Miracle on Kings Highway - Angelo's Story

I first posted this Christmas piece 3 years ago. The events which took place in my life while working at H and A Foods on Kings Highway in Brooklyn all took place at a time in my life when I was very fortunate to be working for 2 people; Harry and Al; who were willing to put people first in their hearts and deeds. While complete opposites on most things, they were in unison when it came to helping people to help themselves. I have never worked for 2 more colorful, and generous, human beings. And there is never a Christmas which passes by that I don’t think about them and tell this story. It speaks to the humanity within us all.

This is a story of the Christmas Spirit. Every word is true – I know - I was there. These events happened 35 years ago this evening (1974) and still warm my soul each time I relive them. It is what Christmas is all about.

The neighborhood of Kings Highway in Brooklyn was a world of its own. We had the same assortment of shops, delicatessens and candy stores as all the other main shopping avenues, only bigger. H and A Foods, as it was known, catered to the upper crust of the neighborhood. We delivered; which none of the big chains did; and that’s where our story begins…

Angelo was the youngest brother of Milton, who, along with his brother Leo worked for Harry and Al. Milton delivered the groceries in a station wagon bought for him by Harry and Al every 2 years. It was in his name and Harry and Al paid all expenses on it. Milton delivered the groceries and as the store grew he brought his 2 brothers over to help. Leo was the floor manager and Angelo was a “stocker”. Of the 3 brothers’ only Angelo still had family behind in Mexico - a wife and 5 children. His dream was to save enough money to bring them here.

Angelo could ape a few words of English and taught me several foul words and phrases in Spanish. He was a hard worker- about 40 years old. He sent his pay home and lived in a furnished room around the corner from the store. He never got to go home and visit his family while saving to bring them here. He was an illegal and this was 1974. They still upheld the immigration laws back then so it was a risky business sneaking in and out.

First a few words are in order concerning Harry and Al. They were partners; 2 Jews perfectly mismatched. While Harry was short, Al was tall. Harry was an optimist, Al was a pessimist. Harry was a doer, Al was a dreamer. You get the point. Anyway, they operated on a system of checks and balances, not unlike our government. They had been in business for 20 years as partners after having failed on their own. It was only after they got together that they achieved any success.

There had been a slight recession in 1973 going into 1974. The Vietnam War had just wound down and Watergate was about to give us our first unelected President in Jerry Ford. There had been talk of some cutback in hours or possibly some layoffs in the store during the fall months leading up to the holidays. Harry had been in and out at all odd hours compared with his usual schedule, which was etched in stone like the Tablets on Sinai. We assumed he had been meeting with bankers to negotiate some financing.

The holidays approached and with them all the excitement that is generated by the prospect of the “Christmas Bonus.” This boiled down to two very basic questions- how much and when? The tradition at Harry and Al’s had always been a week’s gross pay in cash on Christmas Eve just before closing. We were all paid on the basis of 15 hours per week on the books at minimum wage ($2.50 an hour) and then the balance of our pay was in cash at a higher rate. This ensured that we made enough cash to live on and also that our Social Security Accounts would not be bare. It also helped when the Labor Dept. Inspector dropped in to make sure we were all on the books.

Christmas Eve finally arrived and we rushed through all the last minute tasks before closing early for the holiday. Harry and Al were still busy counting the days receipts as the rest of us pretended to work, waiting for the “moment”.

Al and Harry stood behind the counter and we were all gathered on the customer side exchanging best wishes etc as Harry handed out the envelopes with our bonus. There was one for Milton, Izzie, Leo, Steve, Bob, Paul and myself. Angelo’s name was not called.

Meekly coming forward with hand outstretched Angelo spoke; “Me, dinero?” he implored, eyes showing the shame of asking. He was here illegally and there was no guarantee of a bonus for anyone, let alone this poor fellow. He continued, “Me mucho trabajo- no dinero?” Al held his hand up, arm outstretched, palm facing Angelo and said, “You no work bueno- you no dinero.” And then he turned away. The silence, as they say, was deafening. Angelo turned and ran to the basement to be alone with his disappointment and probably anger.

Suddenly from the basement we heard the sounds of laughter and tears. Seeing Harry and Al as they exchanged satisfied glances we knew things were not as they appeared to be. Milton and Leo seemed unusually calm as the rest of us herded toward the basement steps to investigate the cacophony of sounds.

There was Angelo, surrounded by his wife and five children, tears streaming down their faces as they embraced the greatest Christmas gift imaginable- one another.

And then we realized, Harry hadn’t been going to the bankers as we all thought. He had been going to Immigration arranging the visas and job commitment necessary to re-unite Angelo with his family.

There was not a dry eye as we left the store that night. We filed out under the caring gaze of 2 of the wisest men I have ever known - and I believe we had seen the true Spirit of Christmas.  

