Albany Park (9 page)

She moved closer leaning into him. Pushing her away gently, he said, “Look, wait here. I have to make a quick call, then I’ll walk you home.”

Her eyes looked up and she nodded slowly, squeezing his arm.

”Listen, I have to call my brother. I was supposed to meet him.”

At the Park’s pay phone inside, he quickly dialed the bowling alley and told Donna to forget about tonight; that he had something important to do with his brother. After promising to call or see her in school the next day, he hung up quickly.

Outside, Shirley was waiting. Reaching for her hand and holding it gently, he intertwined their fingers like they had done a thousand times before, and led her from the park in the direction of the Siegal’s apartment.

The September sun was slowly descending as they walked. The fountain in the circular turn around in front of the park had been switched off only a day before, signifying that summer was over.

Stretched in front of them was a long block of two-flats on standard thirty-foot city lots, with an occasional larger parcel or three-flat to break the pattern. On both sides of the street were large oaks and elms blending with a few catalpas and evergreens swaying in the light fall breeze.

A few kids were out playing with more sitting on the stoops, talking and laughing as the day wound down. Autos of varied styles and makes were at the curb in front of most of the buildings. All were dark colored pre-war models, showing some bumps and wear. A couple of old trucks could also be seen, including one with a faded, but colorful sign advertising “Joe’s Fruits and Vegetables”. There were no new cars because auto production had stopped during the war.

They walked slowly not talking, as if each step was an effort, holding hands with their heads down, cautiously glancing at one another.

Approaching the twenty-four-flat building on Central Park, where Shirley lived in the front apartment on the third-floor with her folks and older sister, Vic’s right foot began to throb as he thought of the many hours they spent kissing and fondling each other in the dim light of the vestibule before she ran up the stairs. Now he wished he could go back in time.

Once inside, Shirley turned to Vic and tried a weak smile while looking straight into his eyes. He stood with his hands at his sides, feeling awkward, not knowing what to say. He dropped the gym bag and lowered his face to hers, lightly kissing each of her closed eyes, the tip of her nose, each cheek, then her ear lobes and neck. Then he brushed his lips lightly against hers and hugged her close.

Hearing an apartment door open above, she looked up, sadly saying, “I’ve got to go now. Please be there for me. I need you and I love you.”

He watched her start climbing the stairs and softly said, “Good night, Shirley.”

He could still feel her touch and smell the familiar fragrance of her hair.

Exiting the building, he ran to the alley, doubled over and threw up behind a telephone pole as tears streamed down his face. Straightening, he leaned against the pole and wiped at his nose, eyes and mouth, trying to compose himself. He crossed his arms over his stomach and stood there, trying to think. It was several minutes before he started slowly putting one foot in front of the other on the way home.

Chapter 5
 

“Is that you Shirley?” Molly called from the kitchen as she heard the front door open.

“Yeah, Mom, it’s me.”

From the kitchen radio, H.V. Kaltenborn droned on, “The Defense Department announced plans to bring home a million servicemen from Europe in the next twelve months; with more to follow from the Pacific as soon as General Mac Arthur provides the president with his plans for the occupation of Japan,”

“Did you hear that Shirley?” Molly tried to talk over the running water, not hearing the bedroom door close.

In the bedroom, Shirley shed her shoes, removed the two fuzzy white bears propped on the puffed up pillows as she slipped under the pink comforter. She didn’t bother turning on the overhead light or the reading lamp on the night stand as the afternoon faded into darkness.

Mrs. Siegal listened at the door before knocking. “Shirley, you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little tired and wanted to lie down before dinner.”

“Did you hear the news? A million boys are coming home from Europe.”

“Yeah, I heard, that’s terrific.”

Molly waited for more. Not hearing anything through the door, she shrugged, “Daddy will be home soon, so don’t go to sleep. I’ve got a nice dinner, vegetable soup with boiled beef. ”

“Okay,” Shirley murmured, “let me know when you’re ready.”

