On the left, front and center, my mother Nora Warshaw, at about 2 years of age, with her grandmother Rachel Leah Ostrovsky (left) and her mother Ida Ostrovsky Warshaw. The photo is probably from 1904-1905.

Below, on the right, is Nora's older brother Fred Warshaw.

Rachel Leah died in 1916, so neither my sister nor I ever knew her. Ida died in 1945, so we both had the opportunity to know our maternal grandmother.

I have few memories of her. I do remember sitting with her on the sofa when she was quite ill and promising her that I was going to be a nurse when I grew up, so that I could take care of her. They had moved from their house into an apartment or a double, at least partly because they needed a room that would accommodate the hospital bed she would soon need. She was dying of complications of diabetes, long before that was considered to be a manageable disease. I vividly remember the feeling, if not the details, of that room, though I certainly didn't understand what it signified.

She and Hyman Kast, her second husband, took care of me for some time in their home in Fresno when my father was sick and dying in Sawtelle V.A. Hospital in Los Angeles. I have only a few vague memories of that time, since I was only two or three years old.

On the right is my Uncle Fred, Nora's brother. He popped into our lives from time to time while I was growing up. I have, somewhere in my collection, a series of letters to Fred from his only true love, Jenny, who lived in New York. I'll reproduce some of them here sometime in the future. They're interesting 'just because' and because they really tell the reader a lot about Fred.

He went west (the date will have to wait until I re-discover those letters) evidently to seek his fortune. He never managed to do that. Jenny's letters tell the story: he went from one job to another, seemingly never finding one that satisfied him (I share some genes with Uncle Fred, I'd swear to it!). I understand his restlessness.

He had, according to those who knew him, an above-average intelligence. Fred was a very good writer, good looking, and fun to have around (at least from my young perspective). Jenny's letters are, nearly from the beginning, full of threats of dumping him if he didn't settle down and get his life together. He never did, and eventually, she gave up on his chance of ever doing so.

I don't know if he had psychological problems. If he did, I don't know much about their nature or what caused them, other than losing Jenny and seeming to be powerless to change what he needed to change to keep her in his life. Maybe it was his frustration in never being able to find a job with the kind of challenges and rewards that would hold his interest. He was brilliant and undereducated. I don't even know if he had a high school diploma. Back then, that would have been the equivalent of not having a college degree today... very limited possibilities for career advancement or even a really good job for those without the required educational credentials.

My strongest early memory of Fred: I was always happy when I knew he was coming to visit!

top

next page