The South Side of Queen: A Burlesque Theatre Family Saga

By Barry J. Little and Daniel Crack

Set in the first half of the twentieth century in Toronto and framed as a murder mystery,The South Side of Queen is the saga of two burlesque theatres and the family that owned and operated them. Both the Roxy and Casino Theatres were located on the south side of Queen Street, just steps away fr

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kinetics Design - kdbooks.ca
• Release date: Sep 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781988360799

Barry J. Little

BARRY J. LITTLE is a grandson of Avner Appleby and the son of Murray Little. He spent many hours during his formative years backstage at the Casino Theatre. Now a retired neurologist, he was inspired to write The South Side of Queen when an elderly patient arrived at his office one day and announced, "I know who murdered your grandfather." The book traces the histories of his family and the Roxy and Casino Theatres and includes his personal reminiscences about interactions with performers, patrons, politicians, and the police.

Book preview

The South Side of Queen

The

South Side of

Queen

A Burlesque Theatre Family Saga

Barry J. Little

Copyright © 2022 by Barry J. Little

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published in 2022 by

Kinetics Design, KDbooks.ca

ISBN 978-1-988360-78-2 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-988360-79-9 (ebook)

Edited by Michael Carroll

Cover and interior design, typesetting,

online publishing, and printing by Daniel Crack,

Kinetics Design, KDbooks.ca

www.linkedin.com/in/kdbooks/

Some of the names of people in this book have been changed from actual to fictitious ones.

Contact the author at

[e-mail]

To my father, Murray Little,

whom I dearly wish could have lived to see this book’s publication.