Molly Pearlman Siegal had grown up at 16
th
and Hamlin on the west side
.
Her family occupied the second floor of a dark brown brick six-flat that housed almost a dozen Jewish families. Occupants of the flats were mostly two and three generations, not always related. Male and female boarders, many recent arrivals from the old country were also were part of the mix.
Yiddish
was spoken throughout the building, along with smatterings of Russian and Polish. On warm nights, men with beards and ever-present black hats would venture out to sit on the stone stoop. In shirts without collars and sleeves rolled up revealing long underwear they would smoke and tell stories or discuss the news of the day Their wives, many wearing the traditional heavy wigs and long dark dresses covered with aprons, occasionally joined them. Children ranging from toddlers to early teens lounged on the low metal pipe fences bordering straggly parkway lawns or played on the sidewalks and streets under the watchful eyes of the adults. Loud conversations and laughter, mixed with baby squawks, filled the air.

Everyone moved inside in the winter. The same residents huddled in kitchens, dining rooms or parlors. Others would gather around an upright piano to sing the latest ragtime tunes or often,
Yiddish
songs of their youth. Doors mostly stayed open and people young and old, standing or sitting on stairs and landings, were always laughing and conversing in the familiar sing-song
Yiddish
.

In any direction from the Pearlman’s apartment building for as far as the eye could see were thousands of Jews milling around similar buildings on what had become the “The Great West Side” of Chicago following the influx of millions of Immigrant Russian and Polish Jews to America that began in 1890.

Molly’s first job after she graduated high school in June of 1922 was as a secretary for the
l
aw firm Altshuler and Mann on LaSalle Street in the Loop. Reporting for work the first day, she observed that the office, while not large, appeared elegant. The matching desks and chairs were all highly polished and the smart leather secretary’s chairs were richer looking than any furniture she had ever seen up close. The same applied to her typewriter and all the other office equipment, which was modern and far more efficient than anything she’d used in her business courses at Marshall High. The partners and associates, all German Jews, had private offices with large windows overlooking La Salle Street. Each had a huge ornate desk and a large, dark red leather swivel chair. Adorning the walls were diplomas and law licenses, along with scenic photos or framed works of art. Against the wall, behind each desk, was a low cabinet with pictures of the lawyer’s wife and children.

To Molly, it was quite a contrast to the Pearlman’s apartment, where she shared a cramped bedroom with her two sisters and her brother slept on the lumpy couch in the dining room. She wondered what her bosses or the other women in the office would think if they saw the apartment or her family’s hand-me-down dining room table with its assortment of wooden chairs collected over the years Nor could she imagine what they would say if they had to climb the sagging stairs in the hallway filled with the highly seasoned aroma of food cooking day and night while the neighbors, with their door always open, jabbered in
Yiddish
, and scolded the rag-tag children playing on the stairs.

Molly had the smallest desk in the general office with four other women. All of them were older, but only by a few years, with the exception of Miss Malone, the Office Manager, who was about forty. They were reserved and business like; wearing dark-colored, straight-lined suits over long-sleeved white blouses or below-the-knee, dark dresses and elegant silk hose. None wore jewelry with exception of an expensive-looking broach or pin. Outside the office, all the ladies donned hats and gloves, usually matching their outfits. Molly’s straight skirts, which she wore with plain, white cotton blouses and a navy-blue buttoned sweater, hardly seemed appropriate. Neither did her grey beret and cotton hose. She wondered if they noticed the difference and felt shy when talking with any of them. Miss Malone, however, praised her work and the other women encouraged her.

On Friday, the last day of her first week, the office manager came in late, carrying a cake box and set it next to the ever-present coffee pot that Molly was instructed to keep full during the day. Going from office to office after removing her hat and gloves, Miss Malone invited the lawyers to gather in the general office. The men came in smiling and the ladies all stood waiting. Tapping on the table, she got everyone’s attention.

“Molly, how about cutting the first piece so we can all formally welcome you to Altshuler and Mann,” she said, holding out the knife to her. As they applauded, Molly blushed. Taking her arm, Mr. Altshuler escorted her to the table, smiling as he said, “We all join in wishing you good luck here. And now, I’d like the first piece of that delicious-looking cake.”

