My grandparents left Cuba during the corrupt Battista regime in 1945. They left with very little money, though they were wealthy. It was another hard time for my grandparents in leaving a country. My mother was 14-years-old and carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. She spoke a little English, while my grandparents didn’t speak any, nor did her younger brother or sister. So sparse translation was left up to her and the responsibility felt enormous.
Her memories of that time are bitter. She loved Cuba and felt popular there. In the United States she felt small and lonely. She always told me about how upset she would get when relatives that already lived here would tell her she was a “greenhorn”—a seemingly derogatory word that describes a newcomer unacquainted with local manners and customs. She learned English quickly. Not only did she learn the language, she dropped her Spanish accent completely. By the time I was born, no one knew of mother’s country of origin.
She went on to finish high school and attend some college. She took some business courses and ended up working in New York City before she finished college. I know very little about my mother at that time of her life. She tended to romanticize and exaggerate her life and figuring out what was real and what was not was difficult. The one thing I know was true was that she met my father on a blind date.
My father’s life started on a completely different path. August 24, 1929 was not a good year to start life. The great depression was about to begin and life was difficult. My father was the middle child of Sarah and Charles Kirsch. I know slightly more about my father’s early years. His sister Ernestine was 3 years older and younger sister Marie was 2 years younger. My grandmother Sarah died very young in 1937 from brain cancer.
This is where I have a lot of questions I would have liked to ask my Grandpa Charlie, but never got the chance. He felt he could not take care of the 3 children, especially the youngest Marie. So he told everyone he was going to put them in an orphanage. His sister Sadie decided that since she could not have children of her own that she would adopt Marie with her husband Abraham. Charles’ father, my great-grandpa David moved in the apartment with Charles, Erna and Julian to help out.
My father’s memories of this time were bitter. He began at the age of 7 to sell newspapers on the street to help earn money for the household. His sister Marie, was now his cousin and she was growing up in a house that was relatively wealthy for the time. Her adopted father was an architect and successfully found work during the great depression.
My father would sell his newspaper on street corners shouting “Extra, Extra Read All About It!” just like you see and hear in old time movies. If Marie saw him on the street and she was out with her friends, she would cross over to the other side to not run into her brother. If Sadie and Abraham invited my father over for dinner, there would always be some chores involved. He was never invited over simply because he was family. My father said he worked harder there than anywhere else.
His fondest memories of that time was going into a cafeteria-style restaurant called Dubrow’s. The wait staff took a liking to this personable and handsome young boy and would feed him and give him his favorite drink called a New York Egg Cream. No egg or cream was in the drink which was made of just the right blend of chocolate syrup, milk and seltzer. Where the name came from is open to debate!
My dad grew up on the streets of New York. He learned quickly how to survive. He dropped out of school to join the Army when he was 15 by forging the consent form with his father’s name. When his family discovered he was on his way to the Pacific Theater in World War II they contacted the authorities and he was brought back home. But when he was 16 his father gave him permission to enlist. By that time, the United States was fighting with Korea.
Dad would not talk much about his years in Korea other than to say he tried sake one time and became very ill. He had gotten malaria “over there” and that was the reason he was sent home. I’m not sure about this as he was shot at and had a permanent shrapnel scar on his chest. How it happened was never discussed. He consistently said that his heart was weakened by the malaria the remainder of his life. He was promoted to be a Tank Sergeant and he was very proud of that and said if he hadn’t been sick he would have made a career of the army.
arlenejkirsch 