Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself – Part V

Not long after grandpa returned back home to grandma at their Rt. 9 duplex, their landlord advised them that the property was being sold and that the apartments they were living in would soon be demolished.  So, my grandparents needed to look for another place to live. 

They settled on the brand new apartments on Broad Street in Freehold Borough known as Parker Apartments (now, Parker Condos).  They soon moved in to building five, apartment thirteen.  It was a very convenient location for them. 

Grandpa could no longer work at his old job at Raritan Rug in Metuchen.  So, grandma continued on at her old job as bookkeeper for Charney’s Office Supplies on Main Street in Freehold.  Her boss was Sam Oppenheim, who my grandfather despised and often referred to as the “cheapest man on earth.”  Charney’s wages were low, but the workload was high. My grandmother worked hard and often
had to fight for better pay.  Mr. Oppenheim loved her, but had a hard time parting with a buck.

I spent a lot of time with my grandparents at Parker Apartments and got to know most of their neighbors.  Upstairs was a very nice young nurse from Jersey Shore Medical Center. Roberta Schank, was a terrific neighbor, always looking in on my grandparents and helping out wherever she could.  Next door was Mrs. Hantman and across the street were the Lamell’s.  Their granddaughter, Debbie, also lived in Manalapan and had been a close friend of mine since Kindergarten. 

Whenever mom and dad had someplace to go, I stayed over with grandpa and grandma. It was nice spending time with them. We’d watch television and play games together.  Grandpa and I would cuddle in bed together and watch our favorite shows. I remember him always pinching me in the neck - with love - and saying, “liebe en a kupf.” 

Grandma and I would walk over to A&P and into town for a lunch at the counter of Newberrys. She loved visiting with the two counter ladies, Olga and Fannie.  I loved my grilled cheese sandwich and busting a balloon to win a deep discount on a sundae, for dessert.

My grandparents moved into those apartments in 1965.  From that point on, grandpa’s Alzheimer’s was progressing rapidly.  He would hallucinate and sometimes get violent and throw things at my grandmother.  He did have periods of lucidity, when he was as sharp as a tack.  Grandpa had an amazing talent with numbers.  You could shout out a series of three of four digit numbers and he could add them in his head within seconds. When he was lucid, we were amazed that his talent was not lost. 

Taking care of grandpa Ben was very hard on grandma.  Between his daily insulin shots; making him special dietary meals; helping him in and out of bed (into his wheelchair); and dealing with his violent outbursts took a great toll on her own health.  She seemed to age, very quickly.  There were times that grandpa went out into the street without any clothes.  Another time, he took his car and drove off to who knows where?  On that drive, he sideswiped a utility truck and eventually had his car taken away from him.  We believe that losing his car and ability to drive greatly contributed to his overall decline.  Grandpa used to drive a truck and was always very independent.  Not being able to drive a car seemed like the unofficial end for him.

On the afternoon of January 17, 1968, mom and dad showed up at Pine Brook School to pick me up.  This was totally unexpected.  It turned out that grandpa Ben had passed away at home.  His kidneys failed and he died in the bathroom with my grandmother and her nurse friend, Mrs. Reid, helplessly watching.  I cried throughout that night.  Not only had I lost my grandfather, but also my best friend.

This was the first time I experienced the death of a close relative.  I remember seeing grandpa in his open casket at the Riverside Chapel in New York City.  I only looked at him from a distance – I wouldn’t go near him.  I was afraid of
death.  I cried for days after he died and still feel guilty - to this day - that when he called our house the night before, I was watching television and said I’d speak to him the next day.  That day never would come.

Mom and grandma lamented that grandpa was going to miss my Bar Mitzvah, scheduled for October of 1969. He was far from being a religious man, but he would have been very proud, nonetheless.  At the same time, they also realized that he suffered terribly during his last few years and so did grandma. It was all over now. No more pain and suffering.  He was in a better place, now. It was hard for me to understand and it was final.

After grandpa died, I spent a lot of time with grandma in her Freehold apartment.  I went to Hebrew school, practically next door.  Before and after Hebrew, mom made sure we stopped by to see Grandma, so she wouldn’t feel so alone.

In May of 1968, we got word that grandpa Max (dad’s father) had passed away after prostate surgery.  Apparently, during the surgery at Lenox Hill Hospital in the Bronx, he shot a blood clot and died on the operating table.  In just four months, I lost both of my grandfathers. 

