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Camp Nitgedaiget
If I didn’t have photos of this you would think I was making it up: During the depression my mother, poppa, my aunts and I went to a summer camp in Beacon, N.Y. called Camp Nitgedaiget. This was not a fancy place. In fact, it was originally founded by Communists! But what did I know? I was a kid. Here are some pictures, and to hear all about it, scroll down to play the audio where I explain it to my daughter.
Play the audio clip below to hear all about Camp Nitgedaiget…
My Father’s Store
Here’s a very old photo of Poppa in front of his tailor and dry cleaning store; this must have been in the 1930s. The store was on 77th Street between Fourth and Fifth Avenues in Bay Ridge. I remember every detail inside. There was a huge counter when you walked in. Behind it was the pressing machine, and a big wall of cabinets built by my zayde.
In the Pantheon?
No sooner do we lose Tom Wolfe than Philip Roth shuffles off this mortal coil. But I never did read Philip Roth; I was too busy raising my children and reading Barbara Tuchman. You see, I don’t read much fiction other than mystery stories, which are my reading-to-fall-asleep by. But I always wonder: Can modern writers qualify for the literary pantheon?
One Thin Penny
Our street, 69th Street (aka Bay Ridge Avenue), had trolleys running in both directions. Same goes for Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn. I remember vividly how boys used to delight in placing pennies on the trolley tracks, then they would wait for the coins to be totally flattened. But this was during the depression so they only used pennies. A nickel was a real money!
My New Favorite Photo of Myself
At my age, one prefers photos taken from a great distance away. Here is a recent photo of me taken by my daughter. She takes after my husband who would pose me against a backdrop such as a vast landscape and tell me that I was needed “just for scale”.
Tom Wolfe RIP
We just saw him on the street in New York a couple of years ago and now learn that the great writer Tom Wolfe has died. It reminds me of this cartoon…
My Mother’s Favorite Joke
You would not believe the week I just had. It was beyond belief.
But now back to the blog: Below you will see a very old photo of my mother and me taken on the rooftop of our building on 69th Street in Bay Ridge. I won’t reveal my age due to security reasons but this photo was taken in the early 1920s.
If you have moment, I also wanted to tell my mother’s favorite joke. Please click on the audio player below the picture…
The Iceman
Joe the iceman came around our neighborhood in Bay Ridge with a big ice wagon. This was in the 1920s and early thirties when we had an icebox. Originally Joe had a horse and cart but afterward he had a truck. You would call down and say, “15 cents worth!”, or “25 cents worth!” He used a pick to cut off a block of ice then grab it with big tongs. He had a rubberized piece of material so he could carry the ice on his back and schlep it up the stairs. We were on the third floor. Joe was Italian and a very hard worker. But don’t worry that he lost his livelihood when refrigerators came along. Joe was the one who bought the building from my father.
Father Time
What is time? Is it real or did we invent it? I’d have to say we invented it. What does the universe need with units of time? Only man marks the passage of time. But does it exist outside of its measurement?
To answer the question, let’s consult Einstein. He said, “people who understand physics know that the distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”
With that in mind, we must remember to spring ahead this weekend and reset our clocks or the illusion will strike us right in the face.
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