Contents

Cast of Characters

Prologue

1   Avner’s Arrival

2   News from the Old Country

3   A New Job

4   An Unexpected Turnaround

5   Return to Poland

6   A Telegram and a Letter from Home

7   No More Eaton’s

8   Marriage at Last!

9   Lights, Camera, Action!

10   A Fire

11   Two Newborns

12   The Great War

13   Accusations

14   First Movie Theatre

15   Future Son-in-Law

16   Burlesque on Queen

17   Stock Market Crash

18   Another Marriage

19   An Intolerable Situation

20   Murder

21   The Funeral

22   Who Killed Avner?

23   Further Complications

24   Big Changes

25   Uncle Harry Resurfaces

26   An Alarming Lawsuit

27   A Huge Deal

28   The Casino Theatre

29   Suffering Phil Silvers

30   World War Again

31   First Taste of Burlesque

32   A Shady Proposition

33   An Agreeable Banker and an Angry Reverend

34   Two Sisters

35   Grilled by the Police Commission

36   Enter Sam Appelbaum

37   Trip to Buffalo

38   Liquor Machinations

39   New York Bound

40   Back to Toronto

41   Business as Usual

42   School Days Again

43   Whiling Away the World War

44   Boxing Scam

45   A Little Bribery

46   Japan Surrenders

47   Changes at the Casino

48   Big-Name Acts Galore

49   Patti Page Attacked!

50   Nixon, McCarthy, and Blacklists

51   Prom Night, Ella Fitzgerald, and Mel Tormé

52   Rendezvous with Uncle Harry

53   Edwin Alonzo Boyd, Bank Robber

54   Homicide Theories

55   Kibbitzing with Borge, Bebopping with De Lyon

56   Driving Miss Kitty

57   Lunch with Gypsy Rose Lee

58   Television Versus Theatre

59   Two Sisters Visit

60   Strike!

61   Money Worries

62   The End Comes

Epilogue

Performers at the Roxy and Casino Theatres

Acknowledgements

Cast of Characters

Appelbaum/Appleby Family

Abraham (Avner or Abe) Appelbaum/Appleby

Esther Brucha Appelbaum/Appleby, wife of Avner

Louis (Lou) Appelbaum/Appleby, first son of Avner and Esther

Frieda Appelbaum, mother of Avner

Lemel Appelbaum, father of Avner

Aaron Appelbaum, brother of Avner

Moishe Appelbaum, brother of Avner

Rivka Appelbaum, wife of Moishe

Beryl Appelbaum, brother of Avner

Harry Appelbaum, brother of Avner

Chanala Appelbaum, wife of Harry

Maxie Appelbaum, son of Harry and Chanala

Morris Appelbaum, son of Harry and Chanala

Joseph Ber Appelbaum, father of Esther

Rachel Appelbaum, mother of Esther

Becky Appelbaum Persiko, sister of Esther

Sam Persiko, husband of Becky

Shandlia, sister of Esther and Becky

Malka, sister of Esther and Becky

Aaron Appelbaum, brother of Esther and Becky

Bertha, daughter of Becky and Sam Persiko

Chemia Appelbaum, brother of Esther and Becky

Beryl Appelbaum, brother of Esther and Becky

Faga, daughter of Beryl

Sam Appelbaum, cousin of Lou Appelbaum/Appleby and son of Aaron Appelbaum

Eva Appelbaum, wife of Sam Appelbaum

Letovsky/Little Family

Morris (Murray) Letovsky/Little

Shandlia (Lily or Lil) Appelbaum Letovsky/Little, daughter of Avner and Esther Appelbaum/Appleby and wife of Murray Letovsky/Little

Samuel Letovsky/Little, father of Murray Letovsky/Little

Anna Letovsky/Little, mother of Murray Letovsky/Little

David (Dave) Letovsky/Little, brother of Murray

Mary Letovsky, sister of Murray

Gert Letovsky/Little, sister of Murray

Gerald (Gerry) Little, first son of Lil and Murray

Barry Little, second son of Lil and Murray

Alan Little, third son of Lil and Murray

Casino Theatre Employees

Robert (Bob) Alda, house singer and master of ceremonies

Walter (Wally) Crosby, janitor and caretaker

Rex Doyle, house singer and master of ceremonies

Bobby Goodman, house singer and master of ceremonies

Chuck Gregory, choreographer and stage manager

Percy Grisewood, scenery painter

Mrs. Haley, costumer

Charlie Mackie, jack-of-all-trades employee

Lester Montgomery, choreographer and stage manager

Eon O’Sullivan, Percy Grisewood’s assistant

Ida Rose, choreographer replacement for Chuck Gregory

Dave Sherman, assistant manager

Carl Steiner, chief stagehand

Archie Stone, orchestra leader

Doctors, Lawyers, Police Officers, and Politicians

Willie Anderson, Toronto solicitor

Sergeant Brown, Toronto police officer bribed by Fred Piton

Jacob Cohen, Toronto magistrate, father of Arthur Cohen

M.M. Crawford, chief Toronto coroner

Dr. Dyck, an abortionist

Sergeant Evans, Toronto No. 2 Station

Detective Hutchinson, Toronto Police Headquarters

Dr. Moses Jacobson, Esther Appelbaum/Appleby’s doctor

Edward Johnson, Toronto alderman

Detective Sergeant Jones, Toronto No. 2 Station

R.J. Kelly, Fred Piton’s lawyer

Detective Keyes, Toronto No. 2 Station

Jim McNeally, Toronto Police detective

Peter Miles, Toronto Police detective

Frank Mitchell, Toronto solicitor

Moses Mulholland, Toronto Police assistant inspector

Walter Robb, judge and chairman of the Liquor Control Board of Ontario

Sidney Rosenthal, lawyer for the Allen brothers

Joe Sedgwick, lawyer for the Roxy Theatre Management Company

Rick Smith, Toronto Police detective

William Teasdale, Toronto Police detective

Edmund Tong, Toronto sergeant of detectives

Harold Waterhouse, Toronto Police sergeant of detectives

Detective Sergeant Whitelaw, Toronto Police

Sergeant Wilder, Toronto police officer bribed by Fred Piton

Detective Sergeant Winters, Toronto Police

Other People

Gersten Allen, financial manager for Allen brothers, Toronto movie and stage theatre impresarios

Jay Allen, Toronto movie and stage theatre impresario, partner of Murray Letovsky/Little and Lou Appelbaum/Appleby

Jules Allen, Toronto movie and stage theatre impresario, partner of Murray Letovsky/Little and Lou Appelbaum/Appleby

Herb Allen, Toronto movie and stage theatre impresario, partner of Murray Letovsky/Little and Lou Appelbaum/Appleby

