Reminiscing Through the Years

By Sandy Staub Kassimir

Reminiscing Through The Years is a book of laughter, tears, and life Sandy Staub Kassimirs life to be exact. She begins the journey with the story of her parents childhoods, along with the struggles they encountered when they came to America. She takes us through their courtship; sharing the loving details of how they met and fell in love. She also shares the story of her romance with her husbanda romance that began at the age of eighteen. Over the years they have welcomed their wonderful children and then, with time, their grandchildren into their lives.

Sandy has been fortunate to meet many wonderful friends along the way. She tells the stories of people who have touched her life in some way, with honesty, warmth, and humor. Sandy has included the stories of her travels which have been a particular joy for her to relive. Throughout the book she expresses herself with great tenderness and frankness that anyone can appreciate.

Among the 211 stories in the book, there were two sisters and a cousin whose stories made front page headlines world-wide.

The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire
In 1911 my great maternal aunt was caught in that fire when she was a teenager. She barely survived. Her entire back was burned, and she could not bend her body. I never saw her sit. Her sister was in the Plague of 1918.

The Plague of 1918
The Influenza Plague in Europe killed my maternal grandmother in Poland. My mother was only seven years old at the time.

The Klinghoffer Murder
In 1985 Leon Klinghoffer was murdered on the Achille Lauro ship. He was shot in his wheelchair and thrown overboard. He was my fathers cousin.

Reminiscing Through the Years was written to enlighten Sandys children and grandchildren about her origin and her experiences through the years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462008551

Sandy Staub Kassimir

Sandy Staub Kassimir was born in Brooklyn, New York and moved to the Bronx with her parents and younger sister when she was nine years old. Sandy now lives on Long Island with her husband. Her many interests include oil painting, and playing the piano. In addition Sandy designs sterling silver jewelry, and is a calligrapher. She enjoys sharing her talents by exhibiting her work and teaching.

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Sandy Staub Kassimir

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4620-0854-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-0856-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-0855-1 (e)

iUniverse rev. date: 11/18/2015

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

Mom’s Chapter

My Mother, Fay Staub

The Plague

The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire

Great Aunt Sara Wolf

Monticello and White Lake, New York

My First Airplane Experience

Mom and Dad and Their Warm Hands

Mom’s Mah Jongg Girls

A Sad Time

Selling My Parents House

Letter to My Mother

Dear Mom

Long Lost Cousin, Found

Preparing for Passover

Daddy’s Chapter

My Father’s Childhood

Louis Staub, His Life Story

My Bobby

Daddy, the Creative Printer

The Strike

Uncle Francis Greeley

My Father’s Many Friends

Louis Staub and His Cameras

Miss Emma Fink

Daddy’s Stamps

Cousin Chany, Annette

Our Israeli Relatives

Dad Needed a Super Salesman

Portrait of Sandy

The First Family Car

A Fascination with Postage Stamps

Postage Stamp Poem

Aunt Sadie and Dr. Louis Launer

Dad’s Famous Cousin

Daddy, the Printer

Fay and Lou Staub’s Travels

Dad and the Super Big Snowstorm

Dad, the All Around Guy at Home with Mom

My Dad’s Best Friend

My Father’s Disappointments

Flashbacks of My Loving Parents, Fay and Lou Staub

Clothes Don’t Always Make the Man

The Klinghoffer Murder

It’s Magic

Cousin Ruthie

Daddy’s 80th Birthday

Dad’s Last Days

The Feather

Sister’s Chapter

Baby Sitting My Sister 1945-1949

My Sister

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Sweet Songs

The Fairy Tale Weekend Wedding

Bill’s Chapter

Nanny Vicky

Independent Vicky

Bill Kassimir’s Early Childhood

Brothers

It Was a Happening

Bill’s Teenage Summers in Liberty, New York

Bill’s School Years and Odd Jobs

Bill’s College Years

It Was Beshert! Meant to Be

Bill’s Army Days 1954-1956

The Joy of Being Honored

How Could That Possibly Happen?

Road Rage

Sports

Imagine

The Commercial

Temple Emanuel

The Stranger

Ben Velvel

The Children’s Chapter

The Baby is Coming; The Baby is Coming

Joanne

Owen

Gary

When Gary Was a Teenager

What is That?

