“Norma, I know you grew up in the Bronx, as I did,” my friend Victoria said, “so you might be interested in Back in the Bronx.” Although Victoria and I had been born less than two weeks apart, we had lived in different sections of the Bronx, and finally met many years later when we both worked for the same company. “What’s Back in the Bronx?” I asked. Victoria told me it was a publication concerning memories of growing up in that borough of New York City in the early- and mid-decades of the 1900s. She promised to request that a complimentary copy be sent to me.

When Back in the Bronx arrived a few weeks later, I eagerly read it from cover to cover. In addition to stories relating to childhood and young adult reminiscences, there were many photographs of places I had not seen for nearly fifty years. It brought back memories of another era, of childhood friends, and of visits from neighbors or relatives, who would arrive unannounced to a warm welcome. We walked everywhere; even taking the subway from where we lived involved a walk of eight city blocks, all uphill. 

Most of the writers in the magazine identified themselves by the Bronx high schools they had attended. My brothers and my friends from the neighborhood went to the local schools, so I was familiar with them although I had traveled to Manhattan to attend the High School of Music and Art. My youngest brother, Irving, had been named ‘handsomest boy’ in his graduating class at William Howard Taft High School. The family thought this was very funny, because we all remembered Irv as the ugly duckling baby, with ears that stuck out and a very flattened wide nose. My superstitious mother hadn’t even bothered putting the requisite red ribbon on his baby carriage, as she had done with her first two children. Red ribbons were supposed to ward off evil spirits who would seek out only beautiful babies. Of course, we recognized that Irv’s looks had vastly improved since then, but we all continued to tease him. 

Years later, for the large family party we held for his 60th birthday, sadly his last, I affixed a giant red ribbon to a poster size blowup of a photo of him in his baby carriage. It was his favorite gift, and he hung it in his living room, ribbon and all.

I was so consumed with interest in Back in the Bronx, that I turned to the classified section when I ran out of stories to read. This consisted mostly of ads placed by people searching for long lost friends. When I read the second ad a name jumped out at me; someone was looking for Evelyn, my late sister-in-law. The ad had been placed by four of her girlhood friends who, although scattered throughout the country, had managed to track each other down from Maryland, Florida, California, and even back in the Bronx. Apparently, two of the friends had been in touch from time to time over the years, and through old neighbors and friends in the Bronx they had located the addresses of the other two. Their ad in Back in the Bronx was a final effort to find Evelyn, the missing fifth member of their group, to make their reunion complete.

I wrote to Hinde, whose address was in the ad, and gave her the sad news that her friend had died nine years earlier. She wrote back, deeply distressed, and enclosed a photo of Evelyn and herself attending the 1939 World’s Fair, just to make absolutely sure that my sister-in-law was the same person she knew. When I confirmed the identification, Hinde wrote, “We began losing touch with one another as we married. I believe that Evelyn was at my wedding (though I’m not sure about anything that happened that day). From that time on, we know nothing about her life, and we wonder what happened to her. Did she ever marry? With her good looks, we had all believed she would be first. May we look forward to another message from you?” Hinde went on, “ How well I remember her warm loving parents. Often we called for Evelyn and were always welcomed, even while still wearing our roller skates! Indoors! Younger brothers and sisters became part of our extended ‘shule’ family and we’re also interested in their lives. And of course we remember her younger brother Hymie - always in knickers, perhaps more interested in play than in shule homework. Do you know about the Sholem Aleichem Folkshul, which we attended in the afternoons after regular school classes?. It was the catalyst that brought us together at the age of seven and probably kept us together until we were grown.”

I had heard a great deal about the Sholem Aleichem School from the boy in knickers they had called Hymie who, years later, became my husband. He told me of his fond memories of Chanukah parties and other festivals, his pride in learning to read, write and speak in Yiddish, and his acceptance by the ‘big girls’, his sister Evelyn’s friends. His years at the shul gave him a knowledge of Jewish history and customs that he tried to pass on to my rather assimilated extended family, with mixed results.

Of course, I wrote back to Hinde giving details of what had happened to Evelyn and the rest of her family. She worked for many years as a legal secretary to a well-known Brooklyn congressman, had not married until she was forty, and had no children. I sent Hinde photos of Evelyn and the rest of the family. I included her wedding photo and a snapshot of Evelyn with Moshe Dayan taken on a hotel balcony in Jerusalem when she and her husband visited Israel. Dayan was always willing to pose with a pretty woman.

Hinde gave me her web tv address, and we began an email correspondence, that has since gone far beyond its origins. We have become good friends via the Internet, and hope to meet one day. Thank you Victoria, and Back in the Bronx!

The Back in the Bronx Magazine Website:
http://www.backinthebronx.com