A Bronx Christmas

I have always had trouble remembering my life before my mother died in the mid twenties, Yet, the older I get, 94 this year, the more things are popping up that I had thought were long lost.

My family, mother, father, two older sisters and I lived in a tenement on 181st Street, a few blocks from the entrance to the Bronx Zoo. A six story walkup with two apartments on each floor and a single toilet between them. The Howe family shared our 4th floor. He was an inspector for the Sheffield Farms Milk Company. He rode around in a small horse-drawn rig checking up on the work of the milkmen and their deliveries.

I have a felt sense that mama was the sentimental side of my German family. Papa was the stern disciplinarian. Instances of severe bad behavior might bring mama to say, “possoff due dine Varter comt.” lookout your father is coming. That was enough to transform me into a little angel. Any pain that her cliner leibshen felt would be healed with a long hug against her pillow like breasts.

Though we were not at all religious it was mama who brought home and decorated the XMas tree. Sneaking out of my bed at night I watched her and my two older sisters pinning those little candles on the tree. On Christmas eve they were lit and the little tree just glowed with joy as our friends and neighbors sat around and sang, “Still a Nacht Heiliga Nacht.” All was well and happy.

The feeling of warmth and love might soon be dissipated. Drowned out by the clang of, what was probably the last Horse drawn Fire Engine Company as it roared through the street with sparks from the steam boiler filling the sky. This was “night riders in the” streets. Once the lovely candle lit XMas trees caught fire it was soon enough a four alarmer calling out Fire Engines from all over the City. That never happened to us.

Sure enough on Christmas day there would be presents. My most wonderful memory was a toy automobile go cart. I now remember sitting in it driving around the apartment and making conversation with other drivers. “okay Jack om gonna back her up” or “can’t ya see it’s a red light.” Papa would laugh until the tears ran down his face. He would ask mama, ‘where did he learn that talk?” She said, “It was the auto repair shop around the corner where he can hang out all day watching what is going on. The men who work their insist, “he’s no bother.” My sisters got girl presents. Mostly clothes to pretty them up.

Papa said, we had to save all our stale bread for the animals in the Bronx Zoo. He insisted that we treat them as our distant relatives. “They also need to have something special for the holidays, even if the Bible said they had only to get on the Ark if they were to be saved.” Papa always the teacher would then add. “Yes if it wasn’t for the Chimpanzees across the street we wouldn’t be here. So let’s go give them some thanks.” On Christmas day the Zoo was all ours. When we arrived with our shopping bags of stale bread the animals would come running. Papa said see how they appreciate our taking time to come and share with them whatever we have. That of course was the lesson of the day. “Thank you so much Papa,”

Aside from organizing workers Papa started the Modern Sunday Schools. He believed that if we are ever to have a socialist society children had to learn exactly what that meant. He often said the Jesuits were right. “Give me the child from zero to six and I will give you the man.” At its peak Papa had schools in three Boroughs, Bronx, Brooklyn and Queens. On Sunday morning instead of church, or much like it, we went to Sunday School. We sang songs in praise of the working class. Teachers helped us understand the evils of capitalism and the glories of socialism.

The holiday spirit in our home would continue on through the week. Mama had baked all kind of cakes and cookies. This was all before telephones. People just showed up. No appointments, no advance notice and they were always welcomed with warmth and love. The big welcome seemed to produce a magical appearance of coffee, cake and talk.

The folks I was blessed to grow up with were obsessive talkers. This was all before radio and television so whatever punditry there was came from all your relatives, friends and fellow true socialism believers. A favorite in those times was, “the true meaning of the Russian Revolution” That could keep the argument going well past midnight. It was mama who always made me feel, “it was okay to argue about all that but above all else she was going to keep this home a, “safe warm and loving place.”

Of course, this was all before the great depression of 1929. That would change everything especially that warm homestead that mama made. In the mid twenties she would suddenly depart from a botched back alley abortion leaving a very young boy without these sweet memories that have only recently begun to return. Now that’s a blessing. Happy Holidays to you all. My very best RS