Daddy Rescues Owen

Joanne Changes Her Major

Joanne’s Internship

Joanne is Engaged

Gary Meets Sherri

Joanne Goes Into Business

A Busy Day

My Daughter, The Singer

The Door

Grandchildren Chapter

Valerie’s Questionnaire

A Story for My Grandchildren

What it’s Like to Feel Needed

From Generation to Generation

The Proud Grandparents

Friends Chapter

Thank you for Being my Friend

Bill’s Childhood Friend

A Quirk of Circumstance

To My Dear Friend Greta

We Were Kids Together

My Childhood Friend Libby

My Camp Friend Charlene

A Success Story

Sweet Dimpled Diane

My Freckled Friend

Remembering My Friend Les

Normy and Jimmy

Uncle Bob and Aunt Elna

My Cuban Friend

Our Honeymoon Friends

Evelyn

A Big Thank You to My Friend Lola

A Bronx Friend

Our Neighbors

Strange Turn of Events

Forever Friends

Marni

My Country Club Friend

Bill’s Pharmacy Buddy

Meeting New Friends

Short Stories Chapter

The Bronx

Dear Diary 1945-1949

Filling in the Gaps 1945-1949

Piano Lessons

The Song Sheet

Needlework

Volunteering

Allergies

Our House

A Weed is but an Unloved Flower

Jobs

Entertaining

The Timepieces

It Was Nice Knowing You

The Thrill of the Win

Our Tropical Plants

The Bird vs. The Wooden Cigar Store Indian

The Art of Oil Painting

Anecdotes

Animal Stories

Calligraphy

Atlantic City

Masks

Praying Mantis

Sandy’s Hobbies

Sea Shells

Gifts with a Lasting Impression

It was Easy, I Could Do It

Fed Up, Frustrated and Furious

Trusting People

Our Rabbi Emeritus

Letter to Steinway & Sons

Collectibles

Looking for the Right Answers

Fences

Gadgets

Pain Management Relief

Housekeepers

Our Garden

Responsibility

Sale of the Decade

Vacation Chapter

Staub Family Trip to Niagara Falls, Canada

New York City Weekend

Our First Cruise

Trip to Florida with My Parents

Touring London, England

First Trip to Amsterdam, Holland

I Love Paris in the Springtime

Family Trip Out West

Quickie Getaways

Before Credit Cards

Owen’s Israeli Bar Mitzvah

Skiing and Tennis Getaways

Ort Conventions

Quickie Getaways II

The Aggravating Vacation

A Cruise on the Big Red Boat

Our Travel Log Trip to Italy

Hawaii with My Parents

Fun Times with My Parents

The Panama Canal

Portugal with Evelyn and Arnold

Mexican Riviera Cruise

Inaugural Cruise to Europe

Colorado with Greta and Allan

The Chance Meetings

Traveling Through the Far East

Branson, Missouri

Come See My Place

Connecting Flights

My Pants are Getting Tight

The Lost Weekend, What Were They Thinking?

Our Trip to the Mojave Desert

My Middle Name is Flowers

Beggars

Belgium Delights

A Misty Day in Kinderdijk

A Most Unusual Occurrence

Aruba Chapter

Aruba Timeshare

All Around Downer

The Millennium

What A Guy!!!

Mom in Aruba

A Phenomenon

The Ostrich

Determination

Call Housekeeping, Call Maintenance, Call Somebody!!!

The Car Key

Honey, Are You Up?

View from the Verandah

Beauty on Eagle Beach

The Pleasure of their Company

Promises, Promises

A Couple of Kids

Closing Remarks

1.jpg

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the memory of my loving parents Fay and Lou Staub, who had provided me with an enormous amount of love in their happy home as a child. I believe they would have enjoyed looking back at their lives through my writings.

1.jpg2.jpg

About the cover

Reminiscing Through The Years

Photo by Owen Kassimir of Owen Photography, Syosset, New York

Can you find the memorabilia on the cover?

There is a cacti oil painting, an ostrich feather quill and ink well,

A wedding book seating plan, an ivory netsuke, and six marbles,

A baby photo of Sandy, handkerchief with tatting, and piano keys,

Postage stamps, roller skate key, spool knitting, cameo, and dreidle,

Three silver chain necklaces, and WWII identification disc,

The 1939 Worlds Fair milk bottles and pickles, and two seashells.

Thank you for reminiscing with me.

2.jpg

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the following people for graciously offering their expertise.

To my loving husband Bill, who didn’t object too much when I monopolized our computer during the writing of "Reminiscing through the Years." I appreciated all the time he spent proofreading and critiquing my stories.

Especially to my son, Owen, who is extremely knowledgeable about computers and has bailed me out more times than I care to admit. I called upon him for his assistance in merging my stories before sending the manuscript and photographs to the publisher. I couldn’t have done it without him.

To my daughter Joanne, for always making herself available to me during this journey. I was grateful for her valuable time, input and technical assistance.

To my son, Gary, for giving me his moral support during the past seven years while I was writing my book.

My sister Diana stood by me when I would call on her to voice her opinion on a subject matter. I appreciate that she allowed me to bend her ear regularly.

To my grandchildren when they offered me their feedback.

To my friend Sid, for suggesting the key word reminiscing, which is part of the title of my book, "Reminiscing Through The Years."

To Lola who had originally inspired me to write my memoir.

To my writing teacher Lois who had gently guided me along the way throughout this process, and I appreciated her help.

And to the members of my Taproot writing class who provided me with worthwhile hints, insights and comments.

2.jpg

Introduction

Reminiscing Through The Years

A Compilation of Short Stories

of the

Staub and Kassimir Families

Memory is the continuing story that tells who I am, what I’ve accomplished, where I’ve been, and most important who has touched my life during this journey.

I am but one part of a wonderful family. As a child my life was happy, protected and filled with love. I have a legacy, which provides me with the responsibility of putting it all in writing for my children and grandchildren.

Many times in the past I have created things that seemed impossible for me. So here I am, doing something else that I never dreamed I could do, writing my life story. Actually I have always been writing, even as a child. When I was a teenager I kept a diary for five years. Then when my fiancé Bill went into the army we corresponded daily for two years.

Recording things on paper has always been a habit with me. I have kept records of important information throughout the years that I thought was worth saving, but didn’t realize it was the start of my memoirs. While recording everything on my computer I found that my heart was filled with emotions, love and pride. I’ve enjoyed all the stories that I have written which has enabled me to relive my every moment. I can hardly believe the fantastic recall I have had writing the story of my life. I remember the minutest details and have many reflections of the past. It scares and astonishes me sometimes.

One of the pleasures of writing my memoirs has been reminiscing through the years. Beginning with my wonderful parents, and all their accomplishments, the happy childhood I spent with my sister, the extraordinary man I married, my three special children, and of course the precious gifts they gave me of my seven wonderful grandchildren. I became addicted to writing. I wanted to record so many things that were still in my memory. I never thought I had it in me to write, but once I started I got lost in the moment and didn’t want to stop.

Nostalgia makes everything look better in hindsight, especially memories. During my writings I came to realize that the death of a loved one, either a family member or friend, does not let me forget what we shared. They live forever in my heart and memory. Nostalgia turns memories into something precious and wonderful.

Everybody enjoys a good story. It takes courage to put accumulated memoirs on display without embellishing my thoughts while trying to honor my family and friends in the privacy of my mind. My stories have been written in a subtle way as if I were expressing myself verbally with the hopes that whoever reads them will enjoy all my experiences in life so far.

My short story adventures are not necessarily in chronological sequence. Some names have been changed to protect true identities. During the process of relating my stories I occasionally had to repeat pertinent facts.

