Sunday, November 27, 2022


Today Sunday, November 27, 2022, marks one year since the sad passing, on Saturday November 27, 2021, of my beloved wife of 57 years, Violet (Stark) Glickstein, age 79. 

This year has slipped by so fast! Almost as if I went to sleep on Saturday, had a nightmare, and woke Sunday morning to realize ... it really happened!

I'm living in the same apartment we shared for the last 10 years of her life (Freedom Pointe Independent Living, The Villages, FL). Nearly everything I do here triggers flashbacks to those "good old days" when Violet was here to do it with me. 

For example, meals in the Dining Room. When she was here, we'd go down together and usually find other residents, usually couples, who'd join us at the table. If no one was there, we'd eat alone (but together with each other). Now, I have to schedule my meals with friends, or do take-outs. 

Another example, talking. You all know Violet had strong opinions on nearly everything, and our political views were somewhat orthogonal. We each had large TV screens and separate control boxes to record programs we liked. Each of us could see the other's recording lists and watch their programs.

Violet was not happy with the political slant of some of the stuff I recorded, and vice-versa.  However, almost every evening we'd get together and watch either the ABC or NBC national news, or both, which I record daily. I've continued to record both ABC and NBC and I watch at least one of them every day.   

Another example, driving. When we moved to Florida from Upstate New York about 20 years ago, we made a "command decision" to learn to live with only ONE car. After decades of having two cars, we made it work. (In 2016, when our daughter Rena was quite ill, Violet took that car to Atlanta, GA and helped care for her. So, for weeks at a time, I had no car, and had to make do with my bicycle and golf cart, and friends. (One week, when a friend flew down from NY, I did rent a car.)

LINKS TO MORE INFORMATION

This posting is a summary of how much I miss her, and how family and friends have gone out of their way to help me get along during this difficult time.

In addition to being a special blessing to me as my wife, Violet was also a devoted mother to our three children, Lisa, Rena, and Sara; and a loving grandmother to Lisa's children (Alex, Michela, and Samantha) and Sara's (Isaac and Emerson). Violet was also a great friend to many others. 

WE CONTINUE TO REMEMBER AND HONOR VIOLET


We, as a family, will remember Violet for all the great times we had together. Education was important to her, and she delighted in family events at our children's and grandchildren's elementary and high schools. 

Advanced education, at the College and Post-Graduate levels, was particularly significant. Violet and I "kvelled" (Yiddish word meaning "burst with pride") as our children were awarded the degrees they had earned (PhDs for Lisa and Sara, a Masters for Rena, and Bachelors for Lisa's children, who are working and/or pursuing graduate studies). 

Speaking of degrees, Violet earned her Bachelors in Chemistry in 1963 (not the norm for females in the 1960's). Once our children were out of elementary school, Violet went back to college to earn her Masters in Computer Science (1983), when in her 40's! (With all those advanced degrees flying around in our immediate family, I felt "obligated" to get my Masters and PhD while in my very ripe 50's!)

In addition to delighting in education, Violet loved to travel with me, family members, and friends. At or near the top of her list of favorite places in the world were destinations with "Disney" in their titles: Disneyland (California), Disney World (Florida), and even Shanghai Disney Resort (China). We visited the latter in 2017, when our Grandchild Michaela, a Hospitality Major at Purdue, was doing an internship at a Chinese resort, see The Virtual Philosophy Club: Beyond Communism - the Emergence of a Newly Prosperous and Increasingly Capitalist CHINA! (tvpclub.blogspot.com) and The Virtual Philosophy Club: CHINA - WAY BEYOND COMMUNISM (tvpclub.blogspot.com)

We also travelled to England when our Grandchild Alex was interning at Oxford. We would have visited our third Grandchild Samantha when she was interning, however, she was in Australia, so far off the grid that a visit was not possible. 









