Seeing My Young Reflection

I am reading Floating in My Mother's Palm by Ursula Hegi and came across this passage which seems very appropriate in light of the upcoming reunion. She is writing about a group of old ladies in Germany, but the sentiment applies to any friends who were young together.

"Though they had wrinkles and gray hair, these women didn't think of themselves as old; it was an unspoken fact that each of them carried within, a fact that didn't need to be confirmed because there was always someone who could remember them as girls and recall a half-forgotten detail, someone who--beneath the fine web of lines--still saw the child's face.

They did this for each other, the old women, pulling out the albums of class picnics, of trips to Kaiserswerth and Schloss Burg, pointing to their younger images in fading photographs and whispering to each other: "Remember?" And they continued to do so until they were in their eighties or nineties because, as long as there was someone who had known them as girls, someone who could recollect the quick movements of their limbs, the graceful turn of their smooth necks--they could gaze into their mirrors and see their young reflections."

I spent some time today at Kinkos scanning photos from old albums and I look forward to sharing these electronic images of our own class picnics and parties with my childhood friends. Perhaps we, too, will see each other as perpetually youthful.


This photo was from a slumber party at my house in July 62. That's me on the bottom left, then Emily, Nancy, Wilma, Phyllis, Mary Lynn, and Pama--in our nightgowns.


I leave for Tennessee first thing tomorrow morning and will be taking my laptop so I can continue to BLOG while I am there.

The House on Bishop Street

In less than a week I will be in Union City and I’ve got a list of the special places I want to see.

First, of course, is my childhood home. I have a photo of it from 1960 and wonder if it has changed much. A friend wanted to know if I would knock on the door and ask to look inside—but I doubt I will.

I have a very clear memory of the interior of that house, which my mother tells me was designed by my father. One of its special features was in my bedroom closet--a secret hiding place. It was a hole in the wall about a foot or two wide at shoulder hight, no doubt a construction error. The downside of this hiding place was that once something went in, it could not be retrieved because it simply fell to the bottom of the space between the walls. Being astute, I realized it was perfect for the most super confidential stuff.

So if you live at 621 Bishop Street you are sitting on treasure trove of late 1950’s teen goodies. But you’ll have to knock down the closet wall to recover them.

Here is how dumb I was--more than once I held and then dropped lit matches into the hole trying to see down to the bottom of it. How crazy was that? Yikes!

I had easy access to matches even as a 10 year old because I possessed an exotic matchbook collection started by my parents from their many travels. It is a wonder I didn’t set the house on fire.

Which reminds me of one of the most traumatic events of my sheltered childhood . . .

My parents were away for a week and my maternal grandparents came from New Jersey to stay with my brother and me. In the middle of the night I awoke to the sight of flashing red lights through my curtains, reflected in the mirror. Standing on my bed to look out the window I could see nothing except the lights—not where they were coming from. Heart pounding and afraid to wake anyone, I tiptoed through the house to get a better look. There I watched in shock and awe to see the house next door burning. The lights were from the fire engines which I now clearly saw. I don’t know why no one else woke up, but I was the only one in our house who witnessed it. I stared out the window for a long time and finally went back to sleep convinced I must have dreamed the whole thing.

But the next morning I saw proof that it had really happened. To my great relief I learned that the elderly neighbors survived. They had escaped by climbing out the bathroom window. This was pretty miraculous considering that window was relatively small and high off the ground, and they were no spring chickens (or so it seemed at the time).

Thankfully, that was the closest I have come to a house fire.

Another Union City Coincidence

Yesterday I went to lunch with a co-worker, Gail Thompson and she asked about my upcoming travel plans. My job involves frequent travel and I told her that as soon as I returned from Salt Lake City I was heading for a HS reunion in Tennessee.

I got the standard response, “You lived in Tennessee!?!” (See previous Blog on this subject.)