Murray Anderson, Brant Inn owner

Ollie Baskin, shady partner of Lou Appelbaum/Appleby

Walter Blenkenship, Murray Letovsky/Little’s banker

Edwin Alonzo Boyd, Toronto bank robber

Arthur Cohen, Justice Jacob Cohen’s son, theatre partner of Murray Little and Lou Appleby

Roy Cooper, Montreal theatrical booker

Antony Ferry, Toronto playwright and arts journalist

Adolph Frankel, friend of Appelbaum/Appleby family

Sadie Ginsberg, a midwife

Rabbi Jacob Gordon, senior rabbi at the McCaul Street Synagogue

Harvey Hart, Canadian movie and television director and producer

Max Hoffman (Uncle Max), friend of the Appelbaum family

Dennis Hyland, movie theatre owner

Walter Murdoch, president of the Toronto Musicians’ Association

Reverend James Mutchmor, relentless Toronto moral crusader

Nathan Louis Nathanson, Toronto movie theatre impresario

Jane Peterson, Barry Little’s third-grade teacher

Fred Piton, owner of the Globe Theatre and partner of Avner Appelbaum/Appleby

Jimmy Rizzo, a boxer

Doris Robinson, cashier for Dennis Hyland

Milt Shuster, Chicago booker for Casino Theatre talent

Jim Sullivan, a clerk at Toronto’s City Hall

Teddy Swain, a boxer

Ray Wong, Chinese community member leasing the Roxy Theatre

Prologue

The interview with Adolph Frankel, the elderly, well-mannered gentleman in my medical clinic, had gone as usual with the typical questions about his past health. I had asked him to go into the examining room and change. A few minutes later I entered the room to find him seated on the examining table. I know who murdered your grandfather, Dr. Little, he said.

I heard myself gasp as the blood drained from my face. What did you say?

"You are an Appelbaum, aren’t you?"

I was stunned, and for a moment, unable to respond. Who was this man? How come he knows the family name and that my grandfather was murdered? And how could he know who murdered him? The murder was never solved.

My patient looked puzzled and asked again, You’re an Appelbaum, aren’t you?

Yes, I answered warily. My mother’s name was Appelbaum.

Well, I knew your grandfather very well.

I see, I said, groping for something else to say.

My thoughts raced. I had never heard Adolph Frankel mentioned by anyone in our family, but he certainly seemed like a responsible fellow to me.

It’s nearly fifty-five years since my grandfather was killed, I said. Why are you talking to me about this now?

I don’t want to take this knowledge to the grave without somebody like you knowing, and let’s hope, doing something about it. I told two of your family members years ago, but one didn’t believe me and the other didn’t want to do anything with the information.

By now, I had recovered my composure. With respect, Mr. Frankel, I cautioned, this is neither the time nor the place to talk about matters concerning my personal life and family. Perhaps another time outside the clinic? Now let’s get on with your examination.

The old man agreed, and the examination went smoothly. There were no abnormal findings, and I reassured him about his health. As I left him to get dressed, he repeated, Believe me, I know who killed your grandfather. Here’s my telephone number. Please call me. I need to talk to you.

Alone in the office, I was overcome by the multitude of images that streamed through my head: my grandparents, our old house on Grace Street, faded pictures of relatives looking rigid and antiquated in nineteenth-century costumes, family members left behind in the mad escape to the New World. I remembered my grandmother’s black beaver coat, favoured on blustery winter days, and her beautiful hand-woven white silk shawl, worn as if she were a hooded monk in prayer. I recalled the smell of mothballs that permeated her bedroom and pictured her dresser topped with a crystal bottle half filled with what I thought were precious stones but which turned out to be cheap imitations from Woolworth’s. And beside this jewellery container lay a pearl-and-ivory hairbrush, a wedding gift to a child bride in Poland. After my grandfather’s death, I often saw her sitting in that room, seemingly for days, in quiet bereavement.

Now, as I sat in my upholstered green leather chair, I imagined a young woman packing her clothing as she prepared to make her way to the New World in 1900, excited yet stoical. What, I wondered, would have gone through her mind with the hairpin turn in her life that she was about to make?

