Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – Ron Gold

June 15, 2006

Thanks again Ron for all your wonderful contributions and for making senior writer.

Signs of a Man

By Ron Gold

            If my father were a girl, you’d call him Penny.

            But his name was Murray.  And he was a slave to a penny

business, a candy store during  the depression; America’s penny

generation.

            Dad earned a penny on each newspaper he sold.  Less than a

penny on candy and gum.  A few pennies on a bottle of soda-pop,

provided he returned the empty glass bottle.

Dad communicated his penny values to my kid brother, Richy,

and me.  If we asked for a dime, we knew Dad had to sell ten

newspapers to earn that dime, twenty-five newspapers to earn a

quarter, one-hundred newspapers – that’s right 100 newspapers

to earn a dollar.

            Yet, he gave us everything we needed and most of what we

wanted.

            We lived in a tidy apartment over the store, located on the

bottom of “hospital hill” in Stamford, CT.  The front door of the

store was crowned with a large bulb-lit sign that spelled

‘HUBER’S ICE CREAM” correctly in large letters but misspelled

“Murry” Gold in smaller letters.

            But Dad didn’t mind the typo.  It wasn’t important.  What

was important was that he was working when so many people

couldn’t; that he was always able to feed, clothe, shelter and

care for Richy and me, whom he loved—and for Mom, whom he

adored.

            Dad offered credit to good neighbors who were struggling

through perpetual poverty.  He made sure his chubby, red-nosed

friend, Larry, a housepainter and fisherman, took home a daily

newspaper.  And that he had pipe tobacco; even shots of Dad’s good

Canadian whiskey.

            Larry reciprocated by stuffing our kitchen sink with

flapping flounders or plump, fleshy clams.

            At night, Dad relived stories of his voyage from Russia

to New York City.  And how he supported his family by singing with

the distinguished cantor, Josef Rosenblatt--and with the

Metropolitan Opera’s children’s chorus-before he was 13!

His small moustache climbed closer to his soft blue eyes as

he recalled Enrico Caruso pinching the ladies of the chorus.  And

Geraldine Ferrar bringing candy for the children.

            Dad also helped my brother and me escape the depression by

reading to us.  His clear tenor guided us to Treasure Island. And to

the wild west.  And to Ali Baba’s cave.

            But these stirring stories never equaled Dad’s true new world

yarns.  Or our very favorite story about the airplane he and Mom

won the day before their wedding.

            Dad bought a raffle ticket and wrote Mom’s name on it for

good luck.  And, for the first time, they finally saved dollars.

And a photo that recorded their good fortune.

            Dad wore his knickerbockers and Mom wore a long dress as

they posed in the biplane that became their nest egg.  The picture’s

caption was painted on the plane’s fuselage.  This very important sign

said, “The Spirit of Stamford”.  And not one word was misspelled.

Ron Gold

outthinksresume@aol.com