I truly hope my friends and relatives are happy by the way I have portrayed them in Reminiscing Through The Years.

1.jpg

Mom’s Chapter

1.jpg2.jpg

My Mother, Fay Staub

I was a fortunate child, growing up in a loving home with two wonderful parents. When my sister and I were children, my family lived under modest circumstances. My mom Fay told me that she couldn’t afford to buy me a doll. One day my sister Diana received a second hand doll as a gift that originally belonged to our cousin. I was given a teddy bear. I don’t know if it was new or not, but I adored it and took it with me wherever I went. The teddy bear was so worn that the stuffing was coming out, but it was mine, and I wouldn’t part with it. Mom saved my baby shoes and gave them to me when I got married. At the time they were purchased, she could hardly afford to pay for them, and bought them on time. My sister wore my hand me downs including shoes.

My mother was the sweetest, kindest, most generous and loving person I knew. I was very close to her, especially during her last seven years after Daddy had passed away. He made sure that my mother eventually had a comfortable life, although her childhood didn’t start out that way.

Mom was born in Hassan, Poland on March 10, 1911, which eventually became Russia. She lived in a town called Aleshka with her older sister. When Mom was six years old, in 1917, her mother Sibba died from the ispanka (influenza) plague that ran rampant through their hometown in Eastern Europe. It wiped out thousands of people, and millions worldwide at that time. Mom’s father wouldn’t let her go to her mother’s funeral. He thought she was too young. She was very upset and never forgot it. When the subject came up throughout her lifetime, she always talked about it with regrets.

After Fay’s mother died her father didn’t know what to do with two little girls. He decided to leave the children with their mother’s relatives in Europe, and go to America to try to earn a living as a tailor. Then in the future he had planned on sending for his daughters. So Mom went to live with her mother’s cousin Sol Wolf and his family, and her sister went to live with another cousin Goldie Wolf and her family. Things didn’t work out the way they had originally planned. Mom’s father Joseph Seidman found a new wife in America and had two more daughters with her. He never sent for my mother or her sister.

Sibba, the grandmother I never knew, had a sister Sara and two brothers, Harry and Morris living in America. They wrote letters to the family in Poland, and told them how wonderful it was to live in the United States. The letterhead had a picture of the Statue of Liberty on it, and Fay had hoped that some day she would get to see it in person.

Eventually, in December 1923 when Fay was about twelve years old, Aunt Sara sent her and her sister two tickets to board the Brennen ship which was coming to America. They were in steerage. Mom’s sister was not a good traveler and was very sick all the way to New York. When they approached the Statue of Liberty they both cried.

Fay and her sister came through Ellis Island from Warsaw, Poland. They were given a physical exam and were both healthy so they were admitted into New York City, the land of milk and honey. The question was, Where were they going to live? Aunt Sara brought them to stay with their father, and his new family on the lower east side of Manhattan. They were now the stepchildren and were treated as such. The stepmother was not well and couldn’t cope with four daughters.

Fay attended school, and her sister went to work in a millinery sweatshop. They had a tough beginning when they came to America. It was a hard life. They were treated very poorly, practically starving, and had no choice but to put up with it.

In 1927 Mom had a classmate at school, Nettie Staub who introduced her to her brother Louis. Lou had a teenage crush on Fay, and courted her for a few years. Fay and her sister were very unhappy living with their father whom they hardly knew, and their stepmother. Mom used to tell us that her stepmother gave her and her sister rotten apples to eat, and gave the fresh ones to her own daughters, which she had hidden under the bed. Meanwhile Lou was falling in love with Fay. He couldn’t stand what was happening to the girls so he vowed to come to their rescue by finding them a room of their own to live in. Dad had a job as a printer so he helped pay their rent.

Teenagers%20Fay%20Seidman%20and%20Lou%20Staub.jpg

Teenagers Fay Seidman and Lou Staub

My mother, Fay Seidman was nineteen years old when she married my father Lou Staub who was twenty-one in 1930. Mom felt guilty marrying before her older sister. In those days, it just wasn’t done. But soon after, Mom’s sister met someone and they too tied the knot.

Wedding%20Day.jpg

Wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Louis Staub

October 25, 1930

Mom had two stepsisters. The older one died from unnatural causes when she was twenty-six years old. The younger stepsister married and had two daughters. One died of unnatural causes when she was a teenager.

Eventually Mom’s cousins Goldie and Sol Wolf came to America too. They married each other even though they were first cousins. They lived on the Grand Concourse and 183rd Street in the Bronx, and boasted about it. They were proud of the fact that it was a nice neighborhood. I remember Uncle Sol always had allergies, and had to go to the doctor regularly for shots to help him breathe. Whenever he came to visit us he would ask me to play the piano so he could sing along. He always enjoyed that. Uncle Sol worked in a leather goods factory and made ladies handbags. He also worked with furs. I have his heavy duty Singer sewing machine that my parents schlepped, (carried), back from Florida after Uncle Sol died.

Diana and I referred to Gussie, (Goldie) and Sol as Aunt and Uncle even though they were my mother’s cousins. They never had children of their own. We called Goldie and Sol the greener cousiners, (immigrants) who never caught on to the American way. There was nothing you could do to modernize them. You never saw their living room furniture because it was always covered with plastic, and that’s what they sat on. They got old, but their furniture never did and it outlived them. I hope somebody somewhere is enjoying the furniture now.

Aunt%20Gussie%20and%20Uncle%20Sol%20Wolf.jpg

1935 Aunt Gussie and Uncle Sol Wolf

My mom’s father, Joseph Seidman was born in 1883 and was fifty-eight years old when he died on April 15, 1941. I was seven years old and vaguely remember him. I am named after his first wife Sibba, Celia. I’m not sure when his second wife died. I believe she lived about ten years longer than her husband. I never even knew her name. I remember visiting them in their tiny apartment on the lower East side. Joseph was sitting in a rocking chair, and his wife was always in bed when we visited. It was not a happy atmosphere, and I didn’t enjoy going there to see them.

