Soorah, the roite" (Sarah the redhead), who lived with us for a time in Philadelphia. More about her later.
There was a large Corsonsky family in Pokatilov. Every Shabbos morning the entire family went to my great grandmother's house for breakfast. "The whole family?!!!" "Yes." "What did your grandmother serve for breakfast?" Well, this grandmother, whose name I don't remember, had rheumatism and could not walk. She sat on a bench, and had two huge pots, one on each side of her, as she dished out kasha from one pot, and stewed fruit from the other. A very wholesome breakfast. Since no cooking could be done on Shabbos, these two pots would have had to simmer all night to keep hot.
The redheaded Fetter Moishe often got into an argument with his next door neighbor. It seemed there was a tree that grew between the entrances to their houses. It was necessary to trespass on the other's turf to get around the tree. That often led to fist fights. Then a messenger was dispatched to my mother's house to get reinforcements for Fetter Moishe and his kids, and my mother's brothers would dash off to the rescue.
Fetter Yonkel Bear became widowed and remarried. My grandmother thought the stepmother was not treating his daughter Gittel very well, so she brought Gittel to live with her family. My mother said Gittel was like a big sister to her, and once she made a rag doll for my mother.
The prize story that has come down through the generations is about Bubba Russie (Grandma Rosie). Bubba Russie was preparing wine for Passover. Somehow, some wine got into the trough that held feed and/or water for her geese. They got drunk and fell asleep. When Bubba Russie saw her apparently lifeless geese lying there on the ground, she was, needless to say, very upset. What could be salvaged? The feathers, of course. So she plucked all the feathers from the geese, which could be used later to stuff pillows and quilts. As you know, goose down quilts are valued as the lightest weight and warmest of all. When the geese slept off their drunk, they marched into Bubba's kitchen, stark naked. According to my brother Jerry and the story he wrote about it in his Jr. High School magazine in 1940, Bubba Russie thereupon threw up her hands and passed out, thinking that she was seeing a parade of geese ghosts! What happened after that I don't know. Never heard the aftermath of that story. Did their feathers grow back? Did they have to be cooked and eaten forthwith? Don't know. Never thought to ask. After all, a five or six year old can't think of everything.
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"Mom, did you go to school in Pokatilov?" There was no school in Pukotilov. There were two shuls (synagogues), also called Bais Midrash (House of Study). One shul was the one my grandmother attended. The other synagogue was the one she did not attend. The boys went to "Kheder" (religious school) there. The little girls were taught arithmetic and reading the prayer book by the "Rebbetsin" (rabbi's wife) at her house.
"What else happened in Pokatilov?" Well, every Tuesday was market day. It was called "Yarid", when the farmers brought their produce into town to sell. There were also a few little stores. Once, at the yarid on a very cold winter day, Uncle Burach saved a farmwoman's life. She had been sitting on a little stove underneath her several skirts, when her mottkes (quilted pants) caught fire. Uncle Burach pulled off her mottkes, and put out the fire, thereby saving her life.
There was a strange, but understandable, custom among the shopkeepers. When they had to go to the big city to buy supplies for their shops, they would hire a driver who had a wagon and a horse, or a team of horses, depending on the size of the wagon. They would send a young boy along with the driver with a list of supplies and the money for purchasing them. The hope was that a young boy would not attract the attention of highway robbers, as might the sight of an adult Jewish man who was likely to have some money on him. However, that was not always the case. My Uncle Harry was sent on such an errand. The wagon was attacked by a gang of Gypsy robbers. They took the money from Harry, along with the horse, wagon, and driver, and left Harry in the snow to freeze to death. He was eventually rescued by goyim (Gentiles) who tried to bring back circulation to his frostbitten hands, and returned him home. He was left with permanently deformed fingertips as a result of the frostbite. It was suspected that the driver was in cahoots with the robbers. A teamster was called a "balagula", uncouth and uneducated, and, therefore, on the lowest rung of the social ladder.
