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Saying goodbye to a
friend
An appreciation of Rose Abzug --
There is no one or six or even a dozen
words which could accurately, much less adequately, describe
my friend Rose Abzug, who passed away on September 4, 2003.
She was 92˝, a fact which came to light only after her death.
Previously, that date was better kept than many a state
secret. She was born in Tysmienica, Poland on March 27, 1911,
and came to this country with her mother and older brother
when she was 8. Her father had already come here to establish
himself as a tailor, but bringing his family here was delayed
because of the war in Europe. It took Rose only a year or so
to learn the language, and then there was no holding her back.
She graduated from Collinwood High School in 1926, with honors
and a special commendation for excellence in French.
Within a week of her graduation, she was
offered a 'summer job' as a junior bookkeeper with the Ohio
Rubber Company (then located in downtown Cleveland). She
stayed there for 40 years. "No one ever told me not to come
back," she once told me, with a giggle, "so I just kept going
to work." When she finally retired, she asked for and was
given 'her' Comptometer as a retirement gift. She used it
until the week she died to balance her checkbook.
Her first task after retirement was
caring for her mother, who had a serious heart condition; her
father had died some years previously. After her mother's
death, however, she became bored, and when a friend told her
about a bookkeeping job with the City of Cleveland Heights,
Rose applied for it and was hired. This led to another ten
years of employment. But this time, when she retired, she
stayed retired, except for her many volunteer positions.
Because of her natural reticence, how long she 'worked' in any
one of these places is not well-documented. I first met her in
the fall of 1979 at Severance Hall (when I started there), but
she'd been there for some time, even then. She also ushered at
the Play House and Public Hall, most especially when the
Metropolitan Opera came to Cleveland every spring. When
Playhouse Square opened, Rose was right there, too, but she
had previously ushered for Cleveland Opera and Cleveland
Ballet before they moved to Playhouse Square.
Rose was a great devotée of the arts;
rare the performance she didn't enjoy. She was a very kind and
gentle critic. Possibly the most condemning thing she'd ever
say was, "Well, that was pretty punk." That opinion didn't
keep her from ushering for that production or concert again,
however, if her schedule called for it. Of course, the
opposite was also true—'working' every night of the weekend
for the same terrific concert was an added benefit—one she
greatly enjoyed. As an usher at so many venues, she would see
many of the same folks over and over, wherever she ushered.
She never ceased to be amazed that these busy people would
remember her!
In addition to ushering, she also
volunteered at Hadassah (the Jewish women's service
organization) for many years, doing miscellaneous office work.
She specialized in mailings, giggling over her expertise with
the Addressograph machine. Having voluntarily given up her
driver's license in 1985 (or thereabouts) she became an
intrepid bus rider, thinking nothing of taking three buses,
when necessary, to get from her home at E. 193rd and Euclid,
to Taylor Road, between Mayfield and Cedar (for Hadassah) or
to Cedar and Green to the bakery and meat store she most
liked. Or to downtown or Severance Hall, of course.
The drivers on the Euclid Avenue route
paid her special attention. When it was very windy, many of
them would park the bus, and escort her across the street to
keep her from being blown across! This happened a time or two,
and was the only time I knew her to be at all abashed about
any situation in which she found herself. But she was hardly
bigger than a minute. Whenever I would mention that I was
going to try to give blood, she would shake her head and sadly
note, "I was never able to give blood. You have to weigh 105
pounds to be eligible, and I never even got to 100!" At
4'11", that was just right for her, anyway.
She lived her final twenty or so years in
a large apartment complex, partially devoted to seniors, who
called her the 'walking girl' because she loved to walk. In
fact, she particularly delighted in running errands for those
of her apartment friends who were not as mobile as she was,
sometimes two or even three trips a day, bringing back milk or
orange juice, or a prescription.
When she was a young woman, she had
friends who lived along the Chagrin River near the lake, and
loved to visit them. She adored nature in any form. One of the
joys of her later years was the east-facing balcony of her
6th-floor apartment. It was high enough that no trees blocked
her view, and she greatly enjoyed watching the weather, the
stars, storms, clouds, birds, you name it.
In her younger years, she and a
girlfriend would take a trip to somewhere nearly every summer,
and in addition she made several trips to Israel. Theatre
tours to New York City or Stratford, Ontario were special
delights. But then, she dearly loved to go anywhere at any
time--the destination mattered not at all to her. If I'd
mention, "I'd kind of like to go—" she would happily interrupt
with "oh, let's!" or, more likely "when?" And she'd be ready
and waiting when I arrived to pick her up.