My mom was always grateful to my father for rescuing her from that environment. Since that time on, until her death, she had a wonderful life. She was loving, caring, and a gentle human being, and is missed by all who knew her, especially me.

The Plague

September 7, 1918 was the start of the deadliest Influenza strain in history, now known as the flu. That plague killed millions of people. In France, 43,000 American servicemen died from it. The flu was thought to have killed as many as 200 million worldwide, between 1918-1919. People were dropping in the streets. They died within hours after experiencing their first symptoms.

The disease seemed to have originated in the United States and spread globally as soldiers carried it to war. Nobody preserved specimens for later study. It disappeared almost as quickly as it had emerged.

Influenza had not been identified as a virus until the 1930’s. Antibiotics had yet to be discovered. Most of the people who died had their lungs filled with fluid and succumbed to pneumonia.

My grandmother, Sibba Seidman, Celia was one of the victims of that Influenza. She was my Mom’s mother. My mother was only six years old when her mom died in Poland.

When my Mom was an adult and living in New York, her family doctor told her that she might have had a touch of influenza as a child because she had very weak lungs with old scar tissue. For the last twenty years of her life she suffered with chronic bronchitis, and that was what she eventually died from. It was a debilitating disease. She was coughing constantly and was always on one antibiotic or another. The family felt so helpless. We couldn’t do anything for her except to make sure that she took her medication and visited her doctors regularly.

The last time Mom was seen in public was at her great granddaughter Alexandra’s Bat Mitzvah. She arrived all dressed up in a beautiful dress from her favorite store, Loehmann’s. She sat in her wheelchair and there was oxygen being pumped into her nose. She vowed she would never let anyone see her like that, but she was determined to attend Alexandra’s Bat Mitzvah, and she did.

Bill and I came home from Aruba in the middle of our vacation for Alexandra’s Bat Mitzvah, and to see Mom. When we went back to Aruba I called home the next day to see how Mom was, and found out she was in the hospital. Bill and I came home immediately and stayed at Mom’s bedside constantly. My sister and I took turns sleeping in a chair next to her bed.

Diana was with Mom at the hospital on the morning she passed away. Bill was at the temple for morning minyon where he said his daily prayers for Mom. I called him on his cell phone, but he had turned it off. It was early in the morning, and I rushed to get dressed. I went to the Temple to pick up Bill because we had to go to the hospital immediately. I said good-bye to Mom and held her still warm hand. We all cried and cried and cried some more, and as I put my words onto this paper today, I am still crying.

I always told my Mom that I loved her, and that morning I told her I loved her for the last time.

There is a lesson in here someplace. Don’t take the Flu lightly and get your yearly shot because the life you save may be your own.

The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire

My Great Aunt Sara was a very young girl when she was a sweatshop worker, and barely a survivor of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. The famous fire happened in 1911, and her body was all burned. At that time New York City had more clothing factories than any other place in the world. The employees worked long and hard, sometimes more than ten hours a day, seven days a week, and seven hours on Saturday for very little money. Many of the workers were recent immigrants from Eastern Europe, Russia and Italy, and had to work to feed their family. Most of the seven hundred employees were teenage girls.

The conditions in the factory were very dangerous. There were very few laws requiring safe working conditions. The factories were crowded and dirty with poor lighting and ventilation, and many of the buildings were firetraps.

The Triangle Shirtwaist Company was located on the eighth, ninth and tenth floors of the Arch Building on the corner of Washington Place and Greene Street. The factory owners of the Triangle Shirtwaist Company were Max Blanck and Isaac Harris. Customarily, the only way out of the building for the workers at quitting time was through a door on the Green Street side of the building. The employees who worked at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, made fancy blouses called shirtwaists that were the popular fashions as the time.

The fabric used was very thin delicate cotton or linen and could burn very easily. The employees were allowed to smoke, and there was sewing machine oil near the fabrics. Highly flammable patterns hung from wires on the ceiling. No fire drills were ever conducted. The one fire escape in the building was old, rickety, dangerously steep, and stopped two floors above the ground. But in spite of repeated complaints from the workers, who had even gone on strike to demand safer working conditions, the building was called fireproof, and it always passed its safety inspections.

There were kids as young as ten years old who were employed in inhumane working conditions. Children of that age were not supposed to be working in factories. When the inspectors came, the young girls were told to hide. If the inspector found them, they would lose their jobs. I believe Great Aunt Sara was one of the illegal underage working girls, and therefore her name was never on the survivor list. On the 100th anniversary of the fire I added Great Aunt Sara’s name to the list.

Fourteen was the legal age to work in a factory. They started work at seven o’clock in the morning and didn’t end the day until ten hours later at five o’clock in the evening. Talking was not allowed. They sat shoulder to shoulder in the big room that was filled with rows of tables with a long line of sewing machines on it.

Girls and women operated the sewing machines. The floor space 100-ft.x100-ft. was covered with fabric and patterns. Finished work was hung from the ceiling. The average person earned six dollars per week. If a needle was accidentally broken or if there was a tear in the fabric, the employee was responsible. The boys in families went to school and the girls worked in factories. When they first reported to work early in the morning, their coats were put away on the ninth floor. That’s where all the pocketbooks were inspected to prevent stealing.

On Saturday, March 25, 1911, a fire started on the eighth floor in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. It was five o’clock, closing time. Someone yelled Fire! There had been two other fires previously but this one was different. The fire moved quickly. It burned through the piles of cloth and the room filled with smoke. The rows between the sewing machines were narrow and crowded. It was hard to get through. Hanging over the machines in the loft was a line of clothes ablaze.

A tailor, Max Rother and the manager of the firm, Max Burnstein, tried to put the fire out with pails of water. The rope on which the clothes were hung burned in half and the burning clothes fell on the heads of the people before they had a chance to escape. Soon the room was all on fire.

