Happy Birthday Mom (Ruth Marcus Williams) 1929-1984

Today my Mom would have been 86 years old. If she were still alive I might not be telling you that, as she was a bit vain about her age. She was over a year older than my Dad and I think she always wished it were the other way around. Go figure.

This photo is from her childhood album and was taken on the roof at 3619 Bedford Avenue. That’s the big red building on the NE corner of Bedford and Kings Highway. She was 14 years old. After she married my Dad in 1950 they lived there in apartment 3-C with my Grandmother Marcus and her brother Uncle Irving and their Russian born father "Max." A woman named Mary, and eventually her husband Mack, also lived there. Mary was the Irish woman who raised my Mom during the 1930's and became a lifelong friend of my Grandmother's.When Mary and Mack moved to California in the late 1950’s, she went with them. My Uncle always said that they took the Dodgers with them.

This picture always fascinates me because it shows how much more mature people seemed to be "back then". Of course the country had just been through the Great Depression, and this photo was taken in the middle of the Second World War which followed it. That might account for part of it. As a matter of fact, that’s my Uncle Walter’s army cap she’s holding. He was home on leave at the time after basic training.

Happy Birthday Mom!

You would have been confused by much of what is happening these days, but also thrilled with some of the other things. Like blogs. You would have had one; and a Facebook page. Those long distance phone calls from faraway places would never have been necessary. But I wouldn’t have missed them for the world. They are how we bridged our divide. Those calls are why when I miss you I am able to smile. They are why I’m smiling now...

Love always,

Robert

Peacekeeper

The small waste can bounced off of my brother’s head and he slammed into the picture frame, shattering the glass and cutting his wrist as he fell to the ground. The old man stood over him, yelling, “That’s your mother- she’s MY girlfriend and that’s who I care about!” He was about to strike another blow, he was like that, given to seemingly out of control rages, though I had often suspected he was, at all times, by virtue of his outbursts, in perfect control. My slender, but firm, hand reached out to stay his arm as he arched it backwards. “That’s enough!” I yelled. “He’s bleeding!”

The old man stood back and surveyed the damage he had done. His eyes took in the form of his crumpled older boy on the floor, weeping; and the broken frame and glass which sprinkled the black and white tiles of the foyer, the blood on the wall, and he stared in disbelief.

I began to clean up the mess as the two former combatants, who had only moments before been so bold and loud toward one another, slunk away, as if by doing so they could undo what had just happened.

The glass was cleaned up, and the frame removed to some long forgotten corner of a closet. The old man finished cleaning and dressing my brother's wound, and then we all went to the hospital to see Mom.

It was Valentine’s Day 1969. My brother was 16 that day and wanted to see his girlfriend, whom he would later marry. My father wanted to have a little birthday/Valentine’s Day party in the day room at the hospital for my Mom. I just wanted to see her. And she just wanted to see us.

Why am I writing this story now, after so many years? What point am I trying to make? Only that the simplest of emotions, and the best of intentions, can sometimes both backfire and blow up in your face. There is no explanation for our emotions, sometimes there is only damage control.

Note: The photograph was taken in July of 1969 on a trip to Florida. The flag, at St. Augustine, is flying at half staff. I have always remembered this as being in honor of Senator Everett Dirksen, who had just passed away. Evidently my memory fails me, as Senator Dirksen did not pass away until September.