Grandmother Esther Brucha Appelbaum was the village beauty in the small town of Lagow, Poland, her soft, pale skin and tiny, delicate facial features making her appear quite fragile. She was betrothed to her first cousin, Abraham Avner Appelbaum, the marriage having been arranged by her father, Joseph Ber Appelbaum, and his brother, Lemel. The wedding would take place in Toronto, Canada, away from the growing dangers and restrictions for Jews in the Old World. And so it was that Esther, accompanied by her plucky younger sister, Becky, boarded a large steamer at Hamburg, Germany, to cross the icy black North Atlantic to America. Avner would follow about six months later.

The sisters travelled in steerage, seasick and lonely. They got off the steamer at Halifax where they were shunted through a large wooden immigration building by stern officials who had little patience with their speaking in Polish or Yiddish. When they boarded a train to Toronto via Montreal, it was possibly the first such ride they had ever had in their lives. Finally, they arrived at Union Station in Toronto, and after a long, bumpy ride, they were met by Max Hoffman, Uncle Max to the Appelbaums, who took them by carriage to their new home on Nassau Street in the southern part of the city, the centre of the Jewish ghetto.

Uncle Max wasn’t a blood relative but a friend of the two brothers in the Old Country. He had come to North America two years before to seek his fortune and promised to look after any of the children the brothers sent forth. Uncle Max could speak a little English, and unlike the newly arrived Esther, wasn’t handcuffed by any religious baggage.

Once they had settled into their small flat, the sisters chatted endlessly about Avner, speculating what he might be like. They knew he was short and somewhat enigmatic in demeanour, always well dressed, or at least as well as he could be in a small, muddy shtetl. He had a good job in that town, but he, too, was anxious to leave the perils and uncertainty of life in the Pale of Settlement for a good life elsewhere. No army for him! He was bright, though quiet, introspective, and not well educated. He had street smarts and was considered affable in a dignified kind of way. In any event, Esther had no choice: she would have to marry him.

You’re getting a good man, Esther, Becky stated decidedly one evening.

Maybe … maybe.

No, you’ll have a good life here in Canada. Avner will look after you and you’ll have lots of children.

But I don’t know him, Esther demurred.

Don’t worry, the ever-optimistic Becky replied. These marriages always work out. You’ll be okay.

Esther had a difficult time adjusting to her new and different surroundings. She was, after all, living with the goyim, strangers who practised another faith. She began to spend much of her day cooped up in her private quarters, incessantly praying, pleading to a being she feared and trusted, and with some emotional gymnastics, loved. Esther seldom stepped outside her front door, even though she knew she must make some attempts to acclimatize herself. She thought it was sinful to acquire a facility in English, and in all her days, spoke only Yiddish or Polish, with Hebrew, being holy, used solely for prayer. Becky, in contrast, would taunt her, anxious to learn English and become part of the community about her.

Gradually, Esther familiarized herself with some of the streets in the neighbourhood, the merchants, and of course, the local synagogue. But everything was on hold until Avner arrived.

1

Avner’s Arrival

The big day at last arrived when Avner was to appear, almost six months to the day since Becky and Esther had landed in this strange, foreign country called Canada. Uncle Max had dutifully checked in each day to monitor the two immigrant girls, now settled in the flat he’d rented for them on Kensington Avenue in the Toronto Jewish ghetto. There were no telephones in 1901, at least not for poor people, so news for them came by word of mouth and by mail, usually the former.

Each morning, Uncle Max ascended the rickety wooden stairs to the second floor above the grocery store and overlooking the street. Max was solicitous. His daily ritual was to ask them whether they’d had enough to eat, whether the rooms were warm enough, and had the nosy downstairs proprietor been bothering them, knowing the crippled and grotesque little man had a roving eye and might even be an out-and-out child molester. Max had heard the local market gossip.

Becky opened the windows to let in the morning air, excited that her future brother-in-law would be arriving at Toronto’s Union Station in three hours, at twelve noon to be precise. She drew the blinds, and with the window partially open could hear the tumult in the street below: peddlers announcing their wares as their horses and carts passed by, greengrocers hawking freshly arrived vegetables, squawking chickens being led to slaughter by the ritual animal killer, the yelps and laughter of children playing in the street. All of this melded with the odours of rotting vegetables, putrefying ice-packed fish, and freshly deposited horse dung. Still, Kensington and the flat above the grocery store were her new home, at least for the time being.

