A Black Summer

Momma had three boys and two girls between 1918 and 1928. I was the youngest. Knowing Momma, I believe had there not been a depression between 1929 and the 1930s, she would have had more children. It did not occur because we had very little money and Poppa was fortunate if he had at least a day’s work as an operator in a shop that made ladies’ dresses. My siblings and I had a daily allowance of one penny, given to us before we left for school. We clutched that penny because after the luncheon break and on our way back to school, we stopped at Dreyfuss’ candy store and spent about 15 minutes examining the counter on which there were many trays filed with candies so as to select one piece of candy for our penny. It became very clear to me at an early age, if I ever wanted more than a penny in my pocket, I would never ask Momma or Poppa for it. To get it I realized I would need a part time job after school. The first I had was delivering chickens to the customers of Hoffman the butcher. That followed with a variety of other jobs after elementary school, high school, college and law school and did not stop until I retired at the age of 71.

 

Some of the jobs I did not mind, some I liked and some I disliked. One of the latter is what I

wish to set down on paper. My mother’s first cousin Sam Klein with whom we shared a small two family house on Pulaski Street in Middle Village, Queens, now called 68th Avenue was a waiter in an upscale restaurant called The Lobster located on 46th Street In Manhattan. It was well known at the time for its $2.95 dinner called The Shore, that consisted of clam chowder, shrimp cocktail, a pound and a half lobster accompanied by fresh corn and a vegetable and finished with coffee or tea and a large slice of Nesserole pie. I must have been 16 or 17 at the time when Sam got me a summer job as a bus boy at the restaurant. The restaurant closed after lunch to be opened again for the dinner trade starting at 5 P.M. I was required to be at the restaurant at 3 P. M. and worked until 12 midnight. When I arrived there at 3 P.M., I helped set up the tables and prepare various condiments. About 4:30 P.M., the staff was given their dinner

food, never of course lobster or shrimp. When I left after midnight, I had to take two trains and a trolley to get home which would be close to 2 A.M. I went to sleep and did not wake up until about 10:30 A.M., I made my own breakfast and got on the trains about 2 P.M. to be at the restaurant at 3 P.M. I worked 6 days a week and had off on Thursday.

 

I did not even spend Thursday, my one day off, with friends because Thursday was the day

Momma cleaned the house in preparation for the Sabbath. I knew Momma worked all day in a shop, hand sewing men’s ties, came home after a day’s work , made dinner and then proceeded to clean the house. So Thursday was not a time for friends for me, because I felt I owed Momma a little rest. After I finished dusting the three rooms, out came a pail with warm water, a terrible hand brush with an awful block of brown soap, down on my knees, scrubbing the linoleum floors in hallways that ran from the front door into our kitchen. When done, it was the custom, said to protect the floors until the weekend, to cover all the floors with newspaper. In spite of the fact, by Sunday the papers were in shreds. In passing I do want to include in this story the fact next door to the The Lobster was the Lyceum Theatre. The summer I worked at the restaurant, every evening at 9:15 P. M., there was loud laughter that flowed into the restaurant through the wall that joined it to the Lyceum Theatre. I did find out it was Judy Holliday in the play Born Yesterday. Another aspect I remember from that summer, was that down the street from The Lobster was a kosher restaurant called Polikoff’s, which also had a $2.95 dinner that included noodle soup, gefilte fish, roast chicken, with vegetables and dessert. At the end of that summer with a few dollars in my pocket, I decided to take Momma to Polikoff’s for dinner. She refused saying she had never eaten in a restaurant, but I insisted and practically had to drag her into the city. She did enjoy the meal, but when I gave the waiter a tip of several dollars, I think if she had food in her mouth she would have gagged. When all is said and done, notwithstanding negative aspects, the Black Summer did result in my having more than a penny in my pocket; making those summer Thursdays easier for Momma and having her join me in a restaurant for dinner. In retrospect keeping all that in mind, perhaps a better title would be:

A GRAY SUMMER.

Ben Haber

April 2020