Another time Uncle Dave was sent on such an errand. On the trip home, he was leaning against a big barrel of coal oil, to keep it steady and not spill. However, it did drip ever so slowly against his back, although he was not aware of what was happening. When he got home, his shirt was stuck to his back. When Bubba tried to pull off his shirt, the top layer of skin came off with it. I don't know what kind of home remedy she used to heal his back...but whatever it was, it worked, because he had no scarring.
"What else happened, Mom?" Well, Easter time was a scary time. That was when the emotions of the goyim (Gentiles) were whipped up in the churches, where they were told about the terrible things the Jews were supposed to have done to Jesus. Of course, the peasants were ignorant and could not read. They believed everything they heard. Once during my mother's childhood, there were rumors of an impending pogrom about to take place in Pokatilov. Everyone stayed up all night. The men and boys were doing guard duty around the town, armed with sticks. A hole was dug in the ground in the house, and the valuables, such as they were, (i.e., the sabbath candlesticks) were buried and covered over. But the "Aratnick" (the Gentile sheriff) saved the day. (I have learned from Sylvia and Anne that Aratnick was not his title. They explained to me that he was called the "rottenick". This means he rode horseback. In other words, he was a mounted policeman. To ride horseback, they explained, is to ride "rottendick". One who rides horseback is a "rottenick". Got it?) Anyway, this "rottenick" was the hero of the day. He went out on the road very early in the morning as the farmers were driving their wagons into town for the yarid. He stopped them, looked into each wagon, and instructed the farmers to barter their produce. "We can't do that...we need money to buy other necessities, flour, oil, sugar," they complained. "Is that so?" replied the rottenick. "Then why do you want to kill the Jews? They are your customers. Where will you get money if you kill your customers?" That took the steam out of the pogrom, thanks to the rottenick, a kind and friendly Gentile government employee.
There were exceptions to the rule. My father did, however, experience a real pogrom in Odessa in 1905. I will tell you about that later.
Once in recent years, I took my mother to visit a folk dance class we attended. She said she had done the Varsuvien and some of the other folk dances we did, back in Pokatilov. Imagine, the Varsuvien came all the way from Warsaw to Pokatilov! "When did you dance, Mom?" Well, there were weddings, and "klezmer" who played music for dancing. The klezmer had to be paid for each dance they played. My mother said her uncle Morris Sobel (my grandmother's half-brother) was a good dancer. He paid the klezmer for most of the dances, and he usually took my mother to be his dance partner, when she was a little girl. Anne Sobel (Uncle Morris' daughter), who is close to me in age, and we lived near each other as children, tells me that she heard from her mother (Aunt Becky) that when Morris was in the mood for dancing, the word would go throughout the town that "Moishe tanzed" (Morris is dancing). He must have been a Jewish Zorba, the Greek. Everyone would run to watch.
There came a time when Uncle Burach was drafted into the Czar's army. He became ill and was hospitalized. His father (my grandfather) went to the city where Uncle Burach was in the hospital to see him and bring him food, thereby risking arrest and a sojourn in Siberia if he were discovered, as the city was in an area outside the Pale where Jews were not allowed without a special pass. I have a vague recollection that my Uncle Burach may have been discharged from the army before his full service, probably with a payoff and some string-pulling by the Puretz. When Burach returned home, he brought his little sister Ruchel (my mother) a Yiddish reading book of stories.
Then Uncle Leib was drafted. While in the army, he was taught to operate a sewing machine. My grandmother had a relative (either her brother or an uncle) who was a bugler in the last Czar's army, and was in the parade for the Czar's coronation. Just before the parade was to begin, this bugler got a nosebleed, and the parade was held up until the bleeding stopped. An historic event. Also, I have a vague recollection that Fetter Michael or Fetter Isaac, or both, were in the army during the Russian-Japanese war.
