My Early Lurier Life

Appendix

My mother’s mother, Sarah Lurier My mother’s parents My father’s mother, Bessie Shore

MY EARLY LURIER LIFE

Biologically unlikely but actually true, I had four mothers, four siblings, and multiple extended, loving, talkative, bossy, Jewish, advice-giving relatives. Blame may be assigned to my grandparents on both sides who kept having children, children, and more children. They, in turn, biblically begat progenies and so it passed that four sisters had a few brothers as well as four husbands – and those four sisters consisted of my mother and my three aunts, who were parents of their children, my dear cousins.

It was 1935 when it all began for me. The family name was Lurier. Here’s how it played out. My immediate family benefitted greatly from my father’s work ethic, meaning that none of my uncles did as well financially as my father. He was in the supermarket business during the war, and we, I am now ashamed to say, ate steak while many had diets far leaner. However, my mother never suffered from greed, and I don’t think a month went by during the war that she and I neglected to travel by car to carry treats to my

aunts living in nearby states. Our car’s back seats were loaded with bags of groceries, clothes, shoes, pocketbooks, playing cards, children’s toys, sheets and blankets. She was a good soul and never berated my whining “Are we almost there? How many more minutes?”

Along with that memory came another of which I am less proud. Our travels to see my aunts included numerous trips by ‒ in addition to cars, trains. This was during the war, so civilian travel was challenged by large numbers of sailors and soldiers rushing for the trains as we did. My mother, anxious to get seats for us, had devised a training program for me, then age 6 or 7: At the exact moment when the doors opened, she yelled “NOW, run like the wind, scramble between all adult legs and grab the first seats you can.” Ergo, I remember nothing but mad dashes as I, crouched like a turtle, made a beeline for all I was worth. WE never missed our seats, and I was too busy being obedient to feel any guilt.

As for my parents, Al and Ethel Shore. My father, Poppy (affectionately so named by my children) was essentially the silent partner who worked nonstop, leaving child rearing and all household chores to my mother. An interesting conversationalist, he was philosophical and engaging when discussing politics or history. An adoring parent, he was rather quiet, self-absorbed, and told the same stories repeatedly. He amused his grandchildren with outrageous stories about his eccentric friends and their escapades. He was nuts for steak and martinis. It is highly embarrassing that as I was taking a bite out of a hot dog in a kosher restaurant in Miami Beach, he vociferously warned me about the dangers of free sex and “disgusting and dangerous behavior.”

Additionally, he interviewed every date I ever had with embarrassing questions about his family business and income. My mother used to say “lock him in the closet” with the arrival of any new beau.

Lest I am too unfair to my father, I will always be grateful to him for his unwavering love and support. We were blessed to have a father who gave us the lives we had, dependent in no small measure on the incredible work ethic he maintained – and set as an example. More successful than anyone else in the family, he was always generous with our relatives when they faced financial challenges. He had a riotous sense of humor but didn’t think it was too funny when I dropped two very costly bottles of vintage wine immediately following a stern warning from him: “Margie, don’t you DARE drop those bottles” – we were on Park Avenue in New York City when the splattering crash of one bottle, then another, caused attending family members to nearly faint from astonishment. Another legacy-making event occurred when my parents bumped into a very large cabinet of extremely costly glassware, shattering the entire collection across the floor of an expensive department store. Would you have run like the wind out of there like frightened deer? They did! Thank you, Madeleine for reminding me of these memories. Ethel & Al

Shore Family Seder April 17, 1935

Dad’s father (Zayde)

My parents

Dad’s Mother (Bubbe)

He always took me dancing on my birthday

AND NOW FOR MY MOTHER

Mom’s High School Yearbook

My friends were truly intimidated by my mother. She bossed all of us with strict standards and rules. Yet, never was there a more ardent supporter than my Mom, who showered me with empathy and attention when I really needed comfort. Moreover, she arranged the best education possible for her children, encouraged them to see the world, taught us the urgent need for responsibility, telling the truth, owning up to bad accidents or non-accidents, like breaking a table or telling a lie. An aside: Sitting at a funeral, I complimented my mother on her small diamond studs. Immediately she removed them from her ears and put them in mine. I wear them even today. She made the best lemon meringue and apple pies, and decorated our house with impeccable taste and design. She was a great housekeeper, and I remember being totally bewildered, watching her hanging out of the upstairs windows shaking blankets and assorted items of clothing. That was Spring Cleaning, something I have assiduously avoided since my coming of age.