Some employees ran towards the elevators that were meant to only carry ten people at a time, but thirty women shoved their way onto one elevator. Other’s tried the stairs. The Green Street side stairs were completely engulfed, so the employees tried to open the doors to the stairs which led to the Washington Place exit. They were locked and nobody could escape.

At the end of the day, the foreman always locked the door. They wanted to make sure that no employee left early or stole anything. The people were so scared they stepped on other people to get to safety. The smoke was getting thicker. Great Aunt Sara could barely see. Her eyes and throat were stinging from the smoke. People screamed for help because the clothes they were wearing caught on fire, but no one could hear their cry for help above the noise of the fire.

The flames were pouring from the windows and the girls jumped out through the fire to the sidewalk. None of them survived. Great Aunt Sara started coughing, couldn’t breathe, and gasped for air. Several men ran up with a net that they had gotten somewhere. It was about ten feet square, and they managed to catch about fifteen girls. Only about one or two were saved. The fall was so great that they bounced to the sidewalk after striking the net. Bodies were falling all around, and some of the men were knocked down. The girls just leaped wildly out of the windows and turned over and over before reaching the sidewalk. They were killed instantly. Then four men tried to catch the girls. They seized a horse blanket from a truck horse on Waverly Place and held it out. It gave way like paper as the girls struck it. Some people went down the other stairway, but it was hotter than an oven because it was on fire, so they headed up to the roof. They burst through the door and gulped in deep breaths of fresh air.

Next-door was the New York University Law School. Some students put ladders across from the roof of their building to the roof of the burning building. The students held the ladder steady, and one by one the people on the roof crossed over. They went through the building and out to the street to safety.

Three men made a human chain of their bodies, and swung across a narrow alleyway to the building on Greene Street. A number of people passed across the men’s bodies and escaped from the burning building by entering a window in the opposite building. As the people crossing the human bridge crowding more and more over the men’s bodies, the weight upon the body of the center man became too great and his back was broken. He fell to the passageway below and the other two men lost their holds upon the windowsills and fell. The people who were crossing on the human bridge dropped with them to the ground. Great Aunt Sara witnessed many of her friends dying all around her. She was lucky to get out alive, but she never wanted to talk about what happened. My Great Aunt Sara Wolf was my grandmother’s sister.

In less than half an hour, one hundred forty-six garment workers at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory were dead and seventy-one were impaired. My Great Aunt Sara was one of the burned girls. Most were killed by fire and smoke. More than forty people jumped from the eighth and ninth floors of the factory. They fell to their deaths, crushed on the sidewalk below. It was the largest industrial disaster in the history of the City of New York.

The factory owners Blanck and Harris fled to the roof of the building and survived.

When the trial came up for Blanck and Harris, eight months after the fire, the jury acquitted the factory owners of any wrongdoing. The task of the jurors had been to determine whether the owners knew that the doors were locked at the time of the fire. Worker after worker testified to their inability to open the doors to their only viable escape route, the stairs to the Washington Place exit. The brilliant defense attorney Max Steuer planted enough doubt in the juror’s minds to win a not-guilty verdict.

Twenty-three individual civil suits were brought against the owners of the Asch building on March 11, 1913. Three years after the fire, Harris and Blanck settled. One hundred and forty-six people died out of five hundred employees. They paid seventy-five dollars per life lost. Where was the justice?

After the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire it became clear to many people that the laws needed to be changed. Now every factory has to have fire alarms, multiple exits, fire escapes, and sprinklers that automatically shower water on a fire. The companies must have fire drills to inform employees how to escape if a fire breaks out. The tragedy would lead to more stringent labor laws, including basic wage and safety standards in New York, and the rest of the country.

It took a long time for my great aunt Sara’s burns to heal. Once they healed she couldn’t bend her body. I never saw my great aunt Sara sit. Her body was so scarred from the burns that she couldn’t bend it. She was only able to stand or lie down. She used to sew clothes for me and did it by standing in front of the sewing machine. Aunt Sara would stand and play the piano, and stand to eat her meals. She was a gentle sole and a wonderfully good-natured person. If not for her my mother would never have come to America.

Great Aunt Sara Wolf

Great Aunt Sara survived the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, but barely. That famous fire happened March 25, 1911, and her body was all burned. It took a long time for her wounds to heal, and once they did, she couldn’t bend her body. I never saw her sit. Despite all the horror that she experienced, Great Aunt Sara was the kindest and most lovable person. My mother Fay was born fifteen days before that incredible fire. Mom and her sister Ida would never have come to America if not for their great aunt. Sara’s sister Sibba died in Poland leaving two daughters. About six years later in 1923, twelve years after the fire, Sara sent her two nieces tickets to come on a ship to New York from Warsaw, Poland. She brought them to live with their father, Joseph Seidman and his new family.

Great%20Aunt%20Sara%20Wolf.jpg

Great Aunt Sara Wolf with Brothers Uncle’s Harry

and Uncle Morris Wolf—1943

Great Aunt Sara lived with her brother Harry and his wife Mollie who wasn’t always very nice to Sara. She had no patience with her and was always yelling. Our family couldn’t visit very often because we didn’t have a car. When we did travel to see them by train, we saw all the relatives on the same day because they lived in brownstone houses very close to each other. Another brother Morris was married to Anna. Mollie and Anna were always very good hostesses. They were both large women and loved to eat. They were all Wolf’s.

My sister recalls that we used to get letters from Aunt Sara, and she had a very shaky handwriting, due to the fire. She always remembered to send us a card on our birthday. Her brother, Uncle Harry was in the hospital in Far Rockaway when our daughter Joanne coincidentally was interning there as an Occupational Therapist. She looked in on him regularly and they got to know each other during his final days.

Great Aunt Sara was in love with Aunt Anna’s brother before the fire happened, but he married somebody else. She never married. She was a very kind person, like her sister Sibba, Celia who was my Mom’s mother. I am named after her.

Sara was very generous to my mother. When my parents were married in 1930, Sara bought them their living room furniture: a couch, love seat and a chair at a store on Pitkin Avenue in Brooklyn. She loved my mother as if she were her own daughter.

