I do know something about this couple, my aunt and uncle; they loved to party. It was almost like a way of life: let's party and have fun. They went to nightclubs and enjoyed those times together. My uncle was an excellent athlete, and I remember him particularly playing softball with friends. This interest continued up in the "coochaleins" we went to. That's as close as I can get to the Yiddish word for "bungalow colony" which was very prevalent all over the Catskill Mountains where we'd often go for our summers. Just make sure when saying it, you make the "ch" guttural. You want to speak Yiddish? Then get guttural.

Traveling to the Catskills was no easy matter; roads weren't what they are today and neither were cars. We would always make that famous stop at the Red Apple Rest for snacks and toilet needs. And then, further along the trip we had to make it up to the top of Wurtsboro Hill (a high elevation on route 17). To solve this dilemma, I'd see many passengers in cars getting out to push the car up the incline. Coming home was easier and again, the Red Apple Rest stop (when you have to go, you have to go).

Why go to the Catskills? Remember, there were no air conditioners, and the only respite (escape) anyone had from the summer's heat and humidity was to get away (to Coney Island, to Brighton Beach, to Riis Park, to Jones Beach), or to "the mountains" ... meaning the hilly lands in Sullivan County, NY.

The Catskills resorts that are best remembered today are those like Grossingers and the Concord (both also gone) that were retreats for Jewish families fleeing the heat of the city. By the 1940’s, more than 300 hotels were in operation in Sullivan County (that’s according to area historian, John Conway).

Where we went was in Kiamisha Lake where I went fishing for the first time catching a sunfish. A private pool across from the lake is where I learned to swim. The Concord Hotel was at the end of this road, but way to expensive for my family. The bungalow colony we lived in was a place where many families would share one kitchen and have their own bedroom off that kitchen; close living, but it never seemed to bother anyone.

Uncle Jack played softball there with other guests and I remember his daughter, Sandra, once ran past a batter to get to her father out in the field, just as the batter was about to swing, and she got the bat full force in her face. How she survived this with no lasting effects is a miracle in itself. Of course it was frightening then and thank G-d she's all right now, having raised a family and currently living in Florida. Another experience up there was blue berry picking. We'd all walk into the woods in back of that softball field with pots and whatever, and pick the sweetest blueberries imaginable.

Last experience I remember there is once straying off that path and finding myself all alone in the woods; I was lost. For a six or eight year old that was anything but fun. I know I was walking in circles in those woods and it must have been for hours. What bothers me now is that I don't remember hearing any voices in those woods calling out to me. Anyway, I finally found a familiar path that took me back to that softball field where I saw everyone waiting (I think happy to see me; I hope they were). So much for bungalow colonies.

This area of the Catskills was what was known as the Borscht Belt (or borscht circuit); the origin of the name was the popularity of borscht in the cuisine of the hotels there. Borscht is beets soup often served with a few scoops of sour cream in it. Just what you need today to lower your cholesterol, right? No one ever heard the word "cholesterol" then, and if you told them, they'd yet "borscht" with a new meaning. Some of our great entertainers got their start there. Jerry Lewis would be an example working in Brown's Hotel as a "tummeler" (one who makes merry).

Some of the great hotels that come to mind are (in alphabetical order and predominantly Jewish): Browns, Concord, Flagler, Grossingers, Nevele (eleven spelled backwards), Paramount, Pines, Raleigh, South Wind, and Swan Lake. The key words in these resorts were food, fancy, food, service, food, tips, food, games, food, swimming, food, shows, and food. The bungalow colony crowd (pardon me but the spenders were in the hotels), would when possible sneak into the hotels evening time, especially on Saturday nights, to see the lavish shows with their favorite comedians. That was life in the Catskills.

One thing about the food I remember is that my hunger level was supposed to be determined but the misfortune of children in other countries. How often I would hear, "Can't finish your brisket? Better eat it all; there are children starving in China" ... as though my finishing all the brisket would stave off starvation in China. I'd offer to send the remainder of my brisket to the starving Chinese children. My mother responded that that's not funny. I agreed with her because I was serious.

It wasn't hard to envision sending tons of ungrateful Jewish children's leftover brisket to Shanghai. Perhaps I could even include a note: "Dear Chun Lee, please enjoy my leftover brisket, courtesy of my mother, who assures me that you will appreciate it far more than some spoiled rotten Jewish children who have no idea how good they have it and would thank their lucky stars they're living in America if they spent even one day in some Third World country where you couldn't even find a box of matzoh if your life depended on it. You might want to heat it up a little first. And by the way, next month you can look forward to some nice chopped liver, made from liver and onions." Today I'd be criticized severely for sending cholesterol to China.

