Aunts – Remembering
Sun., August 18, 06:06 PM
Several years ago a comedienne, protesting about how her mother meddled in her life, suggested that mothers must have gone to classes to learn to butt in. “And if they don’t pass the course,” she complained, “they become aunts!”
It’s not just the interference, I think. It’s that certainty they have that they know everything. And no matter how old you get, or how educated, you still know nothing.
It always seemed to me that I had an awful lot of aunts and almost no uncles. The impression grew because we were close to my mother’s family. My mother had four sisters and one brother. My Aunt Esther, my father’s only sister, was a widow. When someone finally got married, it was my uncle David – we gained another aunt.
Collectively my mother’s sisters were known as the Scott girls, or the Brooklyn aunts. Although my father liked to say they all looked alike, I never could see it. I remember them as individuals from the very beginning. Dora was the littlest one, even though she was the oldest (children are intrigued by little adults). Edythe was the one who looked like Princess Elizabeth. Lillian always had lots of makeup in her purse, and sometimes she would let us try it on; she laughed a lot and often told stories about her dates. Tootsie (Charlotte) was the youngest one and my favorite, with her long hair that hung down her back. I know we called them “aunt” when I was little, but for most of our lives we’ve just used their first names.
Generous though they were, my aunts had sharp tongues, especially Dora. “It’s for your own good.” Certainly, every one of them was always correcting something, especially my posture. Ten years later I was diagnosed with a curvature, and they finally realized I couldn’t “stand up straight,” no matter how hard I tried.
My mother, Bessie, was the first sister – and for a long time, the only one – married. The Brooklyn aunts all lived together in a tiny fourth floor walkup, and when my uncle was discharged from the army, it seems to me he lived there too. Looking back, I can’t imagine how they all fit.
A visit to Brooklyn involved a long ride on the train, that is, the New Haven railroad, followed by another long ride on the Utica Avenue subway. Then you walked about a block to Lincoln Place and walked up all those stairs. (Many years later, I walked up with Lillian and she stopped at the second floor for “breathing time.” That must have been the first time I noticed they were growing older; shortly after, she and Dora moved to an apartment with an elevator.)
When you rang the bell, a little hole would open in the door and someone would look through to see who was there. Then the door would open and we’d walk into a tiny hall. The kitchen was on the right, big enough to hold two people if they were friendly. We usually passed it and went into the living room. Another short hall with a bathroom and a closet or two led to the bedroom.
They were extremely hospitable. “Come in and make yourself comfortable. Here’s a housecoat; would you like some slippers?” We were impressed with their unusual way of living; there were no children around. You could look out the window and see the roofs of other buildings. They had a shower in their bathroom and a dumbwaiter for their garbage. And when they had guests, Dora put down the sofa cushions and slept on the floor; because she was the shortest, she fit the cushions best. The others doubled up by sleeping head to foot, a pillow at each end of the bed.
Dora had left the family home when her father remarried, and I know she lived with the family of our cousin, Rosie, for a while. But by the time I was aware of them, all my aunts had all finished high school and moved out. (Grandpa and his wife lived in Staten Island.) Dora worked for the City of New York Housing Authority. Edythe worked for a company that made bedroom slippers, and there were always extras at home for visitors. Charlotte was going to school to be a nurse; at the very end of World War II she was a cadet nurse, in uniform.
However, Lillian had the best job from my point of view, for she worked for a publisher, Random House, and she could always get books. I can’t remember a time when we didn’t have lots of books in our house, and I believe she contributed most of them, both children’s and adult books.
When any of the aunts came to visit us in Stamford, they always came with suitcases, even if they weren’t going to sleep over. The suitcases were filled with baked goods, including rye bread, because “you can’t get good rye bread in Connecticut” and presents, especially books or new clothes – even for the girl who didn’t stand up straight. There might be some of Dora’s cookies or her “strudel.” (It wasn’t really strudel; my father’s mother made authentic strudel, and I knew the difference. But Dora’s filled pastry was delicious, whatever its name.)
