French Friends

“Je vous souhaite un joyeux Noël et une bonne année,” I shyly said to the two couples seated in the restaurant. Rather presumptuous of me wishing them a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year since I did not know these people and a rather strange thing to say to them since it was early August. It was in the ’70s and Lil and Hal were touring France with Ben and me. We were waiting for the hostess to lead us to our table, when I noticed the two couples smiling at us. They looked about our age and were speaking in French as French people are apt to do so I decided to try out my limited French vocabulary. I approached  them with a smile and said, “Je vous souhaite un joyeux Noël et une bonne année.” This certainly thawed any ice that would be present in August. They laughed and insisted we join them at their table. This was the beginning of a delicious meal and a delicious friendship.

After the sumptuous supper they escorted us to one of their apartments. They woke their children to meet “the Americans.” We sat in a circle on the floor chatting in a mixture of French, English and sign language. It was still the era when we all smoked, so it wasn’t totally peculiar when they passed around a huge bowl of varied brands of cigarettes. 

The next day the women picked us up and took us to their husbands’  place of employment. One was a dentist and the other an attorney. They were originally from Paris, but job opportunities were very promising in this small city because of the opening of an automobile plant. That night they drove us at great speed through a large dense forest to a huge mansion. I have no memory who these wealthy famous people were but they had a sign-in book with names and signatures of many international  dignitaries. 

Our touring plans were very tight, with arranged hotel reservations, so early the next morning we were packing our car to leave when to our surprise and pleasure they all arrived with gifts for us. They presented each couple with a box of French chocolates, a bottle of French wine and a beautiful book about their region of Burgundy.

We knew we had made a short-lived friendship but this fleeting brief encounter has remained a lasting memory for me  and perhaps for them too.

Ethyl Haber (October 2020)

Sam

     I believe by any stretch of the imagination, an 80-year friendship is an enduring period of time. I was born on January 17,1928 and grew up in Middle Village, Queens, and I was the youngest of five children. The local public school was P. S. 87 and in those years without a junior high, it was an eighth-grade school. When I became 6 years old and time to enter school, since my mother could not afford to miss a day’s work, an older sister who was still a student in that school, took me to Mrs. Brown’s kindergarten class, left me and went to her upper grade. Many of the children in the class had been brought there by a mother. When the time came for the class to begin, the mothers were asked to leave. When that occurred, many of the children began to cry. I did not, since when I entered the classroom, I noticed it was filled with toys, books and games, none of which I had in my home. I was pleased and excited to be there, and noticed there was another boy who had been brought there by an older brother, who also did not cry.

     The boy’s name was Sam Teicher and like me, one of five children, also poor and without any toys, books or games. We immediately became friends. and when promoted to upper classes always remained in the same class. The summer before the sixth-grade class was to begin, I became ill with rheumatic fever. It was a time when penicillin did not exist and I was required to stay in bed for the entire summer. After Labor Day when school resumed, I was able to attend. However, I had a relapse in early November and did not return to school until after Thanksgiving Day. I remember telling my mother since I had missed so much school at a time when there was no such thing as home schooling, I expected to be left back. When the term ended and I received my report card, I had not been left back or either promoted to the next class, because I was in fact skipped. Sam was also skipped and we ended up together in a 7th grade class. In that grade boys took a shop class, and the girls a cooking and sewing.

      Sam and I were both failures in the shop class. When graduated from elementary school, we each picked a different high school. Since we still lived in Middle Village, our close relationship continued. I ultimately became a lawyer and Sam a school teacher. We continued our friendship and when we each got married, we continued as couples doing many things together. I should point out Sam and I did not agree politically. What we did, was simply not to discuss politics and our relationship continued unhampered. What was clear, we each knew if either of us ever needed anything, the other was there to help.

     Sam and I remained close friends for 80 years, often having lunch or dinner with each other. Sam passed away at the age of 86 and I miss him. My memory of him however, was not interred with his bones.

Ben Haber

October 18, 2020

 

The Harvest's Bounty

 

As the landlord, Mr. Jonathan T. Rapacious had arrived in the community to collect the rent, Mrs. Rand the unofficial representative approached him with arms folded.

“Well my good lady, do you have the rent money?” asked Mr. Rapacious.

“You know that all we have is our crop,” exclaimed the angry Mrs. Rand.

“Well then as stated in your contract, load seventy percent of your crop into my wagon.”

“But the children will starve in the long winter ahead, there will not be enough food left,” the woman screamed!

“Well then you should have planted more! Now get on with it,” said Rapacious.

