Our House

Our House 

 I was born in 1947, so I guess that makes me a typical baby boomer. I am the middle of three children, the son of a Austro-Hungarian father and a first generation American mother. My dad was a podiatrist, and he and my mom also owned and managed a men's clothing store. Later, she took over running the store and dad opened a practice nearby. For some reason, I never knew my dad was a podiatrist until he insisted that my brother wear brown, ugly shoes for ankle support. (Bob called them his "mental shoes."

                                              Our house today.

My family lived near Marquette Park, on the southwest side of Chicago, in a typical post World War I brick 2 flat. Two families  joined together to buy the building, and we shared the building, the Marders on the first floor, the Holzmans on the second.

Our family was my dad, Sol, my mom, Jean, my older sister, Judi, and my younger brother, Bob. Also living with us was my dad's mother, Helen, and for  many years, my great-aunt Hattie. I never thought of myself as a first generation American, but, I guess I was. English was spoken by everyone, but my parents , grandmother and great-aunt spoke Yiddish, also.

On the second floor were the Holtzmans, Max owned a grocery store and was a skilled carpenter, Alice a housewife. Their two children were Jerry, who loved to tinker with old cars, and Reba, who, as I recall, painted her room black and introduced me to early rock and roll. Both played piano, right above our living room, usually a choppy  version of Chopin's Polanaise or  Chopsticks.

My parents and the Holzmans lived in a sort of uneasy  truce. We complained that the furnace was too hot, and they constantly said they were cold. Also,  our dining room "chandelier" used to shake when they walked above us. It also seemed that it always snowed on the months I was responsible for shovelling the sidewalks, or rained when it was our turn to mow the lawn.

As kids, we got along well with  Reba and Jerry, and occasionally were invited to watch Davey  Crockett and Robin Hood on t.v. with them. I was mildly afraid of the dog, who used to eat in front of the t.v. and snap if you got near her bowl. As far as I remember, her only trick was to lie on her back and beg for tummy rubs.

Our apartment  wasn't overly large. We had a generous living room, dining room and kitchen, but the three bedrooms were rather small. Only my parents' bedroom had a small closet. The rest of us had wardrobes. My brother and I shared a bedroom, with a Hollywood bed and a trundle bed underneath  that I loved because it had a metal pop-up frame and could be played like a xylophone. I also used it to improve the reception of my crystal set radio.

Out the back door,there was a small, enclosed back porch, leading to a yard and down to a half finished basement that I swear was haunted. The store room was full of Passover dishes, canned goods and very old anatomy text books that were mostly about dead cats. If you could ignore the creepy sounds of the furnace long enough, you might unearth old golf clubs and  very old photo albums in bushel baskets and cartons. Part of the basement was finished as a rec room, and the front room held our prized electric train setup.


Our back yard was not the place to be in the spring or summer ,when  T.J., the black and tan cocker spaniel ,used the yard as her toilet. In the spring my mom planted rhubarb and there was a cherry tree which provided the makings of many pies. When the snow melted, bright yellow and red tulips came up near the back gate every spring.  Our neighbors had a coal furnace and put out the "clinkers" or unburned coal in the alley, which we used to toss at each other.

There was also an old unattached garage which held assorted junk, the cars that Jerry Holzman worked on, and my father's old  podiatry chair, which I thought was a barber's chair.  When my brother, Bob, was in  college he bought an exotic powder blue old  English sports car which he housed in the garage.

So, most of our play was in front of the house on cement steps that served as a meeting place and a ledge ball court.  The stoop became my library, where I devoured comic books and science fiction magazines.  We had the attraction of our grade school on the very next block with a ball field, swings, and a hundred places  to play fast pitch with a tennis ball and bat. We spent summer days there playing 16 inch softball, flying kites and setting off firecrackers on the 4th of July.
 I really  only remember our immediate neighbors. Margo and Jordie Rush lived in the next 2 flat.They had a swing set and we played with them often. On the other side was  Shushis family. They were an older couple, but very nice to us as kids. I used  to love to watch Mr. Shushis tuckpoint the brickwork on his apartment. The yard on the side of their house became our miniature golf course..When my father eventually sold their building, we gave a carved table to  Mrs. Shushis, rather than just leave it for the new owner.
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There were only a few Jewish families like us on our block, so I felt very isolated  at Christmas time when we didn't have a tree. I really  enjoyed looking out our window at our neighbors flocked tree that turned blue, white and green from a spinning spotlight. Also, we had   a baby sitter who had a nativity scene in front of her fireplace that caught my eye. Down on the end of the block, one family had a life size Infant of Prague doll in their front window. One Hannukah, mom  and dad had us put out our yamalkes on the coffee table, next to the electric train set that we had just gotten. The next morning they were filled with candy. When my sister's boyfriend came over to take her out, she couldn't get him away from the train set.   Years later, when my dad sold the building, the buyer claimed he never saw he train set in our basement. I know differently.