Other family vacations included our Alaska cruise in 2010, where Violet showed she still had lots of "zip" in her as we flew between trees riding the zipline in Ketchican, see The Virtual Philosophy Club: Plenty of ZIP as We Mature (tvpclub.blogspot.com) 





From left to right sitting around the table: Michaela Hagler, Jerry Hagler, Alex Hagler, David Moyers, Rena Moyers, Lisa Glickstein, Samantha Hagler, Violet Glickstein. I (Ira) am standing in the rear with Lou who lives on the cruise ship.

In 2014 we took the family on a Baltic cruise that included a brief stop in St. Petersberg, Russia, see: The Virtual Philosophy Club: Our Brief Visit to Russia (tvpclub.blogspot.com) 

As we waited in the St. Petersburg park, along with our Grandchild Alex, I noticed the pigeons had an unusual fondness for the famous Russian writer, see photos above. I tested my ability to sound out Cyrillic characters by reading the inscription on the Pushkin statue, "Алекса́ндр Серге́евич ПУШК" [ALEKSANDER SERGEVITCH PUSHKIN].


VIOLET'S OBITUARY

Our daughter Lisa composed a marvelous obituary that captures the essence of Violet.



VIRTUALLY "SITTING SHIVA" FOR VIOLET

According to Wikipedia, Shiva (Hebrew: שבעה‎‎, literally "seven") is the week-long mourning period for first-degree relatives. The ritual is referred to as "sitting shiva". According to Jewish law, we assume the status of "avel" (Hebrew: אבל; "mourner"). This state lasts for seven days, during which family members traditionally gather and receive visitors.

In our modern times, when families live all over the US and the World, and where literal belief is scarce, it isn't really practical for first-degree relations to sit around on couches in the living room for a week wearing slippers.

Although I lack any real literal belief in Jewish ritual, IMHO, it does make sense for those closest to the deceased to make a special effort to remember her (at least) during the weeks and months following her departure.

For reasons I can't defend rationally, I'm very pleased that our daughters Lisa, Rena, and Sara, and Lisa's children, Alex, Michaela, and Samantha attended Hebrew school, learned to read that ancient language, and went through the formal Bat Mitzvah process. I don't think any of them had then or have now any real literal belief, which, in a way, makes it a sort of minor miracle that they did so. (This last sentence brings tears to my eyes as 
I read it. How about you?)



On Friday, November 26, 2021, Rabbi Zev of Temple Shalom (where Violet and I are founding members) met and comforted me at Hospice, He spoke to Violet and said the appropriate prayers. I went to Friday services that evening at Temple Shalom. 

As we expected, but still too soon, Violet passed away peacefully at Hospice on the evening of Saturday, November 27, 2021.

Our good friends, Bunny and Bob Adler drove me to the beautiful, tree-shaded Hillcrest Memorial Gardens, in nearby Leesburg, to select the plot where Violet was to be buried, with the adjacent plot reserved for me. [The photo at the head of this posting shows the granite headstone marking our final resting places,]

Our plots are in the Jewish "Garden of David" area near the Temple Shalom Memorial Garden.

Violet was interred on December 2, 2021in a private ceremony conducted by Rabbi Zev. 

So, please join me in thinking about your good and eventful times with Violet. Love to all, and specially elevated kisses and hugs to Violet, from her husband,

Ira Glickstein


Links for more detailed information 
on Violet & Ira Glickstein's wonder-filled lives!


Violet and Ira Glickstein were married in 1964. See our 50th Anniversary memories in the following postings include highlights of our life together.

CLICK THE HYPERTEXT BELOW TO JUMP TO YOUR TOPIC OF CHOICE

  1. Wedding and Farm Days 
  2. Passing the Genes and Memes
  3. Computers R Us (Ira and Vi's careers)
  4. Retirement in The Villages, FL
  5. Our 50th Anniversary Baltic Cruise (Air Travel and Shipboard activities)
  6. Our 50th Anniversary Baltic Cruise (Land-Tours)

50th-0 CELEBRATING OUR 50th WEDDING ANNIVERSARY (tvpclub.blogspot.com)



Friday, May 27, 2022

The Sad Song of Love ... and The Fantasy of The Crystal Bridge to The Heavens Above ...