The gourds were carefully loaded into the wagon while Jonathan T. Rapacious made sure only the best pumpkins were selected for his massive old wagon. As the impertinent, impenetrable, contemptible, greedy Jonathan T. Rapacious pushed his work horses up the precipitous, rocky road, that he had refused to repair these many years due to cost, the horses strained and occasionally stopped from exhaustion, overworked by the huge overloaded wagon. Mr. Rapacious became increasingly frustrated by the delay and pulled out his whip to motivate the animals. The beasts heard the first crack of the whip; wild and wide eyed with panic they furiously tried to increase their momentum, gaining speed again slowly as their nostrils flared gulping in oxygen. Pushing faster and faster the horses struggled as the driver smiled at their discomfort and pain. Out of step and struggling to avoid the whip, each horse struggled and stumbled tripping each other. The rocks of the gravely road were frantically torn up and shot in all directions. On they pushed as fast as they could, twisting and turning, unresponsive to the directions and nudges of the reins. Up the gradient, the left rear wheel hit a small boulder with considerable force shattering the spokes, the wheel collapsing while shifting under the heavy weight and the wagon tumbled over throwing Mr. Jonathan T. Rapacious to the ground unconscious. The horses trailing the front of the wagon, rode over the hill and back to their barn as the weathered old grey cart fell apart collapsing into pieces.

Enormous spherical, orange pumpkins bright in the sun slid and slithered onto the thick green grass covering the hill, cushioned by its volume they made their way down the hill. Rotund overweight bloated, swollen bowling balls with their sweet pumpkin smell bowled over white and yellow wild flowers as if pins in a lane on their reckless journey home.

It was a sight to behold from the village with the disappearing horses, the rolling pumpkins and collapsing grey weathered wagon and the sprawling unconscious driver.

Huge round orange bowling balls rolled into front yards and backyards in the joyous unlikely homecoming. Bouncing and bounding, twisting and turning, spinning, swirling and sliding as they entered kitchen doors and flew through kitchen windows piling up in mud rooms, pantries and porches, with hardly any damage to themselves or their smiling faces, like a child coming home from school.

The landlord was collected and revived while the doctor was called. Mr. Rapacious had a lump on his forehead and a curious smile on his face which had never been seen before by any of the villagers not even in in five blue moons!

Many pumpkin recipes were resurrected from many tin recipe boxes as Pumpkin cakes breads, pies, cookies and soups were produced from any damaged gourds. From that day forward the landlord was appreciative that the villagers had summoned the doctor instead of leaving him to die considering how nasty, mean  and covetous he had been to them. He was welcomed by the community and received a bounty of baked goods for his larder. His somewhat silly and at times inappropriate smile never disappeared thereafter causing some consternation at village funerals. Whatever had been tweaked or jarred by the blow to the head had turned out for the best; the whole town as well as Mr. Jonathan T. Rapacious benefited from the incident. The children did not starve that Winter and in time Mr. Jonathan T. Rapacious become known as Smiling Grandpa Jonathan.

 

Jim

Oct. 2020

Almost

 You only had to look at he to see it looked different. Did you ever see an elephant not gray, but one with a variety of bright colors?  When he was born and lying on the ground curled up to his mother, he looked like a beach ball. When the other elephants in the village saw him, they were not even sure he was an elephant and whether they should be allowed to stay in the village. Grumpface, one of the older elephants argued he should go, lest they be laughed at by the other jungle animals.  Gertrude the baby’s mother and Herman its father, said it should not make any difference what he it looked like. They said they loved him and he would grow up to be a good elephant. 

    There were arguments back and forth about what to do. Finally, Old Albert, the Chief of the village, decided the question should be put to a vote. The baby could stay only if more elephants said yes than those who said no. The elephants were lined up and a stone placed in front of each of them. Those who wanted the baby to stay had to push with their trunk the stone forward and those who wanted the baby to leave, did not push a stone. After the stones that were pushed forward and those that had not, were counted, it was determined there was by one vote, a favoring to stay. Gertrude and Herman were so happy they promised the baby would make everyone proud. They decided to name the baby “Almost”, because he almost did not receive enough votes to stay.

     As a young elephant it was not easy for Almost. It is well known young elephants are mischievous and not always nice to each other. Sometimes they make fun of each other and particularly as to Almost who looked so different. If Almost was mischievous like the others, he could not run and hide in the bushes, because he could easily be seen. He could not even tell a fib it was a different elephant that was naughty, hoping it would be difficult to pick him out from the others. So, while Almost was permitted to stay in the village, he was always the butt of jokes and was never taken seriously.

