My late father came to Newark in 1906,
from Domyracz, a little village in the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
Today, long after the village disappeared following the two great
wars, and the genocide of the Holocaust, I guess if it still existed,
it would be part of Poland. My late father came to Newark with just
five dollars in his pocket, in his early twenties, sponsored by
an uncle, who lived on Rankin Street.
From the age of 8 years old, my dad became an baker's apprentice,
and was a bread baker, who worked for the Harrison Baking Company,
(Pechter's), for over fifty years. He was a bakery foreman at Harrison,
who worked nights. Many of the bakers there were Polish nationals,
who only spoke Polish, and that is how my dad communicated with
them. I recall going with dad to some of his union meetings which
were at the Local 167 Bakery and Confectionery Workers Union building,
which was on Clinton Avenue, just a stones throw down from the Divine
Hotel Riviera. The union building was a brownstone, with an elaborate
stairway leading into the building, similar to the design of the
Union League in the City of Philadelphia. It was a double staircase,
one to the left and one to the right, leading to a landing, just
before one entered the building itself.
My father was quite a Polka dancer. I recall his flying feet to
this day. Mother, who was Hungarian born, could not keep up with
him at all. Dad used to go, from time to time, down to the Polish
Falcon's Club, at the lower end of Belmont, and he did some fancy
dancing there ,too. I recall the Polish Falcons Hall and club were
just a stones throw from the intersection of Springfield Avenue.
Across the street on the corner of Belmont and Springfield was the
Fidelity Union Trust Company bank, who first employed my mother
in the Foreign Exchange Currency Department, when mom first came
to this country, and then to live in Newark. As myself, mother spoke
many languages, which is why she was employed in that department
of the bank, in that capacity.
The Polish Falcon Club Hall was also located either near or next
door to an employment agency, Solomon's Employment Agency, whose
address, I think, was 3 Belmont Avenue. Solomon's largely employed
domestic laborers and laborers, in general. Many of their clientele
were African-American persons, who began to migrate to Newark from
the rural Southern states, during the late 30's and 40's.
At the intersection (junction) of Belmont, Springfield, South
Orange Avenues, I recall a custard shop, called Loufels, where they
had soft custard ice cream, like Kohr's today, which one gets at
the shore, and in some shopping malls, (one here at the Deptford
Mall). They had a banana flavored one that was incredible. The custard
shop was extremely popular, especially in the summertime, for right
outside its doors, was the bus stops for many Public Service Transit
lines. There were buses going up Springfield Avenue, buses going
up South Orange Avenue, into I guess East Orange and beyond. If
we walked from Belmont Avenue to Springfield to go shopping on Spruce
Street, it was quite a trek, so on the way home, mom and I would
wait at this intersection to catch the number 9 bus line, which
would make a left turn from Springfield onto Belmont, and take us
only one block from our doorstep, at 321 Belmont Avenue. The number
9 line would stop at the intersections of Avon and Belmont Avenues,
before turning right to travel up to Avon, turning left on Bergen
Street, where the line would terminate at Weequahic Park. Oh, those
summer days, when mom and I would ride this same bus line, so we
could get to go to the park! How, as a small child, I loved the
playground and gardens at Weequahic Park! what a delight that was,
and it did not cost very much at all! Sometimes mom would take a
small picnic basket, and maybe she would meet some of her friends
and parents of my playmates, and we would have a jolly picnic at
the lake. To this day, I can even recall taking a nap under the
shade of some beautiful leafy tree, near that lake. Sometimes, mom
and I would "pretend" to fish. Mom would find a small
tree branch, and would bring string (twine) from home to the park.
She would tie the twine to the end of whatever loose twig or branch
I found around the lake area, and I would "go fishing",
while mom watched and maybe chatted with her friends. The fun was
in the finding of an appropriate tree branch, suitable to "be
used" as a "fishing rod." Of course, I was always
hopeful of catching a fish, but of course, I never did.
I also recall mom and dad packing sandwiches, and mom made the
BEST lemonade, to go picnicking in Branch Brook Park, especially
when the beautiful cherry trees were in bloom.
Later on, sadly, my dad could no longer be a part of our enjoyment.
He fell on a piece of dough at Harrison Baking Company, and broke
his spine. Ultimately, that left him, after an early experimental
spinal operation, a quadriplegic. While he was working, dad was
a night worker, most bread bakers were in those days. I can also
recall mom begging him NOT to drive our beautiful 1941 cream and
blue two door Pontiac (with Chief Pontiac as a hood ornament), to
work, on that late December, 1947 night. There was a snowstorm happening,
but nothing would stop daddy from going to work. I recall he did
not even get two blocks from home, when he called mom, to have my
then teenaged half-brother and his friends come and dig him out,
because he was stuck in what became to be called the "Great
Blizzard of '47." Shortly thereafter, he suffered his unfortunate
accident, and in those days, it was tough to receive workmens' compensation,
so dad, permanently crippled, never collected a dime from the Harrison
Baking Company. It was truly a tough break for my family, and the
start of some unfortunate and terrible times which ensued thereafter,
as a result of that awful accident. Life just never was the same
after that.
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