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At one time, my mother had some kind of sleeping sickness which lasted several months. The only treatment used was to try to keep her awake, while she tried to find hiding places where she could sleep undisturbed.
I don't know the name of the town my grandmother Rebecca (Rivka) came from. Her maiden name was Fineman. Her family were brewers. They may have grown their own grain for the beer (or whatever it was they brewed). I heard a story that there was once a drought in the area of Pokatilov, and the grain grew so low that the peasants did not know how to reap it. My grandmother was sent for to teach the peasants how to cut down the low-growing crops with a small sickle.
She was married at age fifteen, but never met her husband until the wedding, which was the custom. Her first child, Burach, was born when she was nineteen. She had her children about 3 to 4 years apart. She nursed them until they were 3 or 4 years old. That was considered to be a method of family planning. For a long time, that had been thought to be an "old wives' tale". But recently I read it may actually work. Now it is believed that while nursing, a woman may be infertile due to hormonal changes. Also, recent research showed that children spaced further apart tended to be healthier.
There came a sad day when my grandfather was in an accident. He was in a horse-drawn sleigh (the Puretz's) when the horses were frightened and ran out of control. The sleigh overturned, and grandfather was severely injured. A runner on the sleigh came apart and pierced his lungs. After months of suffering, he died. Then my grandmother took charge. Circumstances forced upon her the role of matriarch. Gone was her husband, protection by the Puretz, and her livelihood.
By this time Burach and Leib were married. Uncle Dave and Uncle Harry were approaching draft age. (Here, I have heard another version from Robert, Uncle Ben's son. It seems that Dave had already been drafted. Ben, a very small child, remembered waking up one morning and finding this stranger sleeping beside him. The "stranger" was Dave. Ben didn't even remember his big brother Dave. Dave had gone AWOL from the Czar's army. The Czar's army was no picnic. Perhaps Dave had heard of his father's death, and that the family might move.)
What to do? America, America! Since two of my grandfather's brothers, Isaac and Michael, had already gone to the new land, and lived in Brantford, Ontario, near Toronto in Canada, my grandmother decided that was the place to go. So, in the year 1902 she left Pokatilov, along with Leib, his wife Pessie, Dave, Harry, my mother Ruchel, and Ben. Since Dave was AWOL, they could not get exit visas. They had to "gonveh the graynetz" (be smuggled across the border) to Austria-Hungary. My mother was about ten years old at the time. Just before they left, Mom noticed a worm protruding from her rectum. She pulled and pulled, and out came a tapeworm about a foot long. Prior to that she had been very much underweight and so pale that she was called "Greentsy", meaning her complexion was so pale it looked green. She never told anyone about the tapeworm because she was afraid it would keep her from going to America. Worms were very common in children, and the remedy was some concoction called "worm kraut". I never got the recipe, but I suspect it was a sweetened cabbage concoction.
They left Pokotilov with their bedding, and whatever else was considered indispensable. It was my mother's job to carry the samovar, a heavy load for a ten-year old. The samovar, a beautiful one, was given to my grandmother by her mother at her wedding. My grandmother, I believe, was the only daughter. Subsequently, she gave it to my mother, an only daughter. When Richard and I built our own home, my mother gave it to me, as she had promised years before. (I HAD TO remind her.) My brother Jerry's first daughter, Alisa, admired it greatly and used to enjoy turning the faucet on it whenever she visited my mother. She was shocked when she saw it in my new house. She was two and a half years old at the time. I explained the history of it to her, and promised to give it to her when she had her own home. And I did, just a couple of years ago, with the proviso that it must remain always in the Corson side of the family.