     Far away on the other side of the jungle, there was an elephant village, and these elephants were nasty, mean and lazy. When food was scarce, they would go to other villages and threatened the elephants that lived there unless they gave up their food. They were known as the Meanies. Since Almost’s village was far away, the Meanies did not bother them. One year however the weather was so bad crops failed and food was scarce.  After taking what they could from villages close by, the Meanies decided to cross over to the other side of the jungle to Almost’s village. When Old Albert heard the Meanies were approaching its village, he said they would have to give up all their food, otherwise the Meanies would harm them. Since Almost was never taken seriously, he was never permitted to attend the village meetings and did not know what was happening. When the Meanies arrived at the village Almost had been wandering in the bushes and decided to return and when he got there, he came face to face with the Meanies. At that very moment, the Sun which had been behind a black cloud, suddenly came out with very bright sunshine. The Sun’s rays landed on Almost bouncing off him and creating a blaze of colors so bright it looked like a Fourth of July fireworks, blinding the Meanies. They could not tell it was a small colored elephant, and instead thought it was a secret weapon that would destroy them. Fearing for their lives, they quickly ran off, never to return.

     When Old Albert and the other village elephants saw what happened, they let out a shout of approval and lifted Almost on to their shoulders and declared him a hero. From that day on, Almost was treated like all the other elephants and was a respected member of the village. To celebrate the day Almost saved the villagers from the Meanies, every year there was a big party with lots of food and dancing and on that day in honor of Almost, all the elephants painted their bodies with all kinds of colors. A flag with all kinds of colors was raised in the center of the village and had on it in large bold letters the following words:

 

Author’s Note:

This story was written by me as a birthday gift for my granddaughter Lena on her fourth birthday.

 

Ben H

THE MAGIC SHOW

Hello my name is Harry Houdini, you may have heard of me? I am a magician, and an escape artist. I also have made a study of the occult, spells, incantations, and alchemy. An interesting event transpired many years ago, and it is only now in my old age that I wish to let this tale pass my lips as the people involved have passed before me.

I lived in Harlem at 278 West 113^th street. I had grabbed a hansom and hurried down Fifth Avenue arriving late for the Rothschild birthday party. They were a rich family living in their mansion at 64^th street and 5^th Avenue. I infrequently performed for children’s birthdays those days, having attained some level of success, but the family paid handsomely and I could not afford to pass it up. The children enjoyed the show immensely and were still screaming and laughing when I took my leave, disappearing in a puff of smoke. The butler let me out and as I walked down the white marble stairs stuffing Fluffy, my white rabbit, into my bag I beheld a sight that was hard to believe. Two large male lions we’re running out of Central Park by the Arsenal on Sixty Fourth street. 

The zoo had started out as a menagerie of donated and abandoned exotic animals, housed at the Arsenal along with the bones of several dinosaurs, a resident paleontologist, and famous art works all in temporary status as the various museums and zoo were being built.

The pair of lions had stopped momentarily confused by the sights and sounds of Fifth Avenue. The fuming, flustered beasts with their manes flowing caught sight of a horse and carriage traveling swiftly down the avenue and started their pursuit over the smooth rounded cobblestoned street slipping as they tried to get their traction. People could be heard screaming in the park as zoo employees pursued the escapees.

I jumped into action not sure how I could help, but knowing that I must do something, i hailed a hansom. Jumping into the carriage I yelled to the driver, “Follow those Lions!” The bewildered driver took off in hot pursuit. The chase was rapid as we bumped and twisted, traversing the smooth, though convoluted avenue. The giant muscular beasts roared and ran to catch the horse while pedestrians ducked for cover, dismayed by the surreal, unlikely scene.

For a moment we were delayed in traffic, catching up to the beasts at the intersection of Forty Second Street and Fifth Avenue by the newly constructed Library. The Library was a huge structure taking over the site of the Old Croton reservoir and a melding of the Astor Library and the Lenox Library, the two separate systems that had existed in the 1890’s. With a bequest from Samuel J. Tilden and a donation of $5.2 million dollars by Andrew Carnegie, the Library was duly financed.

We came upon an ugly scene as the lions had caught their prey and were eating the dying Equus. Blood dripped from their mouths. A distraught owner sat on the curb holding his horse whip in hand, as he rocked back and forth tearing at his hair wondering how he would feed his burgeoning family.

From my bag of tricks, I pulled out an ancient book of spells and incantations that I had been studying. Remembering a chapter on Lithops Localis, a plant typed organism capable of mimicking the look of surrounding fauna and turning itself into living stone to avoid predation, I quickly looked for the excerpt. I found the section previously referenced and inhaled the knowledge. As I approached the lions one of them began to growl defending his catch. He was not in a mood to share. I slowly pulled out my wand and repeated a spell in Latin which had the effect of calming the beasts down and made them more receptive to my suggestions. There were two large, rectangular marble pedestals in the unfinished plaza before the library entrance. I grabbed the horse whip from the distraught horse owner and cracked the whip, to which the lions responded immediately. I directed them to jump onto the pedestals, which they did, and  they calmly settled down. It was only years later that I found out the pair had been abandoned by P.T Barnum during hard times when he could not afford to feed them and remained at the menagerie to this day. This explained my success commanding the animals as circus cats would be quite familiar with the the whip and its commands. Next I repeated an incantation from the book intended to convert a living animal to a plant, in this case Lithops Localis or living rock. I repeated the incantation a few times without effect as the lions sat on the pedestals eating their meat. Suddenly the giant cats began to slow down in their motions and they froze in place, one on each pedestal. I had succeeded in converting animals into plants! The two leonine-shaped samples of Lithops Localis were now living rock and no longer a danger to the public.

