Thinking Out Loud

By Gerard Meister

As my constant readers know I have a rich and varied family of friends, relatives and pets. Perhaps no one more of an odd ball, than my Uncle Isadore (Izzy, for short) who forked over the forty-bucks it took to bring my mother to America in 1900. He was able to come up with the moolah because he was a pants’ presser in a men’s suit factory and a “piece-worker” to boot. This meant he brought home the big bucks because Izzy was known up and down Seventh Avenue as the non pareil of pressing (although that was not the word that was used because it doesn’t translate readily into Yiddish).

In fact, he took his work so seriously that he wore a freshly pressed (what else?) suit to work every day. Even on his day off – Sunday – he wore a suit, shirt and tie. This meant that when he came to visit us he came dressed to the nines without a wrinkle to be seen. And why no wrinkles after half-an-hour on the subway? Easy, he never sat down, which, in and of itself is not so crazy. But he carried his up-right persona to the extreme by never sitting down – never ever – no matter where he was or how long he stayed.

I remember him leaning against the wall sipping a cup of coffee, sidling over to the table and putting down the java while he inhaled a cheese Danish in one gulp (no crumbs!) before going back to his leaning post.

A mild crisis arose in the family when his older daughter was affianced and a wedding planned. Understand that for the past 5,000 years no Jew was ever married in a venue where no food was served. After some heated arguments over Uncle Izzy’s prospective conduct at the affair a Solomon-like compromise was reached: Uncle Izzy rented a tuxedo (adding another ten smackers to the tab) and sat stoically through the soup, salad. Chicken and dessert. And yes, a goodtime was had by all.