This week, at the ripe old age of 83, and for the first time in my adult life, I've experienced inklings of what might be considered a smattering of literal belief in some elements of religious dogma.

To what do I owe this battlefield conversion

As a professional system engineer, I pride myself on a record of leading complex projects with a steady, logical, non-emotional hand. When uncertainty strikes and ordinary mortals run hither and yon casting blame, my self-image is of the strong, mostly silent guy who saves the day with a series of bold, ingenious, selfless strokes. At the moment of crisis, when my totally unexpected solution is first revealed, it may appear unusual, even dangerous. However, looking back after the event, my fix appears to be the only logical response.

My Emotional Roller-Coaster

This past year has assaulted my emotional balance like no other.

Two weeks ago, (Friday the 13th of May 2022) I took a tumble and fractured my right femur near the ball-and-socket joint where it attaches to the hip. I'm currently at Freedom Pointe Rehab recovering from the surgery that replaced the ball.

All has gone well medically. Family and friends have come thru with flying colors. However, I'm not used to being so dependent on others for permission and help in performing basic bodily functions.

I'm also in considerable pain and feeling some unusual emotions, possibly as a side-effect of pain medications.

For example, I've been working on this Blog posting for a few days, which is longer than usual for me. During that time, some of the stories and observations that struck me as unusually profound when I first thought of them and typed the words into the computer, seem to have lost much of their power and punch.

My hip fracture is but a bit of punctuation on a very difficult year. 

About a year ago, my wife Violet and I were distressed to discover she could no longer get from our apartment at Freedom Pointe Independent Living to the Dining Room in a reasonable time using her walker. This was due to complications of serious liver disease (not from drinking but from her diabetes). I had to buy a transport chair and wheel her around the building. Soon thereafter, she was unable to leave our apartment without that chair. 

Last September, she underwent a "TIPS" surgery to place a shunt on her liver. That operation failed due to occlusions in her veins. 

Within a week, she fell in our apartment and could not get up. The staff called 911, EMTs came and took her to the Hospital Emergency Room (ER). After about a week of treatment at the Hospital, she was released to Freedom Pointe Rehab (the very facility currently caring for me). Alas, during her second week at Rehab, she fell, could not get up, and was back at the ER. 

This vicious cycle repeated until, after her fourth stint at Rehab, she was released back to our apartment. We had a nice week together with our good friends, including a visit to Fenney Springs Nature Trail, where she enjoyed the sight of birds, turtles, and a sleepy gator, followed by a much-appreciated fast-food chicken sandwich and fries.






A few days after that adventure, I found her in her bed, responsive but confused. The Freedom Pointe nurse came, checked her vitals (which were way off) and called 911. The Hospital is just across the street from where we live, but, by the time the super-efficient EMTs got her to the ER, she was non-responsive. She was transferred to the ICU.  There, after examination, the medical staff suggested she should be put into DNR status, in accordance with our Health Care Directive. Our daughter Lisa, via cellphone, spoke to the nurse and doctor, and confirmed our decision.  She was transferred to Cornerstone Hospice care where, six months ago November 27, 2021, my wife of 57 years passed away. 


My Current Situation

So, here I am confined to Room 117 at the Freedom Pointe Rehab Facility,

... in pain with a newly repaired hip fracture,  

... unable to tend to the basic needs of life without assistance, 

... and tortured by a persist "earworm" that won't give me a moment of peace: Leslie Caron - "Hi, Lili, hi lo" 

... The Song of Love is a song of woe (for I have loved, and I know),

... ♫ I look out the window and watch the rain, 

... ♫ Tomorrow I'll probably love again, (hi lili, hi lili, hi lo)

Why is Love, ultimately, and seemingly inevitably, tinged with sorrow? No matter how positively motivated, well-matched, and attractive the couple, we are human and will have "bad days". 