When she asked what town I lived in I assured her she couldn’t possibly have heard of Union City. But to our mutual amazement, she not only knew of it, but has been there many times! Turns out her first college roommate at Murray State in KY was Candy Roberts, from Union City and Gail spent many holidays there with Candy’s family.

Although Gail has lost contact with Candy, this twist of fate has prompted her to try to reconnect. She believes Candy is still in Union City, married (so her last name is different) and working as a nurse. She would have graduated from UCHS around 1973. I wonder if any of my Union City friends know Candy. Maybe I’ll even encounter her when I go there next week. Certainly stranger things have happened.

The Cruel Truth about the Easter Chicks

I got an email today from Laura Filler, Stuart's daughter, asking me to take a picture of the exterior of the former Dotty Shop, her grandmother's store. This got me thinking about her grandmother Shen (Ron's mother) and a memory came back to me from my first year in Union City. I was 7.

My cousin Lee is a year older and the two of us were inseparable. We were adventurous children who were allowed the freedom to explore our neighborhood unsupervised.

One day we stumbled upon a poultry business housed in a dilapidated wooden building. We hid behind some bushes and watched in horror as a creepy-looking man, sitting on a crate in the doorway, grabbed chickens, one at a time, and cut off their heads. Most of them just died, but one chicken "ran around like a chicken with its head cut off"--literally! That is a vision I will never forget and would not have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.



We ran home, terrified. But pretty soon we got up the nerve to go back and one weekend when the building was closed, we found a way to sneak inside. To our utter amazement we discovered dozens of pink, blue and green baby chicks. Being Jewish, we were not familiar with Easter Baskets and did not know about pastel-dyed chicks. Naturally, our younger siblings didn't believe a word of our story so we brought them back with us later that day.

We were so charmed by the little chicks that we decided to take several home as pets and stuffed them in our pockets. I can't imagine what lie we told our parents when we showed up with the chickens--but they could not have fathomed that their darling children were thieves.

Needless to say, we were not allowed to keep the chicks. After all, our NY parents had no idea what or how to feed a chicken. Plus chicken poop in the house was the last straw. Our mothers told us Mrs Filler kept chickens in her yard and that our chicks would be much happier there. Although disappointed, I believed it.

Today, half a century later, I found out the cruel truth from Laura:

"upon my inquiry, Ronnie said Shen stepped on two of the chicks and the rest the maid killed and they ate them for dinner. I think your parents were wrong about the Filler family."

You Lived in Tennessee?

Most people are surprised to learn that I grew up in Tennessee--especially since I don't have a Southern accent. But I did have one when I lived there, even though my parents were from New York and New Jersey.

So how did I happen to be living in Tennessee?

My grandfather, Abe and his 3 sons, Richard, Leonard, and Irving, owned a prosperous men's outer-wear business in New York. After a series of problems with the union in Haverstraw, NY (they set fire to the garment manufacturing facility) on the one hand and the promise of lucrative financial incentives from the State of KY on the other hand, they decided to move the factory to the tiny rural hamlet just over the TN state line.

Leonard and Irving would manage the factory while Richard and Abe remained in NY to handle sales and other front office issues. So in 1955 the 2 Berlin brothers, with wives and young children in tow, moved to the town closest to the factory with the best schools. That turned out to be Union City, TN, population 9,000. While it was a major culture shock for the adults, it was totally idyllic for the kids. I have great memories of playing in fields and ditches, picking cotton for fun, fishing at Reelfoot Lake, bicycling all over town unsupervised, marching in parades, camping with the girl scouts, attending little league baseball games, and generally having a blissful and unfettered childhood.

The Clinton Garment Manufacturing Company operated from 1955 to 1961. Starting in 1959 a series of tragedies struck which changed many lives. My grandparents had leased a house around the corner from us and were planning a permanent move to Union City. But on the very day they were to leave NY, and with their furniture already on its way, Pop Abe (as we called him) visited his doctor for one last check-up. While in the doctor's office he had a heart attack and died. I'm not sure exactly what effect, if any, this had on the business because I was much too young to be knowledgeable about those things, but sometime thereafter the business began to fail. In 1960, my father became ill with a rare form of cancer, but it was not diagnosed correctly for many months. In those days no treatment was available and he died in 1961 at the age of 38--shortly after the Clinton Garment Manufacturing Company closed.