Mom appreciated hand made things. Her aunt Sara used to make clothes for my sister Diana and me. She made capes for us, and Mom saved them for many years after we outgrew them. Great Aunt Sara was so handy that she even knew how to make lampshades and made them for Mom and Dad. It was amazing to see the things she created. She was such a tiny lady and very frail, but that didn’t stop her.

When I was a little girl, I stayed with Great Aunt Sara, Uncle Harry and Aunt Mollie for two weeks. My sister Diana had come down with a case of scarlet fever, and the house was quarantined. My Bobby, which is what I called my grandma, was visiting us at the time, and she was not allowed to leave to go back to her home. I was at school, and before I got home I was told of my sister’s illness and was taken to stay with the relatives. I liked visiting with them very much.

I remember there was an Italian shoemaker down the street, and I enjoyed watching him work. I would spend hours there every day, and I still remember the aroma of the leather when he was cutting it to make the heels and souls for the shoes. He was a friend of Great Aunt Sara, and she trusted him to watch me. She checked on me periodically to see when I was ready to go back home with her.

In 1941 Mom’s father Joseph died of a heart attack when I was seven years old, and he had no will, but he did have some money. He was a tailor by trade and left $18,000 upon his death. That was a fortune of money back then. His wife was still alive, so the money was split up between her, and his two daughters from his first wife who were Mom and her sister, and between his two daughters from his second wife, Mom’s stepsisters Birdie and Jeanie.

Birdie had committed suicide by jumping off the roof of the building where she lived, and Jeanie was married and living on the East side of Manhattan. They had two daughters, one of which died prematurely when I was a young girl.

I was twelve years old when great Aunt Sara took Mom to New York to buy me my first piano. It was a second hand upright piano and cost sixty dollars. Mom was so appreciative that she couldn’t thank her enough. When I was very young, I didn’t spend too much time with the older relatives, except for Great Aunt Sara. She was one special lady!

Monticello and White Lake, New York

In the early 1940’s my sister and I were children and living in Brooklyn, New York with our parents. In order to escape the city heat in July and August Mom and Dad would take us to the Catskill Mountains in upstate New York to cool off. They would rent a small house either in Monticello or White Lake. It was really more like a cuchalane, (bungalow) with a lot of people my parent’s age and many kids for us to play with. It certainly wasn’t fancy by any means.

Mom%20and%20Sandy%20in%20Catskill%20Mountains%2c%20N.Y..jpg

Mom and Sandy

Catskill Mountains, New York

To get to the mountains at the beginning of the summer was quite a trek. We didn’t own a car. My parents hired a hackey, which was an oversized taxi, and the driver charged a flat rate for the trip. The bungalow came with nothing. We had to take blankets, pillows, sheets, pillowcases, towels, and pots and pans, dishes and silverware, which was all piled on top of the hackey. The driver took route seventeen, which was the main road to get there. The thruway hadn’t been built yet. The worst part of the trip, if the car didn’t overheat, was trying to get up the Wurtsboro Hill. Sometimes we made it, and other times we didn’t. We always stopped at the Red Apple Rest for lunch, on the way going and coming. That was a must! The trip took many hours each way, but the distance from door to door was only one hundred miles.

Sandy%20in%20Monticello%2c%20New%20York.jpg

Sandy in the Catskill Mountains 1940

My mother’s sister, her husband and their daughter, always went with us, and they had a bungalow next door. We had a lot of company during the summer. All the bubbas, (grandma’s) tantes, (aunts) and zaydees, (grandpa’s) crowded the bungalow colony every weekend. Dad came up every Friday night, and on Sunday he went home, so he could go back to work on Monday. All the husbands did the same thing unless they were on vacation. They traveled by way of the Shortline Bus Company. Very few people we knew owned a car. The bus was reliable and pretty much on time, so the women knew just when to expect the men for dinner.

Every bungalow my parents had rented was on a lake. My dad loved fishing and boating. Mom played a lot of mah jongg, and the kid’s pastime was swimming, boating and playing monopoly, which was a new game at the time. We also picked blueberries by the bucket full, and Mom would always bake pies for us. She was a terrific baker and cook and was a real balabuste, (a handy person). I take after her in the cooking department.

One summer when we were in White Lake, I had a boyfriend Lenny who came to visit. He used to follow me wherever I would be in the mountains. I think his family had a house in the Catskill Mountains. Years later, I would meet him at my friend Terry’s parties. Little did I know then that Lenny would some day have a famous brother who was a clothing manufacturer? You might have heard of him. His name is Ralph Lauren.

When the summer came to an end, going home by hackey was long, but pretty uneventful except for the fact that one year we lost some of the bedding from the roof of the car. The driver wouldn’t even stop the vehicle to get it; for fear it would overheat.

The summers were wonderful and usually went quickly. When I was twelve and thirteen years old I went to camp for the summer. My parents were close by. They continued to go to the Catskill Mountains until I was about sixteen years old. I have very fond memories of our summers in the country with my family.

My First Airplane Experience

My sister Diana, who is almost five years younger than I am, went to sleep away Camp Aurora/Winston for the first time. It was in the summer of 1951, and she was twelve and one half years old. Aurora was actually the girls’ campus and Winston was for the boys. It was on Sackett Lake in Monticello, New York. There were woods between the boys and girls camps and they shared the common lake.

While Diana was in camp my mom asked me if I would like to go to Florida on vacation. I had never been there so I said yes. We didn’t have a clue that nobody voluntarily went to Florida in the summer. It was beastly hot, and people who usually live there, leave. But we were going regardless. Daddy made reservations for us at a hotel in Miami, which was the popular vacation spot at the time. Neither Mom nor I had ever flown in a plane, and mom refused to fly to Florida, so my father had arranged for us to go by train. What a bad experience! The trip was twenty-six hours long, and we didn’t sleep a wink.

When we arrived in Miami Mom and I were totally exhausted. It took us a couple of days to revive our energy, but once we did, we had a good time. We did some sightseeing and ate all our meals out.