When the Cleveland Rockers (women's
professional basketball team) became a reality, she catered to
my whim of attending their games, and went with me to several
games during each of their first six seasons. One of the
highlights of this adventure came last season, when, due to
the need for increased security, everyone was requested to
allow an inspection of purses, bags, etc. Rose carried minimal
belongings with her wherever she went, but on this occasion,
she did have a very small shoulder bag. The guard, who was
easily twice her size (or perhaps more) looked down at her as
she stood there, carefully holding her small bag open, looking
up at him, the ever-present smile on her face. He immediately
burst out laughing, saying loudly enough for his compatriot at
the next turnstyle to hear, "Oh, here's the one we have to
watch out for. Here's the troublemaker!" Of course, everyone
in the area turned to see what was happening, and seeing
little Rose standing next to the very large guard, they also
laughed. He didn't even look in her bag, just waved her
through, which, in spite of her blushes, rather hurt her
feelings. She grumbled all evening about the fact that he
didn't treat her the way he treated everyone else! "He didn't
even look!" she'd say.
She didn't like being encumbered by
things to carry, except when on a specific errand, of course.
She much preferred using pockets rather than a purse or
handbag or even a totebag. (I, on the other hand, have a
different totebag for each destination, a fact that amused her
greatly. She'd always want to see which one I had with me, to
make sure I was going to the same place she was.) She was very
proud of the pockets she'd sewn inside her various coats. One
would contain her house keys, safety-pinned in place, so they
wouldn't get lost. But just in case they did, another pocket
had a spare. A $5. bill might be pinned in another pocket,
while a $10 or $20. bill was tucked away in yet another one.
And perhaps a few $1. bills would be wrapped around her RTA
bus card in yet another pocket. She believed in being prepared
for any eventuality, and always remembered to take her 'mad
money' with her, just in case . . .
There were no strangers in her world.
Everyone she encountered, of whatever age or sex or color or
religion, was met with the same openness, the same smile. She
absolutely adored the babies and small children who shared the
bus with her. Thank goodness the mothers could recognize that
she was no threat to anyone, in spite of her constant advances
and chatting to the little ones. Of course, the little ones,
recognizing a kindred soul, would chatter right back, tickling
her to no end. "They're so smart!" she would tell me. "And so
cute! Those big eyes and so many teeth!"
To me, she was more than just friend,
although I'm not sure what term I would use to describe our
friendship. She encouraged me in my writing, and enjoyed it
immensely if I would call her to read my latest opus to her.
If I didn't have anything I'd written to read to her, she
would have been perfectly happy to listen to me read the
telephone book. (She told me so at least a thousand times!)
Even though I explained that she was helping me by listening
(reading aloud is absolutely the best way for an author to
discover mistakes in the writing) she persisted in her belief
that I was giving her something special, by calling her,
regardless of how late it might be, to read to her. And, bless
her heart, she loved every word! Even the wrong ones.
Blessed with good health and an
indomitable spirit, she never allowed herself to feel 'under
the weather' until perhaps the last three years or so. And
then, only occasionally, and usually during heavy winter
storms. Sometime overnight of Sunday/Labor Day, she suffered a
severe stroke. There was no warning of this final illness of
which anyone was aware. Living by herself, there was probably
no way to alert anyone to her difficulty. She and a friend had
been scheduled to do something together on Labor Day, and when
Rose failed to answer the phone, her friend went to the
apartment. When there was still no answer from the apartment,
the door was forced, and Rose was discovered in a state of
severe distress. She was immediately taken to the hospital—the
first time she'd ever been in one—but the prognosis was not
good. Three days later, on the morning of September 4, she
left us.
In addition to her many friends, she is
survived by a niece and nephew, three great-nieces and one
great-nephew. A brief graveside service was held on Sunday,
September 7.
She has left a huge empty place in my
life. Ten times a day—or more—I think -- "I need to call Rose
to tell her . . ." and then I remember. I can no longer call
Rose—I don't think the best long distance service going will
reach her where she is now. But she knows I miss her, as do
her family and many, many friends and folks she ushered to
their seats in the many venues to which she gave so freely of
herself. In fact, I'll bet she's still ushering folks around
in that celestial dress circle. And always—always—with a
smile.
-- Kelly Ferjutz
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