Esther, have you washed yet? Becky called out.

There’s plenty of time.

I picked one of your nicer dresses to meet Avner. Aren’t you excited at all?

Of course, I am, but what’s the hurry? Esther sounded only half-convincing. The doubting Thomas response was so typical. This quality of an instant state of suspicion and mistrust, Becky knew, would likely persevere for the remainder of her sister’s life! In any event, Esther wasn’t going to be hustled by her younger sister no matter what, and she obviously hadn’t finished her morning ablutions and prayer, either — a combination of history recital of the Old Testament and pleading, a prayer ritual that was repeated at least twice a day, morning and sunset. Special prayers and exaltations, too, were uttered throughout the day for a constellation of daily events: bathing, washing of hands before meals, lighting of ceremonial candles. There was probably even a prayer before defecation. In fact, it seemed to Becky that the entire waking experience was one of fearful devotion, even though the prayers weren’t nearly as formidable and time-consuming as they were for the male members in her Judaic Orthodox faith.

Esther, you’re such a slowpoke! Maybe you don’t want to meet him. Maybe you don’t want to marry him.

Well … of course, I do … she responded with her usual lack of enthusiasm.

Esther, what’s Avner planning for your life together over here? Becky asked. You hardly share anything with me. Why don’t you? Or are you hiding something from me?

I don’t keep secrets. Esther was hurt and a little put off by her sister’s brusque comments and innuendo. Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got nothing to hide, and as you very well know, I’ve only had two letters from the Old Country, and Avner didn’t say very much other than to tell me about his travel plans and when he was arriving. And you know, anyway, Becky, that he doesn’t say very much even at the very best of times. Remember his brother Joseph’s wedding a year ago? Avner could hardly even say hello and sat quietly in a corner of the schul’s banquet hall. He only danced once, and it wasn’t with me, either. Just as well. I don’t go in for that dancing and drinking stuff, as you know. That’s for the goyim. Esther was a little more discursive than usual. Fortunately, I know he’s a good man and comes from a good family. We are, after all, a part of it! He’s our first cousin. I’m sure once I get to know him better, things will work out for the best and we’ll have a good marriage. And besides, what will be will be. It’s in God’s hands, isn’t it?

Esther believed that all events were preordained by some supernatural being. In her case, it was Yehuda. Becky thought similarly, though she was more worldly-wise than her older sister.

Finally, the two girls were dressed in their Sabbath best. Esther had chosen her frosty white frilly blouse, long black skirt, and black high-button shoes. A firm-fitting bonnet, creating a picture not unlike a Police Gazette cover girl, topped her black hair. Becky was similarly bedecked with a hand-knitted wool cap framing her cherubic face with its two amber, always scanning eyes.

The doorbell rang, cutting short their chatter. It was Uncle Max, about to escort them to the train station. As the two girls descended the wooden circular stairs from their flat, they saw Uncle Max in front of the grocery store, seated on his wagon, looking elegant in his dark pinstriped suit, white shirt, black bow tie, and freshly polished black boots. He looked like the king of Poland seated on his chariot, the victorious conqueror about to lead a ceremonial procession with his two female charges. What a paradoxical scenario Max portrayed: sartorial elegance juxtaposed against a background of squalor, dignity personified on a rag peddler’s wagon.

It was March 3, 1901, and a typically overcast, chilly Toronto day. But there was warmth and sunshine in Max’s face as he proudly watched his two entrusted nieces mount his regal carriage. Never mind that his horse had just defecated on the cobbled street.

Becky turned to Esther. What’s wrong with you? You don’t seem to be happy or excited.

You know, Becky, I don’t have to jump around like a puppet or act like a clown in a circus ring. I’m happy … really, I am. Don’t worry so much.