I quickly tore the horse flesh away from the lions and washed their fur with a bucket of soapy water borrowed from a passing window washer. He gave me a strange look for the unusual request. The lions have stood there all these years to this very day.

In an amusing anecdote, a pair of stone lions had been commissioned by the city to stand at the entrance to the library on those very pedestals. Edward Clark Potter, who had been recommended to the city by the famous sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens was paid $8,000 dollars to model the lions. The Piccirilli Brothers had been paid $5,000 dollars to do the stone carving based on this model. The brothers were also famous for having carved the colossus of Abraham Lincoln for the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C.

 

The Library was to be dedicated on May 23,1911 and the Piccirilli Brothers showed up with their crew to install their lions in the early morning hours of May 16,1911. Upon arrival the brothers were incensed and humiliated to find that another artist’s sculptures had been installed in place of theirs.

Without even contacting the city the brothers stormed off without removing their lions from the truck. Eventually after sitting around their studio for a few years the lions were sold to the Natural History Museum of Fredericksburg Virginia and the brothers were paid a second time for their carvings.

To this day if you arrive very early at the library and stay out of sight you can hear Leo Astor and Leo Lenox, reminiscing about that fateful day and their exciting sprint down Fifth Avenue. Mostly they ponder the possibility of a new young magician breaking the spell.

“Leo Astor, wouldn’t you love to take a quick run uptown to the zoo and have a nice fresh antelope for lunch?”

“Leo Lenox, you read my mind. We could even get it to go! But there is nothing so nice as lunch in the park! I hate it when small children badger their mothers and nannies to let them feed the remnants of their rancid hotdogs to us, from that insufferable food wagon which insists on polluting our air!”

 

Jim

Oct. 2020

Reprieve

October Sun your tawny light streams liquid warmth of sheer delight. 

Your luscious rays melt the haze of disconcerting dreadful days.

Its burst of light transcends the ways of phantoms with their horrid gaze.

 

Autumn rains will wet the trees and sprinkle streets with dewy leaves.

Running, skipping, jumping high through piles of colors whirling by.

Time to draw near.  Harvest is here.  Offers and thanks reach up to the sky.

 

When twilight descends next slumber attends roaming through space with heavenly grace.

Moonbeams fly low then glide and glow to turn dark coal deep indigo.

Dreams that give chase like tatters of lace form traces of  scenes we want to replace.

Yvonne A,

Oct. 2020

A Passage I Like

 Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

Walt Whitman - 1819-1892

1

Flood-tide below me! I watch you face to face;
Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face to face.

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes! how curious you are to me!
On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose.
And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.

2

The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at all hours of the day;
The simple, compact, well-join'd scheme—myself disintegrated, every one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme:
The similitudes of the past, and those of the future;
The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings— on the walk in the street, and the passage over the river;
The current rushing so swiftly, and swimming with me far away;
The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them;
The certainty of others—the life, love, sight, hearing of others.

Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross from shore to shore;
Others will watch the run of the flood-tide;
Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east;
Others will see the islands large and small;
Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half an hour high;
A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others will see them,
Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring in of the flood-tide, the falling back to the sea of the ebb-tide.

 

When I read “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,”  I actually feel tossed back and forth on the currents, experience going out and coming home, feel the connection to individuals across time. If anyone makes me feel one with the world, it is Walt Whitman. He pulls me in (and pushes me out) with the repetition of words, repetition of sounds, cadence of language, metaphor and simile. He conjures up the details of sights and sounds that connect the passengers in his time, in our time, in future times, “fifty years hence, one hundred years hence, so many hundreds years hence.” That “h” sound is a hushed secret that inhabits the person of Whitman, all before him and all after him. We are simultaneously individuals/ masses in a specific time and individuals/ masses connected through all time. Whitman expresses the continuation of life, the sharing of lives. He draws “impalpable sustenance . . . from all things.” We, like our experiences, are “strung together like beads in a string” “every one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme.” Reading “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry” is a religious experience for me, one I can comfortably connect to and share with you...

Marsha H.

Oct. 2020