If a loving marriage survives the less than optimum periods without breaking up, one or the other partner is going to pass way, leaving the surviving partner alone, and sad (like me).

Our oldest daughter, Lisa, loves to tell how, in discussing death with her mother (Violet), she expected to be reunited in Heaven with Rena, our second daughter who passed away too early, at the age of 49. Violet also expected to see our wonderful Golden Retriever, Toffee!

So, here are two of the stories that, a few days ago, struck me as particularly meaningful. These are examples of the fantasy stories we tell ourselves as we try to make sense of the "rat race" we endure. The endless cycles of Life and Death, Pain and Pleasure, Innocence and Guilt, War and Peace, Good and Evil...

Crystal Bridge Story

There are many variants to this story. Here is my favorite.

Where do Beloved Pets go when they pass away?

There is a beautiful pet park just outside the gates of Heaven. When a Beloved Pet dies, it is restored to its condition at its prime of life and placed in the pet park. The Beloved Pets enjoy their time playing with each other.

If you watch closely, you may notice, on occasion, one Beloved Pet pause, and stop playing. 

That Pet stands very still, thrusts its nose up in the air, and sniffs.

Sniff! Sniff Sniff !! SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF !!! 

Then the Beloved Pet turns and runs to greet their Beloved Master. Together, they pass over the Crystal Bridge to spend eternity in Heaven.  

I'll leave unspecified some logistics issues. What if a Master has more than one Beloved Pet? What if a Pet has more than one Beloved Master? I think it is always 1:1. Thus, a given Master may have only one Absolute Beloved Pet, and a given Pet may have only one Absolute Beloved Master.

Or, since we are talking about Pets restored to their prime conditions, perhaps there are as many simulated images of each as may be needed to pair them off. (This simulation solution also addresses the question of the Pets eating, drinking, peeing, and pooping.)


Footprints In the Sands of Time Story

When a worthy person passes on, they are shown an overview of the life they lived, each scene or critical event accompanied by a depiction of the footprints they would have left had they been walking on the beach. 

The first thing you notice is that there are two sets of footprints running along the image. 

Q: Whose footprints are depicted by the extra set? 

A: They are the footprints of God who accompanies worthy people throughout their lives.

Then you notice that there are some stretches of your life in which only one set of footprints are depicted. Indeed, the sections with only one set of footprints correspond to the most difficult and painful stretches of your life. 

Q: Why do some periods of life have only one set of footprints? Are those periods when you displeased God or your belief in God faded? 

A: Oh no! Those were the times of your life, when I (God) carried you!

X-Ray of New Ball and Two Dozen Staples Removed

Friday May 27th (two weeks since my Friday the 13th fall). Quick visit to Dr. Phillips' office in nearby Santa Fe shopping strip for examination and removal of a couple dozen staples. Visible progress. Thanks to John Griffin for accompanying me and taking the photos. And to Freedom Pointe drivers Robert and Dollar Bill for your efficient service.



Moses, Spinoza, and Einstein

Albert Einstein was a famous scientist for over a decade when he came to the US in 1933. Accused of being an Atheist, he replied that he was not an Atheist but believed in the (Pantheistic) God of Baruch Spinoza. "I believe in Spinoza's God, who reveals Himself in the lawful harmony of the world, not in a God who concerns Himself with the fate and the doings of mankind."

Spinoza is regarded as an Atheist by some humanists who reject his Pantheism as being devoid of a worship of the Universe. As a major character in my free online novel (2052 - The Hawking Plan: Chapter 1 -- Stephanie Goldenrod (2052hp.blogspot.com) states "Spinoza is the most God-infused person the Jewish community has ever produced."

“As Einstein said when he was accused of being an atheist,” replied Izzy with great earnestness, “I believe in the God of Spinoza.”

“But, Spinoza was an atheist,” said Preench.