The Royal Guardsmen - "Snoopy's Christmas" (1967)

I was about 13 years old when this recording was released. The country had been in a Snoopy craze for about a year and a half when the Royal Guardsmen released their first hit “Snoopy and the Red Baron”, which gave many kids my age their first taste of the legendary World War One flying ace Baron Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen. Snoopy had been fighting him for several years from atop his doghouse, which served as his plane. Snoopy made it through the war; the Baron did not. He was shot down over France on April 21, 1918 after having had his picture taken pre-flight with a stray dog. The pilot’s wisdom back then was to not have your photo taken before a mission. It was considered to be a bad omen, and for the Baron, it was.

For me, the record brings back a vivid memory each year when I hear the song played on the radio at Christmas time. (The video above is not "Snoopy’s Christmas", but their earlier record, “Snoopy vs. the Red Baron”, from 1966. The video player would not allow me to upload “Snoopy’s Christmas”.) I had saved up all of my money from the paper route I worked after schools to buy Christmas gifts for my parents , Uncle and brother, as well as a few friends. So, with my money bulging in my pockets; I had about $30, which may seem small now, but was a tidy sum for a 13 year old back then; I boarded the “D” train at Kings Highway in Brooklyn, headed for “the city”;which is Brooklynese for the Borough of Manhattan.

Adding to the mystique of my trip was the “local”, which made stops at every station along the way. I can still remember, as anyone who grew up in Brooklyn can, each of the stops along the entire “D” line from Brighton Beach to 59^th Street and Central Park, at the very least. The “local” which I was on was one of the older subway cars which dated back to the 1930’s. They had lacquered straw seats and overhead fan blades which resembled the old fashioned ice cream parlors from the turn of the century. They also had the smell from almost 40 years of commuters making their way to and from work each day.

This was not an unpleasant odor, and I believe most of the smell was comprised of the automobile exhaust which drifted down into the subway cars in Manhattan. Even the long, open, elevated section of the line, where I lived, couldn’t air those cars out.

I arrived at the 34^th Street station and made my way up to the street and into Macy’s. I had in mind a scarf which my mother had indicated a desire for, and a pipe for my father. He had just quit smoking cigarettes again, taking up pipe smoking as a way to cope with the ordeal. That reasoning didn’t make sense to me then, and still doesn’t now. I also bought something for my Uncle Irving; it was a tie which I bought from a street vendor right outside of Macy’s. I think the guy selling the ties used to go in and steal them before setting up shop outside, where he would re-sell them at a fraction of the cost. Working without a roof, you might say that his “overhead” was less.

My $30 went quite a long way, as I managed to find the scarf for something like $3, and the pipe set me back about $8, leaving me with plenty of money to spend on my day shopping. I ate lunch at the Nedick’s on the corner. Next to Nathan’s, they had the best hotdogs around, and also their famous Orange Drink. I felt very grown up standing at the counter and eating my “dog” with all the adults.

When all was finished and my shopping done, I went back down into the subway, inhaling deeply of the aroma which still, to this day, reminds me of growing up. I don’t remember much else from that Christmas; mainly because my trip into the city was the highlight of the holiday for me that year. I was growing up.

There’s no point to this story; it’s just an old Christmas memory from long ago and far away.

Father's Day

This beautiful cactus was given to me by my daughter Sarah for Father’s day. It bloomed just in time. And it will keep on doing that for years to come. She was moving this weekend; the first time that she has lived in a different city than Sue and I; and so I will not see her until next weekend. Our other two sons, Keith and Shane, live in New York and Texas; respectively; and though we have gotten used to that, we miss seeing more of our grandkids.

The cactus is an important link between Sarah and I. She was vacationing with friends, years ago, as a kid, on the Outer Banks, where she dug some sand cactus up to bring home to me. Nobody, not even I, thought that it would survive the winter weather inland. Well, it did, and has split into a couple of groups, traveling from house to house with Sue and I over the years. Each year, around this time, they too, give me beautiful blooms. It makes me think about the doubters out there, myself included, who didn’t think the plant would survive.

Another, very special gift is the Red Robin Beanie Babie pictured below, nestled with the other 2 gifts. That was a present I gave Sarah when she was sick about 14 years ago. She had scores of them, most of which are housed in my garage. She only took a few when she married and moved out. But, she took the Robin, which always made me feel extra special.  Now that she will be living so far away (a bit more than 2 hours – or, the other end of the earth) she has returned it to me, and I will keep it close at hand as a way of feeling close to her.

Being a father is tough, but being my kid was probably tougher in many ways. It’s hard to grow up, and it’s hard to grow old. There’s no winning the war against time. It merely marches on past us, leaving us in its wake. No matter; I will always have this Robin to remind me of the daughter who learned to fly. And that  trumps any sense of loss I will ever feel.