EQUAL TIME ON MEMORABILIA

They say that “Every cloud has a silver lining,” and I suppose I found one to ease the burden of an unprecedented mandatory government lockdown due to the Coronavirus CoVID-19. The unanticipated downtime made way for examining all kinds of once hidden memorabilia found in various rooms of our home (see my blog post from April 7, 2020, at https://sharonmarkcohen.squarespace.com/config/pages/5a3570d48165f5e58a7383af).

The continuation of the quarantine allotted me precious time to think about the history behind the varied items we have in our vast collection. The life stories themselves are archived for posterity on years of videotaped interviews of family members by this seasoned genealogist.

Aside from being recorded on endless hours of tapes, a portion of my father’s work history is documented by TAXI DRIVER identification pins he saved, which I inherited. They reveal that he worked as a taxi driver in the City of Newark in 1947 and 1948. That was just before he started his career as a U.S. Postal employee, delivering the mail courageously, undaunted by snow, rain, heat, and gloom of night.

Before either of those jobs, my father worked in a jewelry factory in Newark. That was after several other stints during the Great Depression and beyond, toiling in various Newark establishments, such as the YMHA, which he referred to as the High Street (now Martin Luther King Boulevard) “Y” and the Market Street fruit and vegetable stands on Mulberry Street.

Moving on to another spot in my living room, from the comfort of my computer space, next to a few neatly stacked high school yearbooks, I can eye a collection of books written by family and friends. The pile is topped with my Aunt Fannie’s yearbook The Torch from East Side High School in Newark, N.J. - Class of 1935.

From the same year, I have my mother-in-law’s yearbook, which was entitled The Cynosure. Hers is from Linden High School in Linden, New Jersey. The advertisements from local businesses in the back of the yearbooks are fun to read but the personalized, handwritten autographs trump any such Linotype.

There’s also my father-in-law’s yearbook from the Class of February Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-eight. It’s from my Alma Mater, Battin High School, Elizabeth, New Jersey. While I remember different words to our class song, I routinely chimed in with a round of “Oh, Battin High, our Alma Mater,” whenever my father-in-law, who loved to sing, let it roll. He always got a tickle out of that.

Alongside my father-in-law’s songbooks sits a folder of my brother-in-law Bryan’s poems atop my late brother-in-law Jeffrey’s Ph.D. dissertation. “Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of Yale University, in Candidacy for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy - 1966,” the complex volume is entitled, “Rotating Masses and Their Effect on Inertial Frames.”

While using this unplanned time to clean and sort, I’m wondering what our children from the minimalist’s generation will do with the treasures we saved. For sure, my husband’s comic books and baseball cards from the 1950s will find a home. Using their keen computer skills, someday our children will undoubtedly research repositories for the remaining stash of memorabilia in our collection.

The stories are what stem the generations. One of my favorites from my father’s work history was the time in the late ‘40s when he incredulously received a $10 tip from a taxi cab passenger. Another was the animated story of his work at Newark airport as part of the relief effort during WWII, which I have on tape for his descendants to hear.

His draft notice is hanging next to the gallery of military photographs of our uncles, including his three younger brothers who served in WWII. Under that letter is the government’s reconsideration letter, based on the fact that he was married and had a child.

Every family has its memories; now is a good time to document yours.

Class of February 1928-Battin High School Elizabeth, N.J.

WWII Draft Notification and Reconsideration Letter

WWII Ration Books of Ida, Benjamin, Nathan, and Alvin Mark