“Oh - heavens - no,” said Izzy, “Spinoza was the most God-infused man our people produced since Moses. Moses had a glimpse of the back of God’s head, Spinoza glimpsed His brain!”

“But,” interjected Preench, “Spinoza was excommunicated by his fellow Jews! How do you explain that?”

“Like all peoples,” replied Izzy, “We sometimes make mistakes. Our mistakes tend to be big ones! Historic ones even! Our mistakes have contributed more to the knowledge of human civilization than the non-mistakes of everyone else combined! For instance when Einstein said his suggestion of a ‘cosmological constant’ was his ‘greatest blunder’. That turned out to be the key that unlocked our current understanding of the unified field theory! Our excommunication of Spinoza was indeed a blunder but it turned out to be the key that unlocked all of modern philosophy. Had we kept him to ourselves, modern western thought might be quite different.”

“So?” asked Preench, studiously ignoring Izzy’s unsupportable hyperbole. “Who or what is this ‘God of Spinoza’? This ‘Meta-Power in the physical Universe’ you say is ‘Conscious’? If this ‘God’ is physical and in this Universe, show Him to me!”

“If it was daytime, I would ask you to look at the Sun.”

“You can’t look directly at the Sun,” said Preench, “It would burn out your eyes! But we can look at the Sun through a dark glass.”

“Or we can take a photograph,” added Stephanie. “Izzy, show me a photograph of your God! Of Spinoza and Einstein’s God!”

“Excellent,” replied Izzy. “If you can’t look directly at the Sun without going blind, and the Sun is a tiny speck in the whole of the Universe, how do you expect to see or comprehend the God of Spinoza, which is the whole Universe? Just as your view of the Sun through a dark glass or a photo is a tiny fraction of the brilliance of that star, every image you have ever seen directly with your eyes is a tiny fraction of the true image of God. Every beautiful vista, every view of the stars, every microscopic image of bacteria – all of these are small parts of God. Spinoza’s God is the physical Universe.”

“OK,” I said, assuming my professorial demeanor, “Spinoza and Einstein and you are ‘Pantheists’, as am I. But how can you prove that the physical Universe is Conscious and ‘guides the events of the world in a generally positive direction’ as you claim?”

“I believe,” said Izzy, quite slowly and with a very serious expression on his face, “That the Earth is a developing organism that may have evolved something like Consciousness at a level above that of any of us humans here on Earth. That is something I can't prove, but which I would like to believe. The reason I would like to believe it is, absent an external Creator God who I can't reasonably believe in, if the Earth is not Conscious, we will certainly wipe ourselves out with nuclear or genetic or some other technology and destroy human life and civilization sooner or later.”


Izzy shook his head left and right. “I cannot prove it, but I have faith! I believe it with all my heart and mind. Can you prove that you are conscious? You would say you experience consciousness and you have faith that Stephanie and Preench and Tsar, as normal human beings, also feel consciousness as you do. But, can you prove it? No!

“You could tear their brains open. All you would find is a complex network of electro-chemical machines we call neurons, a type of living eukaryotic biological cell. We say Tsar has a ‘mind’ but where is it? Show me a photo of Tsar’s mind! You cannot! Stephanie has a mind and is conscious and understands English and Japanese and many other things as a result of the interaction of billions of these neurons. However, do any of the neurons understand English or Japanese? Are they conscious at the human level? No!”

“How in hell do you know I understand Japanese? ...”

“This is all atheistic sophistry,” cried Tsar, speaking over Stephanie. “Sound and fury signifying nothing! ...”

“No, no, no!” replied Preench, firmly contradicting his father. “We humans are conscious and understand languages and think as a result of the interaction of a complex network of neurons – relatively simple electro-chemical machines. Why couldn’t the Earth, or some parts of it, be conscious as the result of international trade routes and communications networks between people? Complex networks of telephones and radios and computers and the WIN and so on have expanded over the past several decades. They link all parts of the Earth together like the nervous system of a developing human being.”