To get back to the journey. There was a place where they had to wade across a stream (wetbacks). My mother's brand new boots that were made for the journey were spoiled, and she had no others to replace them. Eventually, the family reached Antwerp, where they were to ship out to America. On their arduous trip toward Antwerp by train, they were often helped (by, I suppose, HIAS, Hebrew Immigrant Aide Society), and were given food and tea by volunteers along the way. I think it was in Antwerp that Bubba had to remain for a couple of years, because Harry had an eye infection. The youngest, Ben, also remained with her. So, embarking on the ship were Uncle Leib, his wife Pessie, Uncle Dave and my mother, traveling steerage class, of course. From what I could understand, family groups huddled together, with their belongings, preparing their own food and sleeping on bunks (uppers and lowers), with their own bedding. Recently we visited the Ellis Island museum, and it was, indeed, like that. After a rocking and rolling crossing, they finally reached Toronto, Canada, where they were taken to spend the night at a baker's place. They were shown to a very clean-looking room and given food. The bakery, next to their room, smelled delicious. But, getting into bed, they discovered they would have to share the beds with roaches. Consequently, they stayed up all night, and let the roaches have the beds. The next day they were met by relatives and taken to Brantford. Now begins their life in the new land.
AMERICA! AT LAST
The family settled in and started to prepare to earn a living. My mother went to work in a factory that made screws, nuts and bolts. She was about eleven years old by this time. (Before child labor laws.) The girls at the factory taught her to speak English. A hint of Cockney-type English stayed with her the rest of her life. The working girls were kind to her. Even the supervisor was considerate. If she nodded off to sleep, and the boss was approaching, the supervisor would toss a screw at her to awaken her. Otherwise he would let her catch a little snooze. The hours were long for a little kid.
Eventually, Bubba and the two boys arrived. The first English phrase that Ben learned was "Plizgimmeeffadozen ex" (please give me half a dozen eggs). He kept repeating it to himself on the way to the grocery store, so as not to forget. It came out all as one word. I don't know what kind of work the others did. But I do remember Uncle Ben saying that he sold needles and thread, door-to-door. He had a boy friend, a young black boy, who sometimes peddled along with him. Uncle Ben said that years later he heard that his friend was executed for murder. The uncles, Michael and Isaac, were in the junk business. Bubba was not crazy about that business. It wasn't neat and clean. So after a while she decided to go to Philadelphia, where her half-brother, Uncle Morris Sobel, lived and was in the fruit and vegetable business. That was much cleaner, and she figured people always needed food. So it must be a good way to earn a living. Well, it wasn't easy.
She gathered her brood and took a train to Philadelphia, Pa. That was in 1905, before quotas. They lived on Cross Street in South Philadelphia, which I learned later from my school history book, was the poorest street in the city. She had a little store, I don't know where it was located. The fruit and produce would be set up on a "stand" outside on the sidewalk. My mother and her younger brother Ben would set up the stand before my mother went to her job, and Ben went to school, so it would be ready when Dave and Harry returned from the wholesale market and could mind the store, along with Bubba. Many years later, when I was a young adult, I had occasion to visit the Shaare Shemayim Synagogue at 23rd and Wharton Streets in Philadelphia, and noticed my grandmother's name engraved on a plaque on the wall of the entrance hall, as one of the founders of the synagogue. I was astonished to learn that she had done this even though she was in very modest circumstances. Their livelihood was a penny business.
My mother worked as a sewing machine operator, along with her girl friend Freda Brownstein, who later married Uncle Dave. Later, my mother worked at Whitman's candy factory as a chocolate dipper. My mother told me that on one April Fools' Day, the boss at Whitman's gave each employee a small box of chocolate covered octagon soap, so they could indulge in some April Fool pranks. At home the family waited for Dave to come home to try the joke on him. He gladly accepted a chocolate and bit into it with great anticipation. Everyone enjoyed the look of surprise on his face, except Dave, of course.
