Yesterday, Memories (non-fiction)


In Memory

My mother passed away on October 14th, 2012. One major reason I haven’t been writing, or that my meager attempts have been sombre. My father died on October 15th, 1999, which has still sent shivers through me, that they parted this earth one calendar day apart (although thirteen years passed).

It’s Halloween, a holiday she did enjoy, seeing all the children in their costumes, playing like she was afraid of the “scary” ones, cooing over the very cute tots and babies coming out for their first Trick or Treating, and giving out bags of candy (each bag had to be the same, piece by piece, number by number, so she felt no child felt cheated).  It’s been one of my favorite holidays as well…not so much this year.

She was “known” in our family as the “family historian,” being able to recall all the family stories, connections, etc. This she did orally, rarely writing anything down. Which is a shame: those stories now only reside in the memories of those who listened, and if we don’t write them down, they’ll be gone.

I did find her beginning attempts to write some of the history down, colored through her lens. I’m posting it here where I normally write my own fiction. Not sure when/if I’ll really come back to this blog with any real attention. I hope you enjoy her early memories.

Yesterday, Memories…by

Edith A. Nager: 1926-2012

(1)          My mother and father met and married in Odessa, Russia. Papa had served in the Russian Army for five years and then was discharged. I have a picture of him in his uniform. He was quite dashing. He came to America first and then sent for my mother. This was before the First World War

(2)          The day I was born my father declared it a holiday. He kept my three oldest brothers home from school. The other two were too young for school. There were five boys and now me. The truant officer came to the house and asked why they were home, and Papa said: “After five boys, a girl was born!” That fine gentleman stayed and helped Papa celebrate.

                Mama said, and I quote her: “This is it! If it’s another boy, no more!” Papa ran through the building knocking on doors to tell them the good news. He finally had a daughter.


(3)          Saturdays, my mother did not cook. Papa said it was Mama’s time off. He went to the kosher deli and bought Pastrami, Corned Beef, Specials (knockwursts), Salami, Knobelwurst (very garlicky salami), and rye bread. The mustard came in paper cones. Oh my, how delicious it all was. Mama made the potato salad.

                Saturday evening after sundown was the time to turn on the radio and listen to station WEVD. It was Jewish music and singing. It was OK, but Sunday morning was better. Same station, but it was all about “Troubles of People” and “The Bintel Brief,” as well as more music and singing.

                The “Troubles of People” were some of the saddest tales you could hear. Husbands came to the Promised Land first and became Americanized. They met other women, forgetting about the wives and children back home. Sometimes it was a three hankie story.


(4)          Sunday brunch was out of this world. Bagels, bialys, pumpernickel bread, sweet butter, cream cheese, Muenster & farmer cheese; Belly lox, a large smoked white fish, and pickled herring in cream sauce with onions. Of course, a large salad: lettuce, tomato, cucumber, radishes and green pepper. We ate and talked. Everyone showed up for this feast. My brothers: Lou, Phil, Ezra, Sam, Bernie and me…and of course, Mama and Papa.


(5)          My brother Bernie gave me a lot of grief. He was the youngest of the boys. He used to tell me I smelled like a flower: it was called a stink weed. One day, he came home from school and went to the medicine cabinet. He took out a box of Feenamint. He got a box of Chicklet’s Gum and replaced it with the laxative. Some of the boys in school were giving him a hard time, so he got even. They never bothered him again. We gave him a new name: we called him “Dr. Fleckel.”


(6)          Walking with a group of girls and boys along the Gran Concourse to Fordham Road you could window shop. The stores stayed open till 9:00 p.m. We went to Rushmyers on University Avenue for Ice Cream in the summer and hot chocolate in the winter. We’d also go to 161st Street to Addie Valin’s and the Roxey Deli.

                Trolley cars in the summer, the sides were heavy metal mesh so you would feel cool. It cost five cents each way and some of us would take a ride in the evening. We went all the way to Throgs Neck and back. This was before A.C.

29 responses »

  1. Stuart, you come by your gift of writing naturally! These stories have a charm and an authentic voice. I never met your mother but some how I know I was reading these memories in her voice. Thank you for sharing such precious words.


  2. Great stories. Make sure you share them with your children….
    My mom was going to write down her recollections before she died- started a tape- made 11 minutes of a recording- and that was it. Now, it’s my job to tell her stories and those of my dad…And, second -hand memories are but a candle to the primary sources.
    May her memory be a blessing each day for you.

    By the way, your mom passed on 5 Cheshvan. Your dad passed a week earlier on the 28th of Tishrei.


  3. Stuart, I am deeply sorry for you loss. A mother holds such a special place. Your mother was beautiful and wow, what a smile! How blessed you are to have her stories in your memories and some in her own writing. I hope you take time to write your own down as well. I hope for you that you move through the dark times quickly and find the memories and love she gave you a joy.


  4. Had me reminiscing alongside you, Stu. What a beautiful family history and memories. We need to stop and remember every once in a while. I’m so glad she took the time to write this down.

    Hope you’re hanging in there and remembering with a smile.


  5. My dear and most respected Stuart,
    we are sorry to hear this sad news and share your grief. It is rightly said that ‘mother is next to God’ and losing mother means losing almost half of your heart. Yet, she lives in you. Yes, because you’ve inherited her loving nature.


  6. Very nice writings, Stu, and a very nice picture of your Mom. I’m so sorry I never got a chance to meet her. These words of hers will be priceless for you as the years pass. Again, I’m so sorry. You’ve been in my thoughts.


  7. What a wonderful storyteller your mother was, she gives me the feeling of having shared the Saturday treats your grandfather brought home from the deli. And how fortunate you are that she started to wrte down her memories. I really should record my mother’s family stories.
    Thakns, Stu, for sharing your family treasures!


  8. What precious treasures are these memories she left with you. I hope you will write down any others you remember that she told you. All in time when your heart allows you to do it. Thanks for sharing these, they make me remember things my folks have told me , that I need to write down.


  9. Pingback: The Senses, Fourth Light, Fourth Night « The Opening of Doors

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