Izzy said something to Stephanie in Japanese. “Oh, yes, my official TABB resume says I understand Japanese!” she replied.

Izzy smiled and cast his glance to Preench. “You are correct. Your father should be proud of you!” Tsar stared at his son and then Izzy. He shook his head left and right. After a moment, he looked back at his son and smiled brightly for the first time that evening.


Last month, we Celebrated the Amazing Life of Violet Glickstein and this week marks the half-year anniversary of her passing on November 27th, 2021 (Rest in Peace Violet Glickstein, My Dear Wife of 57 Years)














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Wednesday, April 20, 2022

My Mom Ruth (Leibowitz) Glickstein and Relative Issues

[Note: Written in 2020, I forgot to publish it then. Published in 2022]

I've recently taken a new look at the 1929 Junior High Autograph album and 1932 High School Yearbook that belonged to my Mother, Ruth Leibowitz Glickstein (photos below). Among other things, this closer look at my mother and our family origins has enriched my understanding of "where I am coming from" as well as refreshing my memories of my first exposure to racial discrimination.

Ruth Leibowitz, 1932 Walton High School Yearbook "Courteous to all, intimate with few".

Among the autographs are pages by Ruth's older sibs, my Aunt Blanche and Uncle Harry, and Ruth's Cousin Diane.  (My cousins, and current Facebook friends, Fran Levine and Phillip Levine, may get a kick out of how their Mother, whom I knew as Aunt Diane, mischievously signed her page.)

Click below (or scroll down):

RUTH LEIBOWITZ - 1929 Junior High Autograph Book and 1932 High School Yearbook

BLANCHE LEIBOWITZ - Moved from New York City to Washington, DC, and changed her last name to "Lee" to disguise her Jewish origins. When I was about 8 years old, our family took a Greyhound bus to visit her, and, as we approached the Maryland State line, I experienced a feeling of horrible helplessness as non-White passengers on our bus were required to move to the back.

HARRY LEIBOWITZ - My favorite Uncle was always ready with a joke (usually dirty). The "ironing board" is our favorite.

[NOTES:

1) Let me apologize in advance for this over-long, disconnected posting, which is the second version of an unpublished post originally titled "Thoughts While Urinating". (I  just thought of a better title - "Thinking While Tinkling".)

2) A running joke on the old TV sitcom Barney Miller is that Detective Fish (played by Abe Vigoda) always has to run to the toilet. He says you can estimate a guy's age by multiplying his height, in feet, by the number of times he pees every day. Well, I've been tracking my restroom visits over the past few weeks and, at my age of 81, I'd have to be 8 or 9 feet tall to get Detective Fish's formula to work. Of course, over-statement is part of much comedy, as my father told me a million times, "Ira, Don't exaggerate!"

3) So, to use the Yiddish word for inefficiently messing around, I've been pot-she-ink-ing with this posting too long, so, ready or not, it is time to publish it!)

4) My grandparents on both sides were immigrants, Ashkenazi Jews from Eastern Europe that shared the same first names, Louis and Lena, but little else. My father's parents, Louis and Lena Glickstein, were Galitsianers from Austria and Louis and Lena Leibowitz were Litvaks from Ukraine . They differed in several ways: "The Litvak was smart, analytical, learned, worldly, skeptical, proud, stubborn, dynamic, and energetic. He was also dry, rational, and unemotional. By contrast, the Galitsianer, was warmhearted, sly, witty, sharp, stingy, crafty, and something of a trickster. He had a peculiar mix of shrewdness and heartiness.

RUTH LEIBOWITZ GLICKSTEIN - MY MOTHER

As I noted above, my recent look at the 1929 Junior High Autograph album and 1932 High School Yearbook that belonged to my Mother, Ruth Leibowitz Glickstein, has, among other things, helped me understand "where I am coming from".

Walton High School was an all-girls institution, something we don't see anymore among public schools. (From 1952 through 1956 I attended Brooklyn Technical High School, all-boys at the time. It became co-ed in 1970.)