Hesitating, Molly smiled and felt the red flush coming to her face.

“C’mon Molly, don’t be shy, anyone that takes shorthand as well as you can surely cut a cake,” Miss Malone chided.

Flustered, she carefully cut a piece and served it to Mr. Altshuler.

More applause and then everyone gathered around as she continued, taking the last piece for herself. One of the younger girls gave her a quick hug. That night riding home on the streetcar Molly decided she liked the job and enjoyed the excitement of working downtown.

The following Monday, like the other young women in the office, she put on fresh makeup, donned her beret and gloves and strolled over to State Street on her lunch hour. The display windows of Carson Pirie Scott, Marshall Fields and Mandel Brothers offering chic new styles tempted her, along with throngs of other young girls working in the Loop.

When her first month’s paycheck arrived, she splurged on a dressy, plum-colored chemise at Fields. More sensibly, she stopped at Mandel Brothers to pick up a long simple gray cotton dress for the office and three pair of silk stockings that she had put on layaway the week before. She also had her hair bobbed.

That weekend, she made plans with two girlfriends to attend a dance Saturday night at the Jewish People’s Institute on Douglass Boulevard. She had been to the dances a few times during her senior year in high school and had been on dates with two boys she had met there. Both were nice and had asked her out again, but she begged off, wanting to get a little more experience with other young men. She was looking forward to going back now, and excited to show off her new hairdo.

On Saturday, she bathed at six o’clock and then began applying her makeup. Each touch of rouge and lipstick was planned and applied with great care. Examining her handiwork, she leaned close to the bathroom mirror, tilting her head to get the best light and turning to make sure there were no streaks or lines. It would not do to be careless.

The new short hairdo, however, presented a challenge. She was used to thick shoulder-length hair that curled slightly at the end. But that night, the comb and brush would not work. No matter how many times she tried, it never looked right. First a part on the left, then the right and finally the center, but nothing pleased her. Frustrated, she looked directly in the mirror, and using her fingers, fluffed her hair and smiled. The short curls and waves fell in place. With a wink, she picked up a hand mirror and examined the back. Now, she thought, I like it.

Back in the bedroom, she slipped into the new, loose-fitting chemise that fell to just below her knees. Turning, she looked over her shoulder to see how it hugged her hips and showed off her elegant, silk hose-clad legs. Slipping into her high-heels, she moved to the hallway and looked at herself in the long narrow mirror on the closet near the front door.

Seeing her mother, she spun and curtsied.

“
Oy, zayre shayn.,”
Mrs. Pearlman smiled, shaking her head.

Tilting her head to one side, Molly looked at her mother, “You really think I’m pretty, or just saying it ?”

Clasping her hands in front of her chin, Mrs. Pearlman sighed.“
Oy, oy, oy,
don’t worry, you’re beautiful.”

Molly reached to hug her but the older woman backed away, “No, you’ll get mussed up. Go have a good time.”

“Okay. Thanks, Ma, I will. Now, I gotta run or I’ll be late.”

Her friends met her just inside the hall. “Oh, my God, I hardly recognized you,” sputtered Hannah, looking plain in a belted, straight dark gray dress reaching well below her knees.

“Do you like it?” she said, turning slowly.

“Oh, Molly, I love it. How did you have the nerve to cut your hair? And that dress, oh Molly, you better watch out. The guys are gonna mob you.”

Edith in a navy blue print dress; also belted and long, opened her eyes wide at the same time a hand went to her mouth, one finger covering her lips, admiring Molly. “You always had style,” she giggled, touching her own long black curls, “but this is really something. I wish I had nerve to cut my hair. I bet my mother would kill me.” She laughed. “C’mon, let’s go in. I want to see the boy’s reaction.”

With Hannah on one side of Molly and Edith on the other, the three girls joined the crowd inside. Hannah’s boyfriend Joe Freidman was waiting and after a quick hello, pulled her to the dance floor. Hesitating and then waving to someone across the room Edith started in that direction.