At least once a year my parents would drive the family to
the Bronx to visit relatives. My
maternal grandfather and my maiden aunt Sue lived at 1421 172nd Street in the Bronx, and my mother’s siblings and some cousins who lived in the
area would congregate there. The big
treat was the lox, whitefish, and other Jewish foods that they brought. Our family stayed at the Grand Concourse
Plaza Hotel.
One year, when I was about 9 or 10 years old, we arrived late in
the day and stayed at the hotel for the evening. My parents went to bed fairly early, but I
stayed awake. My father always brought
some bottles of alcoholic beverages to the family gatherings, usually whiskey
and blackberry brandy. As children, we
were given blackberry brandy as “medicine” for some upset stomachs and we
delighted in its taste. We also used to
take a drink of it on occasion when we were in Jack’s Place, and no one else was
there. On this particular trip, I opened
the bottle of blackberry brandy and took a drink, and then another, and I don’t
know how many more, but I soon was drunk and staggered into my parent’s
bedroom, laughing and barely able to control my movements.
My parents were not happy!
The next day, while all of the extended family was catching
each other up on their families, my father decided to take a subway to Macy’s
in downtown Manhattan. I went along with
him. The subway platform was quite
crowded, and the travelers pushed forward into the open car. My father got on just as the door was
closing, but I didn’t make it. I vividly
remember looking at my father through the subway window and the look on his
face as he recognized me just as the train started to move. He pointed and mouthed “next stop” to me as
his subway car disappeared. Soon,
another subway stopped, and I got on.
Fortunately, both subways turned out to be locals, and when the train
arrived at the next stop, my father was standing on the platform waiting for
me.