The image above shows part of the page where my Mother's photo appears. I'm struck by the one-line description of her as "Courteous to all, intimate with few." Yes! My Mom was always civil and nice to everyone, but hardly ever revealed her inner thoughts and motivations. (Quite a contrast to Vi, my wife of 56 years!) Compare the descriptive line about Ruth with the lines about her classmates in the above image.

I habitually look for is "Jewish names". (Vi always looks for and comments on "Hungarian Jewish" names while watching the news on TV.) Three of the names above may be "Jewish".



I searched among the photos for a Black face and could find only one, Hilda K. Parker "A moral, sensible and well-bred person." (see above). There were Black fellow students in every schools I attended, but they were always a small minority.


For example, the above photo of my 1952 8th-grade class at PS209 shows three Black faces. One, Michael Borden (second from the left in the second row), is seated to my right. I remember his name only because he is listed among my four favorite classmates in my Autograph album. (The others are Frank Forentino, and two with Jewish names: Stanley Marks and Harvey Cohen.  I cannot positively identify them in the photo, but Frank may be the boy sitting to Michael's right).

Around 1980, a co-worker and I went to a Brooklyn Technical High School reunion. He and I were pleased to see a substantial number of girls among the volunteer student guides. On a whim, we decided to walk up the Down Staircase, something we never dared to due as students. Sure enough, we were confronted by a guide who instructed us in no uncertain terms to use to the Up Staircase. Not only was this guide a girl, but she was Black! How reassuring strict Brooklyn Tech standards are still being enforced!

BLANCH LEIBOWITZ - MY FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH RACIAL DISCRIMINATION

Racial discrimination is real, and remains a stain on our American Republic, our great  experiment in representative democracy.


I WITNESSED GENUINE RACIAL DISCRIMINATION IN THE LATE 1940'S

As our Greyhound bus approached the Maryland State line, the driver pulled over and calmly told the non-White* passengers they had to move to seats in the back of the bus lest state Troopers pull us over, and delay our trip by an hour or more. I felt horribly helpless as they silently complied.

This was in the late 1940's and I was just a young kid from Brooklyn. My parents and I were headed to Washington, DC to visit my mother's older sister, my maiden Aunt, Blanch Lee (she had changed her last name from Leibowitz to hide her Jewish origins.)

Aunt Blanche lived in a tiny apartment in a lower-class White neighborhood off Quackenbos Street in the Northwest quadrant. It was in the "third alphabet" **, far from the White House. I was amazed that her toilet was an outhouse in the tiny backyard ***.

Aunt Blanch worked in the office at B and B Caterers, where all the other employees I met were Black.

She took us for a meal at the lunch counter at a Peoples Drug Store. Although the employees were Black, my Aunt explained that Blacks were not permitted to sit at the counter, but they could stand at one end and order take-out.


*"Negroes" is what the bus driver called them. They were not called "Blacks" at the time. The Black man who was the janitor at our Brooklyn synagogue was called a schvartze which, in Yiddish (and German) means "Black", so, perhaps, we were ahead of our time.

I was brought up in a Jewish neighborhood in the Brighton Beach area of Brooklyn, near Coney Island. Blacks were present, as a small minority, in every school I've attended, from Elementary through High School and College. For example, I'm seated next to Michael Borden in the PS209 8th grade class photo, and he is listed as one of only four friends in my 1952 autograph book. 

Michael Borden is the second student from the left in the third row down. I'm to his immediate right in this 1952 photo of our 8th-grade class at PS209, Brooklyn, NY
I spent most of my professional career at IBM Federal Systems, Owego, NY, and remember only a few fellow employees who were Black. I was closest to Lou Adams, a Human Factors expert who was also a fellow member of the Toastmasters Club.  He was a very good speaker and, in the early 70's, he defeated me in an election for President of that club (but I did win that office in a subsequent year). I also remember Elliot Lee (a radar and electronic countermeasures engineer) and John Sims, (a very smart software engineer who was promoted to a second-level management slot).