I’m not worried, Becky retorted. The horse began to clippety-clop down the cobblestones toward Spadina Avenue, a street not without its own charm of sorts, at least for the girls. There was certainly nothing like it in their hometown of Lagow. Spadina was a cavernous boulevard with tall Norway maples, old oaks, and elms lining the roadway and peppering the sidewalks. A ribbon of trees and bushes seemed to carve the street in half, with each side of the boulevard an endless row of small factories, retail shops, butcher shops, delicatessens, and outdoor markets. Many of the store windows advertised their wares in Yiddish, making the girls feel a little more at home, even though they were far from acclimatized to their new living conditions. But at least they could continue to speak in Yiddish and pray in Hebrew, provided they limited their geographic boundaries to the several blocks within the Kensington Street ghetto.

Max, seated majestically in the driver’s seat, cajoled and exhorted his tired grey mare to get a move on. You stupid horse! he shouted. You lazy slowpoke. Get a move on!

The carriage moved a little more quickly, heightening the anticipation for all three, and finally they arrived at Front Street. Two blocks to the west was Union Station and Avner.

Max stopped the carriage at one of the horse stalls across from the train station where gigantic steam-powered horses from as far away as New York disgorged passengers. What a marvel! The girls remembered very little of what they saw on the night of their own arrival at the station, but they couldn’t help but be impressed by the enormous Victorian structure. The overly elaborate four-storey building, its facade of Corinthian pillars seemingly supporting its enormity, was festooned with plaster figures and flowers, making it an impressive and fitting testimonial to the grandiose British Empire. They admired the marbled floor, so highly polished, and the huge, cavernous space where footsteps and voices reverberated with curious ghost-like whispering echoes, making conversation, even at close range, sound otherworldly.

Max, what’s the number of the platform where we’re to meet Avner? asked Becky.

It’s gate 4 and the arrival time is twelve noon. I hope you won’t expect too much, girls. I don’t think he’s travelling in first class, though knowing Avner, he’d like to. It’s been an overnight ride for him, anyway.

The three sat expectantly on a bench across from gate 4, Esther’s heart pounding, perhaps in synchrony with her sister’s.

Will I even recognize him? Esther asked herself, losing her inner composure for the moment at least.

There he is! shouted Becky, appearing more excited than the bride-to-be.

Yes, I see him, said Esther as Max nodded approvingly.

There was no mistaking Avner, even in this crowd of tired, babbling passengers. One could hardly say that Avner cut an imposing figure; if anything, it was quite the opposite. Still, there was a striking uniqueness about his physical presence. He stood no more than five foot four, showing signs of early balding even at the age of twenty-one. Thick rimless glasses punctuated a moon face, while a slight squint — the result of a turned-in left eye — and slightly swarthy skin betrayed his ancestral Semitic heritage, giving him a rather mysterious, almost exotic, appearance. His dark blue suit, now wrinkled from travel, with its matching vest, tie, and stick pin, reflected a person of sartorial discernment — a feature that had distinguished him throughout his life from his other brothers. He quickly spotted Max, Becky, and his bride-to-be amid the maelstrom of humanity at the station, and clutching his two leather suitcases, containing all his worldly possessions, walked smartly toward them. Dropping his bags on the floor, he embraced Uncle Max in a bear hug.

Welcome to Canada! Max exclaimed.

Oi … I’m finally here. Avner’s voice was soft, wispy. It was such a long journey from Lagow to Hamburg. And the boat ride, Max, you wouldn’t believe! There was hardly room to breathe on that ship, and on the first day I got really seasick. I was so embarrassed! But it seemed as though every second person had the same trouble. We were so jammed together, Max, that I felt like a herring in a barrel, and I was so happy when the ship docked at Montreal. Yes, yes, he added quickly, I knew there would be a long train trip to Toronto. Max, you know I don’t smoke, but so many of the men on the train did, and it was so uncomfortable! So if I look like a mess, I am.

As he stopped, breathless from his explanation, Esther slowly moved forward to greet her future husband, reluctantly uttering that she was so glad he had arrived. It was said in such a half-hearted way that even romantic Becky could envision a catastrophic marriage. Becky attempted to welcome him warmly.

Let me help you with your bags, Max said, suddenly in a hurry to get going.

I’m all right, Avner answered, displaying his usual independence.

The quartet made its way through the masses of people and across Front Street to the carriage where the tired old horse waited, obviously not looking forward to yet another journey. The two suitcases were placed on the carriage, and the four passengers somehow squeezed in, the two men in front, the women in back — the typical male/female seating arrangement.