Sandy%20and%20Mom%20in%20Miami%2c%20Florida%201952.jpg

Mom and Sandy in Miami, Florida 1952

On that vacation I met a boy named Morty. He was from New York too, and we dated when we returned home. How did we get home? No way was I going on that train again. I talked Mom into flying and she agreed. The flight was beautiful, quick and comfortable. My mother actually enjoyed the experience of flying, and so did I.

When we arrived in New York, Daddy was at the airport to greet us. Without any question about where we were going next, my mom said, Let’s visit Diana at camp! And so we did. Dad drove us all the way up to the Catskill Mountains. Diana was in a show that weekend, had the lead, and was wonderful. She had been in many shows and her voice was always great. We still have 16 mm silent movies of her performing

Then we were back to reality in the Bronx. Morty, the boy I had met in Florida called me to go out on a date. I don’t think he ever went to college. I remember he was a salesman working for a woven label company. He had extra money in his pocket compared to the boys I had been dating who were still in school. He took me out fancy. We went to a lot of nightclubs and Broadway shows, and he always treated me to dinner. We didn’t know about Dutch treat in those days. There was no Women’s Lib yet. The boy usually treated on the date.

Every time we went out Morty had a camera with him. He liked taking pictures of me, so I posed for him in my favorite yellow halter Marilyn Monroe style dress, and my father took the negatives and blew them up on his enlarger. I still have those pictures.

Mom and Dad and Their Warm Hands

Mom and Dad never enjoyed receiving gifts, they only knew how to give, and give they did. Throughout their lives they were extremely generous to the family, and also to friends. I hope that all the gifts my parents had given away over the years to business people and friends were appreciated, and they fondly remember whom they had gotten them from.

When my parent’s six grandchildren were born, Daddy bought them all stocks. Some were better than others, but they all did very well. Our son Gary bought his first house with the stock money, which he cashed in when he got married. I don’t know what everybody else did with his or her stocks, but Gary always told us about things like that.

Dad and Mom gave their children and grandchildren money every year. They wanted to make sure that the college funds were secure for all of their grandchildren. In fact, when Daddy passed away my mother continued with the gift giving, and a few years ago Gary and Sherri added on an extension to their house, which they call the Staub Wing. My parents always gave with a warm hand and a full heart. They heard the thank you over and over while they were alive. I think they know that I am still thanking them, even after their death.

Daddy had a large collection of very attractive paperweights, which he had been collecting over a long period of time. Wherever he traveled, he brought home a paperweight. He gave some away with his warm hands, and the rest Diana and I gifted to our children.

My father had purchased a collection of carved Chinese Ivory at auctions over the years, and had accumulated unusual pieces. Every time Diana and I had a birthday or anniversary, one of the things we received was a piece of Ivory. We were able to choose any one we wanted. Now Diana and I each have a very large collection of Ivory, which was all given to us with warm hands from both our parents.

One funny thing comes to mind that our daughter Joanne reminded me of. Daddy would come to the traditional Friday night Shabbat dinners at our house carrying goodies from the Flakowitz bakery. My father was tired from working all day, and after dinner he would lie down under the piano to take a nap. There were so many kids running around, and I guess he felt safe under the big baby grand. I told him many times to go into one of the bedrooms upstairs, but after a while I gave up.

Daddy loved classical and operatic music, and always listened to it on the radio. My parents had season ticket subscriptions for many years to the Metropolitan Opera House, and they were frequent contributors. Dad’s bookkeeper, Miss Fink was a big influence on my parents when it came to the opera. She had been attending for many years before Mom and Dad became interested. They eventually grew to love it, but after going year after year to the same operas, they were tiring of it. One day they graciously gave their season tickets to my sister Diana and me, and we became opera buffs too. We enjoyed sitting in their excellent seats.

One time, many years later, I had a very bad cold and didn’t feel like going to the opera. Dad insisted that we attend instead of wasting the tickets. I didn’t have any fever, and we took the subway as we always did and went to the opera. I don’t recall what we saw, but we had seen it many times previously. During the sold out performance I was sneezing and coughing, and the people around us were giving me dirty looks. I couldn’t control myself, so we left early. We headed back to the subway without any concerns because that was always our mode of transportation, and we were used to it. We thankfully always had an uneventful safe trip home to the Bronx. After much consideration Diana and I decided that we had had enough opera for a while. We voluntarily relinquished my parent’s long time great seats to the Metropolitan Opera House for somebody else to enjoy.

When my sister was a kid I used to take her for opera lessons. Her first teacher was Andrea Palestrina. When Diana started menstruating her body was changing, and so was her voice. The teacher advised that she stop singing for a while during that time in her life, and so she did. After several months Diana resumed her lessons. She also studied with Madame Grete Stueckgold who had a very large white furry cat, which my sister was allergic to. It sat on the piano for the entire lesson without moving. Diana then went on to study with singing coach Fred Steele for a short time.

My sister sang with a few groups, and for many years has been singing in her temple choir at the Plainview Jewish Center. Diana now holds memberships in two choruses of the Sweet Adeline’s, one on Long Island and the other in Florida. She finally found a singing group that appreciates her beautiful voice. Since my parents had paid for a zillion lessons they would have been so proud that it wasn’t for naught.

One of our vacations was to Finland, and I tried very hard to find an unusual gift that I thought my mother would like. I had purchased a beautiful soft woolen scarf with fur to keep Mom warm in the winter. Upon returning home I presented it to her, but she gave it right back to me saying she would never wear it, and I’d enjoy it more than she would.

Mom’s Mah Jongg Girls

Mom played Mah Jongg in three games a week. She had two daytime games, and one in the evening. She played until about three months before she passed away, just short of 91 years old.