Around Halloween of that same year, my mother felt a lump in her breast.  She was only in her early 40’s, when the lump was discovered.  We knew what cancer was, back then.  For most, it was a death sentence.  Even I knew that.  Mom immediately scheduled an appointment with the most respected breast cancer surgeon in New York City at the time, Dr. Frank Adair.  He was already close to eighty, but he still was acknowledged as among the very best.  Through a biopsy, he determined that the tumor was cancerous and advised mom that she needed a radical mastectomy.  The surgery was done at Doctor’s Hospital in
New York City, opposite Gracie Mansion.  I remember feeling very scared when I saw her hooked up to many tubes and so heavily bandaged.

Mom did so well after her surgery that they wheeled her around her floor to comfort the other breast cancer patients and to offer them some hope. She had a great outlook on life and told some great stories about getting knocked down and getting right back up.  Her recovery was tough, because her muscles and lymph nodes were all removed along with the tumor.  She needed significant therapy to help her raise her arm above her head.  She did well, but for five years, there was the real fear that her cancer might return and take her away from us.  Fortunately, mom never had a recurrence.  We all caught a break, this time.

On October 11, 1969, mom helped celebrate my Bar Mitzvah.  The day began with the services at Congregation Agudath Achim in Freehold (Freehold Jewish Center).  Temple was followed by a luncheon at the American Hotel and, later that evening, a beautiful affair at the Albion Hotel in Asbury Park.  Mom and dad planned a memorable event for me.  They struggled to pay for it, but I think they were glad they were able to pull it off.

1965 was also the last summer that we summered at Bergerville. Bergerville actually closed for good in 1966, after the owner’s son, Arthur Berger, was killed in a horrible automobile accident on the corner of Bergerville Road and Route 9. He was killed instantly and Bergerville died with him.

My parents had finally tired of Bergerville by then anyway, and heard that Bradley Beach was a nice place to spend a summer.  After a few visits to that town, they found a very good deal on a summer rental property owned by former Bradley Beach Mayor, Joseph Lashovitz.  It was a small place over a garage and less than a block from the beach.  We loved Bradley Beach.  During the next five years, I developed a love for living by the ocean.  That love still remains with me and it is my dream to someday have my own place by the water.

At Bradley Beach, I made many friends and began to emerge from my shell.  My sister plays piano very well and also has a nice singing voice.  Near our bungalow was the Larraine-Bradley Hotel.  It was geared mostly to Jewish senior citizens.  On Saturday nights, the hotel had an amateur night and anyone remotely talented was invited on stage to perform for the guests.  Desly was a regular performer.

My mother pushed me to join Desly on the stage for singing.  As a child, I had a nice voice (not anymore!).  I was shy and resisted my mother’s constant prodding.  One night, I broke down and went on stage and sang “The Alphabet Song” and “Love.”  I received tremendous applause and was encouraged by Emcee Murray Kay to return on a weekly basis along with my sister.  Sometimes we sang individually and at other times we sang together.  My dad once joined us on stage and sang, “If Ruled the World.”  He had a terrific baritone voice.  The three of us enjoyed singing for the crowd as much as they enjoyed hearing us.  In fact, the hotel management created a poster of “the LeVine’s” (the poor man’s Von Trapp family) singing and posted it in the hotel lobby announcing our upcoming “shows.”

This was a wonderful thing for me, especially.  From that day on, I never got stage fright or fear of performing (or speaking) in front of large audiences.  Little did I know, my eventual career would have me speaking before large groups all around the country and later to my fellow town residents, as a Freehold Borough Councilman.

Of course, I found plenty of girls to like at Bradley Beach. I had lots of “little girlfriends,” each summer. There was Barbara Zonana, Shelly Seiler, Lori Sender and Lisa Mehlman, who I met on the Asbury Boardwalk, while working as a game operator (water gun balloon game). That was my very first job and I loved it.  When I wasn’t working there, I also had a lawn cutting business in Bradley Beach.  For a pre-teen, I made lots of money, most of which I banked and years later was able to pay cash for a brand new car – my first.

During our last summer at Bradley Beach (1969), my parents took me to look at the campus of the Ranney School in Tinton Falls, where they operated the Rumson Reading Institute.  There, I took some skill inventories and learned that I was two grade levels behind my current grade in the Manalapan-Englishtown schools.  My parents blamed the public schools for allowing me to fall behind.  To them it was a result of all the days my class was made to walk the hallways as a punishment.  They immediately enrolled me in the Rumson Reading Institute’s summer remedial program, where I excelled and moved up to where I needed to be.  The success of that program convinced my parents to finally “bite the bullet” and enroll me at Ranney for eighth grade.  I was no longer to be a public school student.

The summer of 1969 was a year in which I began to develop the skills necessary to prepare for college.  It was a year of transition from nondescript kid to blooming young adult. To be continued…