**"Third Alphabet". Washington DC is arranged with streets in concentric circles. Those closest to the Capitol are A Street through Z Street, next come single-syllable names with initial letters A through Z, then two-syllable names, and so on. My Aunt Blanche lived in the NW quadrant, near Quackenbos Street, in the "Third Alphabet"!

***At  the time, my parents and I lived in a one-bedroom walkup apartment. We shared a single bathroom, but at least it was inside! When my brother, Lee, came along, he and I shared the single bedroom and my parents slept on a convertible sofa in the living room. 

We later moved to a three-bedroom bungalow that measured 30' x 30'. Lee and I slept on bunk beds in our narrow bedroom. My parents shared a double bed jammed against the wall in a second bedroom. Our grandparents shared a double bed in the third bedroom. The six of us shared the single bathroom, but at least it was inside!

RACIAL DISCRIMINATION NOW

Racial discrimination is quite real now, and, given the "tribal" Nature we inherited from over 100,000 years of Evolution and Natural Selection of our species Homo Sapiens, will always be with us. 

However, the idea that racial discrimination is worse now than ever in American history is an unsupported hyperbole. Yes, hateful Confederate flags are seen at public events, and even one is too many, but NASCAR has banned them from any official use on racecars. Yes George Floyd was murdered by a White policeman, and police are much tougher on young Black males than any other demographic. Racist cops still turn off their body cameras and lie to cover their brutal treatment. However, with nearly everyone now carrying a smartphone, more and more police departments are using body cameras and The list of 


HARRY LEIBOWITZ - THE "IRONING BOARD" JOKE

Harry was my mother's brother. Always good for a joke, usually with a bit of a sexual slant.]  A young immigrant couple lived in a tenement in Brooklyn. They noticed some of their neighbors were having babies but were too shy to inquire how to get one. A visit from a man with a black satchel seemed to be associated with the arrival of babies. (Those were the days when doctors still made house calls.) So, they got up their courage and followed him to his office. After a short discussion, the doctor realized they knew nothing about sex or reproduction, so he decided to take matters into his own hands, so to speak.

He took the young couple into his examining room, told her to pull her dress up and panties down, and lay on her back on his examining table. The doctor took off his own trousers and underpants. As he climbed atop the woman, he told her husband to stand close by and watch carefully. Indeed, to assure an unobstructed view, the doctor told the young man to grab his balls and hold them up.

I don't have to tell you the doctor had a good time. When he was done, he instructed the young couple to go home and do exactly what they had observed and, God willing, in about a year they would get a baby.

That evening, as he was home reading the newspaper, and chuckling about his good deed that day, the doctor received a phone call from the hospital. One of his patients, a young immigrant man, was in critical condition, and his wife was saying it was all the doctor's fault.

Of course, the doctor rushed to he hospital where he was greeted by the young woman.

"What happened?" asked the doctor.

"Well," replied the woman, "When we got home I told my husband we had to do exactly what you showed us. He replied we couldn't because we don't have no examining table like the one you have in your office.

"So, I thought about it for a while and remembered we had an ironing board, which is kind of like an examining table. My husband got it out of the closet and set it up in the middle of the living room. I pulled my dress up and panties down and laid on my back, exactly like you told us.

"My husband took off his trousers and underpants and was about to climb up on me when I remembered you made him hold up your balls. You said we had to do exactly what you showed us. But, my husband said he was too embarrassed to ask a neighbor to come to our apartment and hold up his balls.

"What could we do? Lying there on the ironing board, I looked up and saw the chain coming down from the light fixture in the center of the living room. (In those days they didn't have switches on the wall.)  I told him to tie the chain around his balls to hold them up. As soon as he did that, the ironing board collapsed!"

"Ah ha!" said the doctor, "That explains what they ambulance crew told me - your husband was found hanging by his balls in the middle of your living room!"