When it was Mom’s turn to be the hostess of the game, she would call me to say, "The girls are coming" and sent me shopping for special food that the girls in their eighties liked. My sister Diana and I would set up the bridge table and chairs along with the refreshments. All Moms’ friends said that she was the best Mah Jongg player in all three groups. They couldn’t believe that Mom didn’t need glasses to read the Mah Jongg card or see the tiles. Every year when the new card would come out Mom had it memorized the first week it was in her possession, and she never again had to refer to it.

Every summer, Mom and her friends went to the Syosset/Woodbury Park. The girls were members of the pool club where they would go daily to swim and play Mah Jongg. Mom never drove a car, and Daddy used to take her and her friends to the pool. Occasionally her friend Jean would pick up Mom, but she was a terrible driver. After Dad passed away Bill and I drove Mom and Jean back and forth with some help from my sister Diana. We did that for about five years. Mom loved going swimming, and enjoyed the Mah Jongg girls she played with.

During the winter months when the girls played in each other’s homes, Dad used to drive Mom to the game, and usually someone would take her home. One girl was not very good-natured and was stingy besides. Sometimes when the price of gas went up, she wouldn’t drive Mom to her house, but instead would drop her off at the corner of her block. Mom would have to walk the rest of the way home, and I never forgot that. After Mom passed away I used to see this friend at Temple functions. She would sometimes ask me to drive her home, and I would take her right to her door. I was always nice to her, but I will never forget that she made Mom walk in the cold instead of driving my mother to her house.

My sister and I made Mom a ninetieth birthday party for all her friends and family at a lovely restaurant. It was on a golf course, on Jericho Turnpike in Syosset. Mom didn’t want a party, but after the fact she was happy that we made it for her. She gave us the guest list since it was not a surprise, and she had everybody there whom she wanted. The place was very picturesque, the food was good, and Mom had a good time. Many pictures were taken, and I made an album for her. Our family felt good that we had pleased Mom. We talked about it for weeks prior to the party, and continued for months afterwards. The Mah Jongg girls had fun too, and the party was a big success.

Mother, I called her that sometimes, had a good life after she married my father. She was very loving, kind and good-natured, and appreciated everything that was done for her. She was such a wonderful person. It’s interesting, all the thoughts that keep traveling through my mind. Remembering, remembering, remembering some more.

One person I will always remember is my dear mom and girlfriend, Fay Staub.

A Sad Time

Diana and I knew that Mom’s health was failing. I had asked my sister not to make vacation plans that would take her and Elliott out of town while we were in Aruba, just in case Mom needed her. In 2002 my mother told us she wasn’t feeling well enough to travel to Aruba. That was a first. She loved Aruba. We felt so bad leaving her home even though Gina, her Chinese companion, was with her. It just so happened that our granddaughter Alexandra was becoming a Bat Mitzvah in the middle of January. After being in Aruba only a couple of weeks we went home on the weekend of the Bat Mitzvah for Alexandra and to visit Mom. It should have been a happy time, but it didn’t turn out the way we had hoped. Our plan was to spend time with Mom, attend Alexandra’s Bat Mitzvah, and return to Aruba after the weekend for two more weeks.

Mom was very weak. She never let anyone see her in a wheelchair or with oxygen, but she was determined to go to Alexandra’s Bat Mitzvah, and so she went with all of her paraphernalia. She got all dressed up, but was so cold that we had to cover her with a shawl and blanket to keep her warm. It was very sad to see her like that. I was so involved with Mom that I don’t remember much of what happened at the Bat Mitzvah. I was out of it, and I guess I just blocked it out of my mind.

I had been aggravated for a very long time leading up to the Bat Mitzvah because of the fact that it had been scheduled during the middle of our Aruba vacation. After all, there were fifty-one other weekends in the year, but it turned out it was beshert, (meant to be). We got to see Mom from Thursday to Sunday, and that was wonderful. We felt guilty going back to Aruba since we realized Mom was getting weaker, but she insisted that we go, and told us she would be fine. Gina was there to take care of her and Diana and Elliott were close by, so on Sunday Bill and I flew back to Aruba.

Monday morning I called my mother at her home, and there was no answer. I knew immediately that something was wrong. I called my sister, no answer, so I called my son Owen. He knew that Mom was taken to the hospital because she had trouble breathing. I couldn’t stay in Aruba knowing that she was in the hospital on Long Island, so Bill and I packed up all our belongings and flew right back to New York. We never checked into La Cabana that year, but instead were at Mom’s bedside constantly.

We spent every single minute together around the clock. Mom slept a lot, but knew we were with her, and she spoke to us. Bill and Elliott were at Mom’s bedside every day too, and so was Gina who had been living with Mom for a couple of months. She took turns with Diana and me sleeping in Mom’s room at the hospital too. Then came the time to let go, and that was the hardest thing that I ever had to do.

My mind was at ease knowing that the family and I did everything possible to keep Mom alive, but she was running out of time. We were only hoping when the moment came for Mom to leave us, that it would be either Diana or me who would be the last one to see her alive. My mother was in the hospital three and one half weeks. She passed away during Purim on February 19, 2002, at 7:45 a.m., just nineteen days before her ninety-first birthday. Mom’s mother Celia, (Sibba), also died during Purim when Mom was only six years old.

Diana had spent the night with our mother and called me right away when realizing she was gone. After receiving the phone call from Diana, I went to the Jericho Jewish Center to pick up Bill at the daily minyon. Bill and I drove as quickly as we could to North Shore Hospital, and Mom was in her room. I held her still warm hand. We stayed with her for a long time before she was taken away. It was time to say good-bye. She was finally at peace after suffering with chronic bronchitis for more than twenty years. I hadn’t felt so sad except when my father had died. I had a weird feeling because Diana and I no longer had any living parents, and Mom was a huge loss to the family because everybody loved her. She will always be in our minds and hearts.

Year’s later people we knew casually in Aruba didn’t realize that my parents weren’t with us anymore, and were still asking for them. They remembered Mom and Dad walking arm in arm, going to and from the beach. My parents were probably two of the oldest visitors in Aruba and were admired by everybody who knew them. When they passed away it was A Sad Time.

Selling My Parents House