Eventually, as the boys grew to adulthood, each was in his own fruit business, except for Uncle Ben, the youngest, who became a pharmacist. Even though Burach, Leib, Dave, Harry, and my father were all in the same business, they never could manage to form a partnership for very long. Nevertheless, it was a very close family. Thanks to Philadelphia Blue Laws, all stores were closed on Sunday. So every Sunday the family gathered at one or another's house, with all the kids, and the spouse's family, too. It was a very extended family. Eventually, Bubba and the kids moved to a house on Dickinson St. I remember that house. I will write about that in my own memoirs. To get back to the Sunday family gatherings, a great time was had by all. Usually supper consisted of herring (it was cheap then), and boiled potatoes, with smetana (sour cream), tomatoes and cucumbers in season, rye bread, pumpernickel, sweet butter, cream cheese (before cholesterol). Real Jewish soul food. That kind of food always reminds me of the comforting feeling of being surrounded by love, warmth, and humor.
Tucked into the baggage they brought with them from Pukotilov were a few superstitions. One was the Evil Eye. They did not want to insult the Evil Eye by calling it by its real name; therefore, they called it the "Git Oig" (Good Eye). So when they had to count how many places to set at the supper table, they would count "not one, not two, not three," etc. They did not want the Good Eye to be jealous of us for being a large family, for fear it might do harm to us. Another superstition was that a pregnant woman must not "farkeek zech" (stare) at an unattractive person or an animal, for fear the child would resemble that person or animal.
Most of the time several of the families of the Corson siblings lived in the same area, so it was easy to go over to visit and chat for a while. Either a walk or a short ride on the trolley or bus is all it took to get out of the house or store to visit relatives, just for a change of scenery and to talk over one's problems. I don't remember ever hearing angry words exchanged among the Corson siblings, with one exception, which I will discuss in the chapters on Dave and Ben. I will have a separate chapter on each of the siblings.
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BURACH
Uncle Burach came to America some time after the first contingent. His wife, Aunt Kayla, was a Gallanternek, a first cousin of my father. Burach got settled and sent for his wife and the four children who were born in Russia. The children were Minnie, Bella, Samuel and Betty. Betty was born in 1908, so all of this happened after that. However, Minnie had an eye infection and had to remain in Antwerp while Aunt Kayla and three of the children came to Philadelphia. Minnie remained in Antwerp for two years, in the care of a family who wanted to adopt her. Burach and Kayla would not even consider such a thing. Jeanne and Fay were born in Philadelphia on Cross St. Martin was born a few years later.
Uncle Burach and his family moved to New York for a while. The first recollection I have of them was their return to Philadelphia and staying with us for a short while until they could find a place to live. I was about three or four years old then, and we lived on Snyder Avenue at the time, between 22nd and 23rd Streets. I think some of the kids had whooping cough at the time. One of my earliest memories was my cousin Bella taking me for a walk on Pt. Breeze Ave. and buying me a toy iron.
During our early childhood, I remember Uncle Burach's family living on Market St. (under the El), at the corner of Peach St. in West Philly. They lived behind and over the store. Martin was born in this house. On many Sundays the Corson Clan converged there, and it was a happy, noisy time. The only time I remember any of the kids getting into a fight, was when Jeanne Burach's and Sam Dave's got into a wrestling match (over what, I don't know) at the top of the stairs on the second floor, rolling all the way down to the first floor, still fighting. I think it came to a draw. Neither one was hurt.
In our teens and early twenties, I remember their house (at whatever location it happened to be) always filled with young people. It was a gathering place for cousins and assorted friends and "dates" of the various Burach offspring. Of all the times I visited their household I never saw or heard arguing or harsh words said among them. Always kind, considerate, facing adversity with humor, and ready to listen to others' woes, this loving and loyal family was to be hit with great tragedy.
My grandmother Rebecca died in May 1930 of heart disease, at age 74. She died in our house on Walnut Street, just before I graduated from high school. Minnie married Harry Petegorsky (formerly Piatagorsky, later shortened to Peters). Minnie died in childbirth in 1931; her child Marvin survived. He was a beautiful baby with dark curls and dark brown eyes. During infancy he was raised by Aunt Kayla, all his aunts and various visiting cousins. Eventually, Harry married Tillie, a sister of Sam Ordet, Sylvia Avrom's husband. Tillie and Harry continued to raise Marvin (named after his mother Minnie).