My brother, Barrie, was four years my senior. He attended Boston University and ultimately joined my father in managing shopping centers in Massachusetts. He worked diligently at the business, and watched every penny. In middle age he married Rula, and they had a son named Billy. At the party the night before his wedding, where the entire family assembled, Barrie manifested his joy by looking at his loving relatives and proclaiming to Dessa and me, “Oy A Klug!”, which translates into

“Oy the worst!” This expression lingered as his legacy and became one of our favorite phrases. Barrie and family moved into a charming home in Rhode Island from which he drove to his Providence office, and economized by raking the autumn leaves diligently and cleaning his swimming pool weekly. Moreover, he was king of his kitchen where he and Rula disagreed frequently about many issues, including food preparation. He died late in life after intermittent bouts with cancer.

Back to the mention of my four mothers, more accurately, my wonderful aunts. My favorite was Auntie Ida with whom I was deposited for weeks on end when I was probably no more than three years old. Anytime my parents travelled or illness prevailed, I was sent to live with my aunt in Worcester, Massachusetts. This happened so often that Auntie Ida became my second mother ‒ case in point, she would sit with me for hours and tell stories, color doilies, cut paper dolls, bake cookies and give me all the attention on the planet.

Aunt Ida had two teenage children, Ned and Dessa … in every sense my siblings. Older than I, they adored, babied, pampered and tutored me. Ned took me sledding and skating, and even to school with him when I was bored. When he went into the army, I wrote him incessantly, adorning the envelopes with red pencil drawings of hearts or sayings or SWAK (sealed with a kiss) or smiley faces and silly quotes. Overrun with scribble, those envelopes were so unreadable that they were sent to Air Force Headquarters where they apparently loved little kids; so they researched the whereabouts of Ned, and redirected the unreadable letters to the right person. They invariably reached my adored cousin in Europe.

The Lurier Sisters Ida, Anne, Mom, Belle

Barrie, Ida, Me

My Letters to Ned

Ned

Upon returning from the war, Ned met the love of his life, Lenore, and they had three loving children, Mark, Sara and Barbara. Ned’s sister, Dessa, had truly grown up with me, living at times with my immediate family, or I with hers. She dressed me, hugged me, dragged me around with her and called me a brat. At age five, I called her “sophisticated and cheap,” sending adults into hysterics ‒continuing through the years. I was the youngest and everyone’s “baby.” For years and even until recently, when Ned died, I was called The Baby.

Another aunt was Aunt Belle who lived in New Haven with her husband and daughter, my same-age cousin Betsy. Boy, did we have fun. As with Aunt Ida, I lived off and on with Aunt Belle and adored Betsy. We were probably around seven or eight, and I hate to admit that we intentionally got into a lot of trouble. During the war, we used to travel by streetcar, and would eyeball an innocent victim and label him a German agent. When he got off the streetcar, we followed him to his destination. We never caught a spy simply because we were completely nuts. Another foolish prank: we loved buying candy bars and spent many an hour eating several at a time, which for some reason terminated in our giggling so much that we wet our pants. One time, the situation became

unbearable, so we took off our soaked underpants and dropped them into a waste basket at a gas station, then recalling we had our summer camp name tags in them. Ergo, pitifully reminiscent of the maxim: Caught with your pants down.

My third aunt was Auntie Anne who lived in New Haven with her husband, Max, and daughter, Leila. Although I never “lived” with Auntie Anne, I stayed with her whenever I dated Yale boys while in college. She was wonderfully hospitable and cried on my behalf when my date for the Yale Junior Prom got so inebriated at the before-the-prom party that he never picked me up for the prom. Stood up though I was, her tears dwarfed mine – and have earned their place as my favorite memory of Auntie Anne. As for Uncle Max, I must admit that Betsy and I, age 4-ish or very youngish, tortured him on numerous occasions when walking together on the beach, we reached high up for his bathing trunks and tugged on them relentlessly until they almost entirely dropped.

Resurrecting those early days, I cannot help but mention Dessa (Remember? Auntie Ida’s daughter) – because two of her children, Susan and Paul, are my best friends, travelling companions, cheerleaders, encompassing every molecule of loyalty and love. I do have three natural children, but, in addition, Dessa’s children occupy a critical part of my close relationships. I travel with them, cook with them, drink with them, email with them, confide in them, and share details of love lives, health issues, family, friendships, occupations, ad infinitem.

Am I uniquely fortunate to have this extended family? You bet. Stay tuned as we move forward in time on the following pages.