By 1949 changes were taking place. Uncle David got married, and he and my aunt Rutzy moved to New Jersey. After finishing her nursing training and earning her bachelor’s degree, Charlotte moved to San Francisco. Only three were left in the little Brooklyn apartment.
Dora and Lillian were the ones who traveled while Edythe kept busy at home. They went on cruises and vacation weekends, and they even went to California and to Europe. Lillian was an experienced flyer long before flying was a common mode of travel. When I was a teenager, Dora and Lillian introduced me to the New York theater, taking me to plays like “The Diary of Ann Frank” and “Damn Yankees.” We even went down to Greenwich Village to see “The Threepenny Opera.”
Edythe fulfilled a life-long dream and took a long trip to Israel. She kept delaying her return, until she wired, “send trousseau,” and we realized she wasn’t coming back. We had a new uncle – Eli, a citrus farmer – but we didn’t meet him for another five years. Their son Harvey was born the following year. They remained in Israel for ten years or so, but Edythe was very frightened of Arab violence and also afraid she would lose her American citizenship (all except Charlotte were born in Europe). So "E, E & HD" came to the United States and settled in Los Angeles, where the climate was similar enough to Israel that Eli could work as a landscape gardener.
They always planned to return to Israel someday. When Harvey’s pet hamster died, he insisted on keeping it in the freezer until he could bring it to Israel to bury it. Edythe kept it for years, until he finally realized that they would just have to inter it in California.
In 1953 Charlotte married Ted, another uncle we wouldn’t meet for years. Their daughter Suzanne was born in 1955, followed by twins Robert and Alex, and finally by Jonathan in 1959. When she was a child, Charlotte used to wish her sisters would all get married so she’d have somewhere to visit. Now our family was all over the world and gathered only for very special occasions, like bar mitzvahs or my wedding in 1968. Today even her own children are all over, from Oregon and California to New York State.
Dora and Lillian were still living in Brooklyn in the 1960’s, when I was commuting by train between Stamford and New York. When there was a fire on the tracks and I couldn’t get home, I just phoned Brooklyn. “Come on over,” said Dora. Generous as ever, they provided me with supper and a bed as well as a nightgown and a generally pleasant evening (including a cutthroat game of Scrabble). I tried on some of Dora’s old dresses and shoes which she gave to me. I discarded them long ago. I should have kept them; vintage clothing is a hot commodity these days.
My sister visited them often and often brought one or both of my daughters with her. I’m glad they have memories of our aunts as they used to be, for in many ways time wasn’t kind to them. By the time they retired to California, they just weren’t the same people, and their West Coast nephews remember them only as difficult and mean.
Dora was very smart; she had gone to college on an academic scholarship. She had a sharp sense of humor, and I’m still telling some of the jokes I learned from her. She taught me to do crossword puzzles and acrostics. She encouraged me to go to college, although she always insisted that my parents had not done enough for us academically. (I think I must have formed my philosophy when she started criticizing my parents: don’t say too much, agree if you have to, and pay no attention.)
One problem with smart people is that they often have no patience with those who are not as smart. I remember Dora making fun of every guy that Lillian went out with. She was often abrupt with my father, who never answered back, telling me that you don’t insult guests in your home. The man probably didn’t exist who could compete on her level, and it wasn’t surprising that she remained single.
Charlotte earned her master’s degree after Jonathan was born; she was no slouch at academics either, but she got along with people better than Dora did. Her sense of humor, on the other hand is…deficient. My dad told me how, many years ago, someone would tell a joke; the whole room would laugh uproariously, and then Charlotte would whisper to him, “Benny, I don’t get it.” He thought it was just because she was still a kid; years later we discovered she doesn’t get it now either!
