A Holiday Tradition

 I have already written about “My First Adventure,” traveling by train alone at the age of 10 from my home in Pittsburgh, PA to New York City. My mother, a practicing lawyer in Pittsburgh wanted me to have “a sense of family,” to spend the holidays with my Aunt Rita (her sister), Uncle Jack, Cousin John and Grandma, in NYC and New Jersey. But how could she send a 10-year-old girl alone on such a trip? I had no fear since I was not aware of any danger. She said, “If anyone tries to touch you…” I made tight little fists and said, “Just let them try it!”

I enjoyed those first adventures, which always turned out successfully. I remember the excitement in the air, driving to Penn Station in Pittsburgh on Christmas Eve, the lights, carols in the air, Christmas trees all lit up in the windows. Very festive!

I remember how I loved to lie in my dark bunk and stealthily watch the people moving around outside in the railroad stations. I could see them, but they couldn’t see me. 

My Uncle Jack always met me when I stepped off of the train. He was of medium height, well built and well dressed in his grey overcoat, white silk scarf and grey hat, worn at a rakish angle. He had his own early morning radio program; news, weather, live music from the “greatest little orchestra” and later from recordings, and banter. That program lasted 30 years and was celebrated in Madison Square Garden, attended by the Mayor of NYC, the Governor, the Arch Bishop, and lots of other people. 

I loved the sight of Manhattan, all lit up and decorated for Christmas. Truly “a winter wonderland,” with the new fallen snow and the throngs of people coming and going. Rockefeller Center was always beautifully decorated with a huge Christmas tree by the ice skating rink, where people were skating.  I went ice-skating there once or twice with my Aunt Rita and Mother, who occasionally joined me in NYC.  

My Aunt Rita was 5 feet tall, like me. Slim and lively. She had a Brooklyn accent and a high pitched voice.  She was very sweet and friendly. 

I loved being in Manhattan at Christmas time, so different from drab and sooty Pittsburgh, my hometown, where the sun seldom shone due to the thick smog in those dark, wintry days. 

One of the things we used to do on those snowy, “Christmasy” days was to attend matinees with my Aunt Rita.  Those were the days before musicals.  We saw “The Student Prince,”  “Die Fledermaus,” and light romantic operas by Lehar.  Auntie and I got all dressed up for those matinees, wearing our elegant little veiled matinee hats, gloves, high heels,  etc. Sometimes we attended Radio City Music Hall with its long lines of dancing Rockettes. 

I also spent happy days in my Grandmother’s house in Teaneck, New Jersey, not far from the George Washington Bridge on Route 4. My Granny was probably in her 50s, in those days, but seemed like an old lady.  She had a weak heart and astronomically high blood pressure. She wasn’t allowed to climb stairs nor work in her little garden. Her bed was therefore squeezed into the little dining room of the house in Teaneck, NJ.

Granny was of medium height, thin with lots of grey hair tied up in a knot in back.  She wore glasses for reading, and had false teeth, which she kept in a glass of water by her bedside at night. She was a poor immigrant, always homesick for the beautiful fields and hills of her native Hungary. She had a painting on her wall called, “Fresh Air,” that reminded her of home. She passed on to me her love of gypsy music and Strauss Waltz. She left me her collection of photographs of her family back home. She didn’t know (as I only recently found out) that her maiden name, Trattner, was known to be a Jewish name! Her father, who owned a small farm near the Polish border, was known as an atheist. If I had told her that Trattner was known to be a Jewish name, she might have denied it. She was a quiet, loving person.  She used to say, “I have only two grandchildren, but they are the best in the world.” 

When visiting Granny, I played with my Cousin John, who was five years younger than me, and always full of ideas about how to have fun. He was slim, lively and playful. I loved my little family and was always happy to visit them. Granny cooked delicious Hungarian meals for us like stuffed cabbage and chicken paprika, and wonderful fruit pies. She made “granny cakes,” individual tarts with a yeast dough and prunes or cabbage inside.  In those days wherever I happened to be, Granny sent me a box full of delicious “granny cakes,” which I loved. 

So, that was my holiday tradition, which I remember with nostalgia. I am now almost 97 years old. All of my family members are gone, even my Cousin John. Happy memories from long ago.