Gee-up! shouted Max, and the mare did her best to lug the migrants home to the ghetto. A blanket had been placed over the two girls for warmth, but the day was still too damp and miserable for what should have been a joyous occasion.

Avner, I got rooms for you on Nassau Street, Uncle Max said. It’s not much — just a small space on the third floor where the Frankels live. You don’t know them, but they’re very nice people and won’t charge you very much rent. You need to get settled. You’ll want to make arrangements for the wedding, and of course, spend some time with Esther. Max displayed a peculiar order of priorities.

Esther could hear only snatches of the conversation, what with the racket on the street and the two men being up front, but Becky listened more intently and muttered to her sister, You’re going to be living on Nassau Street, just around the corner from us. You’ll also have lots of time now to get to know Avner.

Becky wondered again why husband-to-be had so readily agreed to this union, arranged by his father and uncle when he scarcely knew his cousin at all. She presumed that Avner must have been truly smitten by her sister, the village beauty — Esther, the pale-complexioned maid with the sculptured face and sharp, steely-blue eyes. It must have been love at first sight for him. There could be little else to explain it.

From Spadina, the horse made a westerly turn onto Nassau Street, stopping in front of the Frankel home — a relatively new house with a small garden and big chestnut tree masking the ordinariness of Avner’s new dwelling.

You’ll like the Frankels, Avner, offered Max. Mr. Frankel has a little bakery and confectionery store on Kensington Avenue. He works hard. His wife sometimes works with him. They have a couple of daughters living with them, and their young son, Adolph, should be coming over within the year, as soon as he can get the papers and money together. He’s been talking of trying to avoid conscription into the Polish army by mutilating himself, and the family there has done everything to prevent him from doing this desperate act. The boy’s really scared about serving on the Russian front. You know, the border seems to change from day to day — Tsar Nicholas is quite crazy, need I tell you. It seemed Uncle Max would talk forever.

Anyway, let’s meet the Frankels and then we’ll leave you to settle in. I’ll make arrangements for an evening meal over at my house on Baldwin Street tomorrow, and we can talk then about finding you a job. I hear they’re looking for cutters, tailors, and pressers at Eaton’s — a big goyishe company that sells everything you can think of. Funny, though, they don’t sell tobacco. The old man — Timothy Eaton — is a very strict Methodist and has a lot of influence in this city. Anyway, you have a great deal of time to settle in and learn for yourself.

2

News from the Old Country

It rained the day after Avner arrived, making Kensington, Baldwin, and Nassau Streets even smellier and greyer, the rain and mist giving the ghetto a surrealistic ambience.

I’ll be happy to go with you, Esther, Becky enthused.

No, no, it’s not for you to go with me this time. Becky appeared saddened by her older sister’s response, but still Esther added, Don’t worry. I’ll manage on my own. After all, I’m the one who’s getting married. In her heart of hearts, Esther knew that her bubbly little sister was the one who had sufficient courage to speak up and be forthright. This meeting with Avner wasn’t going to be easy for her.

Esther put on her new clothing, kissed her sister goodbye, and reluctantly made her way to Nassau Street and the Frankel residence. With each step, a new uncertainty entered her mind. When finally she reached her destination, after checking the number three times, Esther opened the squeaky iron gate and walked up the path and onto the verandah. With tremulous reluctance and sweaty palms, she pressed the doorbell.

Within moments, the door opened and Mrs. Frankel, wearing a bright yellow speckled apron, greeted her warmly. Oh, it’s Avner’s new bride! Welcome. He’s been expecting you.

Stunned by the unexpected appellation, Esther forced a smile. Yes, he asked me to come over today. The forthcoming marriage almost an afterthought, she added apologetically, He’s going to give me news of the family from the Old Country.

Esther, don’t stand on the verandah, Mrs. Frankel said. Come on in. Avner’s waiting for you upstairs.

Oh, yes, answered Esther. She kissed the mezuzah on the doorway arch, removed her galoshes and heavy coat, which Mrs. Frankel neatly placed aside in the dark hallway, and proceeded up the stairs to join her future husband.