All this time I have selfishly thought only of the heartbreaking consequences for myself and my family, but as I reflect on the situation now I realize how devastating the factory failure was for the employees in that tiny town who were left jobless. I don't know if the factory in Clinton is still standing, but I intend to drive there to see for myself. I know my cousins and I have fond memories of the annual factory Christmas parties for the workers and their families. Our Uncle Richard, who was a semi-professional magician, provided the entertainment until Santa Claus arrived with presents for everyone in a big sack. Although my family is Jewish, I totally believed Santa Claus was real because I saw him every year. (Now I realize Santa was probably my father. . .duh!)

The Irving Berlins moved to Atlanta and with no family left in Union City, my mother decided we too should move. We considered returning to New Jersey, or even going to Switzerland--however in the end we decided on Miami Beach because my mother's parents were there. I have not been back to Union City since 1962.

I just got a notice that the High School in Miami where I graduated is also having a reunion this year. But I won't be going. It can't possibly measure up to the nostalgia filled one I'll be attending in Tennessee shortly.

The Happy Coincidence

Several months ago Steve R was making small talk with some friendly strangers at a restaurant while waiting for his dinner companions to arrive. One of them introduced himself and Steve, the king of trivia and Undefeated Jeopardy Champion, said, “my ex-wife had a childhood friend in Tennessee with the same last name.” David F exclaimed—“that’s my Uncle Ronnie!”

Ronnie, a close childhood friend from Union City now lives in NY. This photo shows me and my cousins Patty and Lee, my brother Andrew, Ronnie (back row on the right) and his brother Stuart at summer camp in Michigan (Lake of the Woods for girls and Greenwood for boys) in the summer of 1956.

Steve gave David my email address to forward to Ron. Ron contacted me in April and told me he was on the planning committee for the UCHS reunion and sent me all the information including the list of the graduates planning to attend.

I immediately pulled out the one and only HS Yearbook I got before moving (in those days 9th grade was held in the town’s only HS). I poured through it for the first time in ages and was surprised at how well I recalled the names and faces of classmates I had not seen in 44 years.

But would anyone remember me--especially since I didn’t graduate with them? I expressed my concern to Ron and he forwarded my message to Phoeba who sent my email out to everyone in the class. Pretty soon I started getting messages from old friends who encouraged me to attend.

So with a great sense of excitement mixed with a little apprehension I have made reservations to fly to Memphis and drive to UC on Sept 1st.

In the beginning

Forty-four years ago my family moved from a small rural town in Tennessee to Miami FL and changed the course of my life forever.

Before we moved I was in the 9th grade with lots of friends and even a series of puppy love boyfriends. I had a southern accent, wore white socks and a cute hair accessory to match every outfit. I was happy, cheerful and innocent.

After we moved, in 1962--long before cell phones and email made it easy to maintain long distance friendships--I adjusted to my new environment and quickly lost touch with my old classmates.

In Miami, I instantly ditched the white socks and bows after being laughed at the first day in my new school. And within a few months I lost the southern accent and embraced the slang and mannerisms of my sophisticated new friends.

Despite my transformation and the absence of communication, my TN friends populated my dreams for decades. But, as higher education, career, marriage, and children became the priorities in my life, TN became a distant but sweet memory.

HOWEVER—a few months ago through a happy set of coincidences I re-connected with the UCHS class of 1966. Over Labor Day Weekend I will be attending the 40 year high school reunion—even though I didn’t graduate with them—and have created this BLOG to share my experiences, photos and memories with family and friends.

I welcome your comments, questions, and suggestions as I prepare to return to my childhood home and see people I have not seen in 44 years.