Back to grandma's house; she had a basement in that house was more than what it sounds like: It had a small artificial fireplace whose colors I'll always remember. Someone bought me a Lionel electric train; I think I was two years old (those huge cars which today would be worth a fortune), and that's where I played with them. It went in one oval, had an electric transformer to control speed (connected to the wall; the real stuff) and had one tunnel, and it was very exciting. The kitchen was always busy with Jewish cooking and the meals were delicious.

Grandma had a large family: sisters and brothers giving me lots of cousins. Whatever social skills I have I must have picked up from that part of the family. They were into all the enterprises that people might be engaged in: collecting for various charities (aunt Becky did that), having a family of very good looking children (aunt Paulie and her husband, Abe (a milkman) did that), one brother making a living in the jewelry business and for some reason he became the pariah of the family, and one sister (aunt Lillie, matriarch of the Stern family) surviving the hardships of living on South 2nd Street in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn then (that family grew in number). Those Williamsburg walkups, like all in Brooklyn, all had small lobbies with black and white hexagon floor tiles and marble treads on the stairs. The handrails were held up by what looked like wrought iron work in a complicated pattern; even the very poor had some semblance of elegance.

On to my paternal side: there's visiting my 95 year old paternal grandpa who lived in Coney Island, and taking some shuttle trolley car from the train station to his house. There were few bus lines in Brooklyn then; trolley tracks were seen all over, and the picture of the trolley conductor often getting off to realign the rod from the trolley connecting to the overhead electric cables is still with me. Then I remember visiting his widow (my grandmother) after he died; she then lived in some tenement on the Lower East Side of Manhattan (washtub doubling as a bathtub in the kitchen and common toilet in the hall), and the colorful produce stands in the streets.

An interesting note about 97 year old grandpa: along with his good longevity, he must have been a man of less than the highest morals. He was first married to a woman in Hungary and with her had 12 children. He was a lady's tailor (popular then because store-bought clothing might not have been the way wealthier women bought clothing, even poor women had to make their own clothing). When the children got old enough to be on their own (that was probably age 12 at that time), he left her for a much younger woman. How they met I can't say. One thing I know, it wasn't online. The first wife eventually moved to Texas with her children where there presently members of that family; I've recently been in touch (thanks to the internet) with one of his great grandsons.

He had one son, my uncle Jerome, in Europe, and then moved with this new family to New York City. The only language he knew, like most if not all from Eastern Europe and Russia, was Yiddish. I denigrate him because my conviction is that a man should never leave a woman after she gives him her best years. I don't know why but the reverse of that doesn't bother me as much. He was 60 years old then and married a woman 30 years younger; a midwife, common in those days. I don't mean she was common, but that midwives were common in those days; doesn't help much; midwives were commonly used those days (that's better); anyway, the ol' bugger certainly had some life.

It's interesting that his name was David, but on his tombstone the name "Alter" (meaning "old") appears. Reason for that? According to Jewish tradition, when at death's door, many would change their names (even change locations) to fool the Angel of Death, "moloch haMovis" so as to confuse him. Imagine trying to bamboozle an angel; as though he couldn't find you, but that's the way some thought.

His first wife's name was Rachel who was born 1850 and died 1930. I got this from one of his descendents from that first marriage, Hank, who found me through the internet and during a subsequent series of emails, he explains that they knew his first and middle name as Beryl Lieb. Maybe the real reason he kept changing his name was not to escape the angel of death, but rather to escape his first wife.

He went on to have five additional children, four sons and one daughter. The daughter, Caroline, died when she was eleven from the severe epidemic of influenza of 1918 and 1919; this was one of the worst human catastrophes on record. More than 20 million people died around the world and here in New York City, one-third of the population was wiped out.

Uncle Jerome installed venetian blinds; he was handy and used his skills to earn a living. He married twice, second time to a distant cousin of our late Senator Javitz here in this state. Second uncle was Alex, also married twice and all I remember about him was that he was a sailor and very much interested in porn. He took pictures all over the world and when I "became of age" he gave me a glimpse of his collection. When he died, that collections just disappeared.

Third son was my father who spent many of his early years in a "home for boys" with one of his brothers. These homes were for children whose parents for one reason or another, couldn't take care of them. Like all experiences in life, the same experience will build one person up, and break another person down. I think my father lost a lot of opportunity there for social growing and growing in self-esteem.