liss@gramps.DEC (Frederick R. Liss DTN 237-3649) (01/31/86)
[ ]
I have some fond memories of growing up in The Bronx, (NYC)
during the early 1950s. For those of you who are unfamiliar
with the Grand Concourse during that period, it was one of
those neighborhoods, where for miles around *everyone* was
Jewish. This is no exaggeration. I was about eight or nine
years old before I discovered that there was such a thing as a
non-Jew. But that is another story. Every five or so blocks
there was a shul. Some were small, some were very large, and
all were full when Shabbos came. It was not uncommon to see a
group of Lubovitchers, with there long coats and broad brimmed
hats, on their way to shul. If someone had gray hair, by
definition they also spoke with an accent. It's unfortunate
that neighborhoods like that have dispersed.
I remember my grandmother taking me with her to Bathgate
Avenue to go shopping. Even on a weekday the narrow street was
crowded with shoppers. Both sides of the street were lined
with red brick tenements and there were small shops on the
ground floor of each one.
Our shabbos meal was always centered around chicken and
chicken soup. Because of the importance my grandmother placed
on this meal the chicken had to be a fresh one. By the way
when is the last time you had chicken soup with the egg yolks
taken right from the chicken.
I remember Tony's Chicken Market. I think the building
originally was a garage. My grandmother would take me by the
hand up to a pile of chicken coops. She would point out a
chicken to Tony. He'd grab it by the neck and bring it to the
shoychut for slaughtering. I remember him wearing a long black
coat and sitting on a milk box. He would say a broucha and
then cut the chickens throat. He also would put the chicken
into a barrel until it stopped flapping it's wings.
If someone wanted a non-kosher chicken, Tony would take the
chicken to a block and chop the head off with a single blow.
To this day I can close my eyes and see the chicken heads
lying in the sawdust on the floor. Come to think of it, in
those days just about every store had sawdust on the floor.
When the chicken was dead my grandmother would take it to the
back of the store where she would pull out all the feathers.
Then she would remove the stubble over an open fire while she
exchanged greetings with the rest of the women standing there.
I always looked forward to the treats my grandmother got me.
Next door was a store that sold dried fruits and nuts. Just
inside were peanut roasters. The smell and taste of fresh
roasted peanuts is indescribable.
Sometimes she would take me across the street to the spice
shop. The owner was an older and very thin man. He would be
standing in the corner of the store rocking back and forth
with a yarlmuka on his head and a sider in his hand. When we
entered the store he put down his prayer book and stood before
us with clasped hands. For only a few pennies my grandmother
would get me enough rock candy to last me for a few days.
I also remember Rudy's fruit and vegetable store. My
grandmother told me that Rudy had to be watched very closely.
He once put a small rock in with a bag of potatoes and she
never trusted him again after that.
A little further down the street was the kosher butcher. There
were no neon lights in the window. Instead, big silver decals
with Hebrew letters spelled out "kosher bosher". It seems that
everything in the store was white and shiny. As a little boy I
was fascinated by the rail on the ceiling that extended from
the street to the refrigerator. When there was a delivery I
used to watch them put the carcasses on pulleys and roll them
into the refrigerator. Once the butcher let me pull the rope
to operate the switch so the meat would be directed behind the
counter.
This story, however personal to me, is not unique. We share a
common heritage and I am sure each one of you has your own
little story to tell.
Shalom,
Fred
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Frederick R. Liss UUCP ...decvax!decwrl!dec-rhea!dec-gramps!liss
Digital Equipment Corp. ARPA liss%gramps.DEC@decwrl.ARPA
333 South St. Shrewsbury MA, 01545 Mail Stop SHR1-4/D21dsg@mhuxi.UUCP (David S. Green) (02/03/86)
[] >I have some fond memories of growing up in The Bronx, (NYC) >during the early 1950s. >Frederick R. Liss UUCP ...decvax!decwrl!dec-rhea!dec-gramps!liss I just finished E. L. Doctorow's "World's Fair" which is about growing up in the Bronx in the 1930s ( among other things ), and highly recommend it.
SofPasuk@imagen.UUCP (Munach Rvi'i) (02/03/86)
> > I have some fond memories of growing up in The Bronx, (NYC) > during the early 1950s. For those of you who are unfamiliar > with the Grand Concourse during that period, it was one of > those neighborhoods, where for miles around *everyone* was > Jewish. This is no exaggeration. I was about eight or nine > years old before I discovered that there was such a thing as a > non-Jew. But that is another story. Every five or so blocks > there was a shul. Some were small, some were very large, and > all were full when Shabbos came. It was not uncommon to see a > group of Lubovitchers, with there long coats and broad brimmed > hats, on their way to shul. If someone had gray hair, by > definition they also spoke with an accent. It's unfortunate > that neighborhoods like that have dispersed. > > ... > > This story, however personal to me, is not unique. We share a > common heritage and I am sure each one of you has your own > little story to tell. > > Shalom, > Fred ... and how everything closed up for the Jewish Holy Days. ... and the Moishe's chain of supermarkets/appetizing stores (later gobbled up by Daitch then merged into Daitch-Shopwell then neutered into Shopwell - Chad Gadya) where the price of lox and sturgeon changed by the minute by Mottel (aka "Martin") behind the counter. ... and the local "candy stores" serving Chocolate Eggcreams. ... and Krums (how many baby teeth I lost on their chocolate chip ice cream) ... and some of the best Kosher delis in the world! ... and the ability to stroll Fordham Road on Saturday evening without fear, visiting Alexander's, that famous Taj Mahal of the Bronx. ... and the local residents sitting on chairs outside their apartment buildings in the evenings during the heat of the Summer without fear of attack. Too bad most of this was wiped out in the '60s when block after block of the Jewish community of the Bronx moved out to New Jersey, Westchester, and Longuyland. Two factors were important in this exodus: (1) The inability of the city to control the growth of slums from the South Bronx and the greed of the real estate interests that profited from "block busting". Add to this problem the Lindsay administration's lack of ability to control crime in the streets and in the transit system. Stir into this a degradation of public elementary, secondary, and college education to the "lowest common divisor" in order to please various ethnic voting blocks (remember the "open admissions" fiasco!). (2) The upward mobility of the residents which caused second and third generation American Jews to seek better housing in the suburbs and/or careers in professions traditionally closed to Jews centered in areas other than New York (engineering, for example).