What will I say to him? she wondered. This is so embarrassing, even humiliating. I have nothing to say to him. Maybe he’ll take the initiative. But he’s so shy. I hope we don’t sit and stare at each other. If he doesn’t talk, I won’t know where to begin.

These thoughts and concerns swirling in her mind, Esther began losing her composure. Just as she reached the top of the stairs, the door opened and there stood Avner, a slight Cheshire cat smile on his face.

Oh, please come in, he said in a quiet, mannerly way.

Esther mentally sighed in relief, sensing he would lead the conversation.

Let me pour you a cup of tea and we can sit and talk and I can tell you about the family back in Poland. I’m sure you’d like to know the latest news of them, and perhaps some of the local gossip. Come into the kitchen, sit, and make yourself comfortable and we’ll have a glass of tea.

The kettle boiled, tea was poured, and they sat at the table in the tiny cupboard-sized room that passed for a kitchen.

Esther, you’ve never looked better! In fact, I think you might have put on a little weight since I last saw you. Seems like years ago. Avner seemed to be fumbling with his opening pleasantries. Mostly, I’ve got good news from the Old Country, but I have to tell you that your father, Joseph, and your mother, Rachel, are very mixed about your coming to this Gentile country. They asked me to make sure you remain a good Jew and pray every day.

There will be no question about that, thought Esther, but she didn’t interrupt.

Your mother and father are both well, and their clothing business is doing fine, though the break-ins and stealing, especially by drunken soldiers, makes business very difficult. Your sisters and brothers there are, thank God, well, too, but they’re all talking about leaving Poland and coming to Canada, which is causing a little trouble. Aaron and Chemia are so fearful of conscription that they’ve already booked their passages.

Esther, now breathing a little easier, interjected, Thank you for this news. I hardly ever get a letter from my sisters and none at all from Aaron. I just know he’s always too busy to write. And as for Chemia, I don’t think he can read or write that well — maybe he can a little — but he never writes to me. She hesitated for a moment, then changed the subject. You know it’s not easy here for me. I know I have to learn English, but I really don’t want to because I think somehow I’m betraying my mother and father and my God-given traditions. Becky seems to have much less trouble in this matter. She’s so smart and worldly-wise, and she’s only eighteen. I’m so happy she came to Canada with me.

The words had come tumbling out. Esther paused to collect her thoughts, ruminating briefly, thinking that maybe Becky could help her with some personal and more intimate problems, concerns that could never be discussed with her mother, and certainly not with father.

Avner, ever so perceptive and obviously anticipating her apprehension, gently said, There are so many problems in Lagow, Esther, you can’t imagine. You can’t open a business without getting a special licence, which takes months and months, and you can so easily be rejected by some arrogant civil servant, often on a whim. Stealing is everywhere a problem, and I never want to see a soldier — drunk or otherwise — again!

Esther and Avner sat across from each other in the kitchen, sipping tea, exchanging whatever news they could muster, each carefully avoiding the subject of their impending marriage. Avner had also resisted getting onto the subject of his brothers — Josef, Beryl, Harry, Lazar, and Moishe.

So how are your brothers? asked Esther finally.

"Harry’s a big mystery to me. I don’t know him really. I don’t think anyone does. He seems to go his own way, doing what he wants when he wants to. I think he’s spoiled by Mother and Father. Moishe and Lazar are growing up nicely. All three of them want to come to Canada, but I think Josef and Beryl are really stuck on Poland even with all its problems. Josef thinks he would lose his Yiddishkite if he came to North America. He and his wife are very religious and fearful of Gentiles. And as for Beryl, he’s doing extremely well in business in Warsaw and feels he has too much to lose by leaving."

When will he ever get around to talking about our impending marriage? Esther wondered. She worried that Avner, slightly fidgety across the table, might read her mind. Is he going to back out of the arrangement? If he does, what will I do? And do I really want to go through all this business with this man, anyway? Questions without answers continued cascading through her mind. Finally, in a rare moment of uncharacteristic utterance, Esther blurted, Avner, what about our marriage?

3

A New Job

So how did you get along with Avner? asked Becky. She had sat shivering on the verandah, waiting for her sister’s return. Was he nice? Becky could hardly contain herself. When are you going to see him again? She watched as Esther opened the