Daddy also told me not to insult Edythe, who simply had her own way of looking at things; she could make you feel like a penny waiting for change. Long after I was grown up she could make me feel small, and it wasn’t until she accused me of gossiping that the worm turned. I knew I had kept quiet about the subject involved and finally figured out that it must have been my mother who spread the word. “You are mistaken,” I told her, “check your sources.” We weren’t in each other’s home; I told her via the Postal Service.
Lillian was no dope, but compared to the other sisters she was not the brightest bulb. It didn’t matter; she was friendly and flirtatious and enjoyed people. We really thought she would get married, and there’s no doubt that she would have made someone a wonderful wife. Whether Dora influenced her against the men she met, or she just didn’t find the right one, we’ll never know.
At my sister’s wedding in 1979, a photograph was taken of Dora, Lillian, Edythe and Bessie, and I thought, this may be the last time they’re all together. It was. Soon after, Dora and Lillian moved to southern California too. As Bessie’s health began to fail, some of her sisters managed to return to the east coast to visit her; she died in 1988. David died in 1991.
Once again, the Brooklyn aunts were all in one state, even though they lived in distant parts of it. Dora suffered from Alzheimer’s disease; eventually she became so difficult that Lillian was forced to find a nursing home for her. (As Charlotte described it, “she’s just as nasty as she ever was, but now she doesn’t know why.”) Charlotte and Ted retired from the San Francisco area to Palm Desert, closer to the other three sisters.
It was good that Charlotte remained relatively nearby after Ted’s death, because her sisters really began to need her assistance. Edythe and Eli continued to live in Los Angeles; suffering from diabetes and all its negative side effects, Eli died in 1999. A couple of months later, Harvey died in a boating accident; it was a terribly stressful year for Edythe, whose health was deteriorating by that time too.
Lillian, slow and bent over from osteoporosis, fell several times; she also suffered more and more from hereditary hemorrhagic telangiesecia, which David’s widow, Rutzy, calls “the family curse.” It seemed to leave her forgetful; she never remembered when she was given blood transfusions. Edythe needed surgery, and suddenly Charlotte – “the baby” – found herself traveling to Los Angeles to care for her sisters. Now in their eighties, they were becoming confused and forgetful and generally more “needy.”
Charlotte managed to settle Edythe in an extended care facility. Lillian, however, refused to give up her apartment, even when she needed full-time home care. With her last bout of bleeding, she refused testing and treatment and died in the fall of 2000. Within a few months, Dora passed away too. (Though she had been generally unresponsive for some time, she evidently missed Lillian's regular visits.) Even with the assistance of her children, it has been a difficult time for Charlotte.
When my sister, an aunt of the new generation, traveled to Los Angeles from the east coast, she found that them all very draining. They just needed more assistance than any one person can provide. For years I felt that I should go too; I’m the one who remembers them best. I look at them and see myself in twenty years. I don’t kid myself that I’m anyone’s favorite niece, but I feel grateful for what they contributed to my childhood memories.
In the summer of 2000, my son took me to southern California, where we visited Lillian, Edythe and Charlotte. (I couldn’t bring myself to go to Dora; if recent pictures were any indication, there was nobody there behind her face. I’d rather remember as she was – feisty, sharp-tongued, generous.)
They were fairly coherent when I visited, except for the occasional repetition, when they forgot what they’d already told me. Lillian remembered a lot from the past, and I’m sure she put some extra effort into entertaining the handsome young man, even if she wasn’t completely sure who he was. Edythe did well too, though she tires easily. Her room looks like a shrine to Harvey. And Charlotte is active in her community, tooling around in her golf cart and working with half a dozen clubs and committees.
By the time my daughter (the U.D.) visited her a few months later, Lillian had deteriorated. She didn’t remember U.D., and U.D. couldn’t really find the lady she remembered. And since Lillian’s death, Edythe and even Charlotte seem to be more easily confused, almost as if they just can’t take any more. It’s really the end of an era.
I discussed all of this with some of Charlotte’s children, for whom it is about their mother and aunts. To them, of course, my mother is also an aunt, but I can’t put her in the same category after all these years. The sisters were Mom and the others.
