drab streets of Washington Heights suddenly blossomed
with color and lights, my imagination sparked. An
adolescent girl growing up within blocks of an ornate RKO
movie theater showing double features, serials, along with
cartoons; a kosher delicatessen for our Tuesday and
Thursday take-out dinners, when my hardworking father
was still “downtown” clocking overtime; a wondrous Horn
& Hardart cafeteria where for a couple of nickels you could
choose your meal through twirling windows giving you a
visual taste of what you would soon “bite into”; a Nedick’s
hot dog stand where one could sit tall on stools - a castle
perched on the corner of 181st Street and Broadway -
where my father's sly warning that the “dirt” of the
frankfurters gave them that special delicious flavor; and
mid- block was F.W. Woolworth's Department Store, the
culmination of my seasonal fantasies - where every
Christmas I could again marvel at “The Tree" “ decorated
with glass ornaments, dazzling bulbs blinking on and off,
awarding my eyes a retinal feast.
My family celebrated Chanukah but it was different. We
too had lights in a stately menorah with candles of a single
color, never glowing or twinkling, but the menorah did not
subsume me with the magic of the Woolworth's towering
tree, which could set my heart to racing in rapture and
generate feelings of entering uncharted magical terrains.
There was something beige and dry about our family’s
celebration - receiving presents was exciting, but usually
handed out “bare”, without being wrapped up in elegant
boxes with designs of Santa encased in red and green
ribbons which like curls would wrap themselves around my
fingers.
My twin sister Florence and I sat cross-legged, our long
braids sweeping the hallway floor, engrossed in playing
“spin the dreidel “ (a gambling, top-like toy) the goal being
to accumulate a prize of walnuts which were later traded in
to the adults for pennies; we were waiting - not for Santa
or looking skywards at reindeer flying over Apartment 1B
on 180th Street, but anticipating which of us would came
out on top and win the game and a possible jackpot of
coins. Aromas of familiar foods, hot apple pie made with
butter and cream cheese rich enough to cause bedtime
stomach aches, permeated the warm and peaceful space
- a welcome respite from the anxieties and nervous
tensions that that so often filled our lives.
My parents were German Jewish refugees having immigrated to the United
States, fleeing Hitler's Nazi Germany to build a new life in
New York City. For much of our childhood, news of the
death of family members including our paternal
grandmother and grandfather took its toll on the family
psyche; the palpable sadness of loss was constant.
It seemed to me that practically everyone in my Upper
Manhattan community celebrated Christmas. Buildings
and walls awash with decorations; the perpetual music in
the air filling my childhood head with fanciful spectacles. I
remember skipping down the street, curious to glance onto
the grounds of one of the more rustic neighborhood
churches, the one with the high beautifully designed gates
surrounding its premises, inviting but also denying
entrance - where I saw a manger with “baby Jesus”
surrounded by hay and living, breathing baby goats - the
smell and grunts of another universe just out of reach.
Today years later, as the November autumn days wane,
the sun settling earlier, I begin to see deflated plastic
snowmen and Santa Clauses lying on suburban lawns
waiting to be blown up, an indication of the season to
come. I still look forward to the wonder of Christmas when
people open their hearts to nostalgia, the joy of giving and
to the dusty memories of prior observances - merry or
solemn. Trees for sale at street corners, filling up empty
lots - all ready to be dressed up. Still I have never seen a
tree - whether at Rockefeller Center or The White House,
that can compare to the ones that a New York City "five
and dime" store on 181st Street, just off Broadway erected
for Christmas, covered with glittering baubles, and flakes
of snow, with the height and mass of a mountain crowned
by a brilliant golden star - a tree that tapped into a child’s
hunger for inspiration and enchantment.
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