Nine months later, Sam (Burach's) died at age 24. He had rheumatic fever in childhood, which affected his heart, and contributed to his death of a blood clot in the brain. He was tall and handsome, and reminded me of Robert Montgomery. He was intellectual and somewhat reclusive. He was everybody's favorite cousin because he treated us younger cousins with respect, would have serious conversations with us and lend us his books.
Sweet, gentle Bella married Bill Cohen. She died in childbirth in 1936. The child also died. Then the rest of the sisters and their husbands decided they would avoid pregnancy. It was not until many years later, when Jeanne had surgery, that it was discovered she (and no doubt Minnie and Bella as well) had a congenital kidney obstruction.
Betty used to work in sales at Lit Brothers Department Store at 8th and Market Sts., and I saw her quite often. My girl friend, Minnie Alberts, worked there in the Controller's Office, and my cousin Evelyn (Harry's) worked in the office of the confectionery department. Betty and Martin had the funniest and quickest sense of humor. Betty had a cute face, like Betty Boop. She married Murray Popkin (usually called Murph). I remember their lovely garden wedding at Murph's parents' farm in New Jersey. Betty started showing symptoms of Alzheimer's disease about twelve years ago. Six years later she was helpless. Murph cared for her at home the entire time, taking her to Florida every winter. She died recently at age 82. Murph is recovering from quadruple bypass surgery.
Jeanne had dark hair and sparkling dark brown eyes. She looked like Clara Bow and definitely had "It". She had the personality that went with the looks, and attracted boys like honey attracts flies. It was Sam Levine who won her. They were married for over fifty years. Jeanne died of ovarian cancer at age 74.
Fay is the closest to me of all my cousins. For a time, Fay had a job with the State Liquor Board in Harrisburg, Pa., after passing an exam. Every other week she sent her paycheck home to Philadelphia. This was during the Great Depression. Fay met Mitchell Weinberg at a party when she was a senior in high school and he was a college student. They were married at a young age. Mitchell worked as a chemist for the Navy during World War II. Eventually he had his own factory for anodizing aluminum. Mitchell died of lung cancer at age 74. Fay and Marvin are the last survivors of Uncle Burach's progeny. Fay has the gift of friendship. She has many friends, and relatives who are also her friends. Fay and Mitchell were the closest to us of all the cousins, and we miss Mitch very much. Marvin, Minnie's son, is working now in charge of a book store, and is also very artistic.
Martin was born in 1920. He was a little older than my brother Jerry, but they were quite close. Marty married Rita Ross, had a daughter Kathy. Kathy died at age 29 of an aneurysm. Marty died at age 52 under mysterious circumstances. His body was found floating in the river, after he had been missing for about two months. The police suspected foul play.
I remember Uncle Burach as a lively man who sometimes sounded gruff and stern, but he had a great sense of humor and was a great raconteur. There were times when he just had to get away from the daily grind for an hour. Then he would walk over to our house and play a game of casino with my brother Jerry, then aged five or six. Burach would purposely pick up the wrong cards to see if Jerry would catch him in the error, which he always did. That's one way of teaching kids arithmetic. Burach died at age 89. Aunt Kayla must have been a beauty. She had red-gold hair, blue eyes and features that were inherited by Jeanne. Kayla died at age 60 after suffering for four years with heart disease and cancer. I remember her as very good-natured and smiling. except when she was crying for her three dead children. She was always either working in the store or busy feeding her brood and any who dropped in, whether expectedly or unexpectedly.
Kayla's brother was Zelig Gallant; her sister was Chaya Riva. They were my father's first cousins. Zelig's wife was Sarah. Their children were Rose, Jeanne and Morris. Chaya Riva was married to Jake Shainfeld. Their children were Jeanne, Ethel, Eddie and Freda. |
