"God Bless The Child Who's Got His Own" -pt. 6

I should begin by trying to explain what it is like to always feel the longing for family. I have never understood families where one relative does not speak to another, people in families that sit in judgment of each others behavior, opinions, thinking. I suppose it is because I never felt I had a whole family, that I become furious at this insensitive and selfish behavior. How can a daughter simply wipe out the existence of her parents, both mother and father, just cut them out of her life, with a clean sharp knife, with no remorse whatsoever. To refuse to visit a dying father's death bed. To deprive grandparents from knowing their grandchildren; and worse yet, to distort the truth behind this vile behavior and deprive the grandchildren of their grandparents. Because of something said by the Mother, something done . What could it have been? How does a brother not talk to a sister because of something she did that he disagrees with, that he sits in judgment of! What could these people have done; murder, theft? rape? Short of cutting off Bernie Madoff, there is no sensible answer.

One of these people once said to me, "I have made peace with it, with myself"..Isn't that great? SHE has made peace, but no one else has. Certainly not her father before he died. The word selfish, does not come close. Self-righteous, self-centered, narcissistic,....how about just plain hateful! I am convinced that what goes around comes around because guess what? Her own Mother did the same to her Grandmother. So you can imagine what she has in store for herself from her own kids.

What I do know is this; if my daughter decided to simply cut me out of her life, for some reason she felt valid.... well quite frankly, that would be the end of me. Kaput!

So there are two ways to go when one is hurt by a family member; one is to turn away and destroy their existence in our life, thereby depriving ourselves of the joy of healing and family, or, like me, to understand that when you have little family, you feel the need to hold on to whatever you have. No matter who in that family hurts you, or truly causes you emotional pain, you can forgive and forget because you need them to exist in your life. They do not need you, but you do need them. And I believe, because of that, you become grateful, for whatever they do give you...any little crumb of affection and attention. And you ignore the hurts, no matter now deep. You often will not even acknowledge them to yourself and to the people that hurt you because God Forbid....what if they left you? Well, hard as it is to believe that about me, considering I am known by friends and family as a pretty 'tough' gal, that is me. A shrink once said that some people don't feel they deserve love. Deserving means entitled and that is a foreign concept to someone like myself. Entitled? Never understood that concept, ever. If they haven't earned it, how could they really get it? And so they/me, become grateful and when you are grateful you leave yourself wide open to being emotionally abused . And we often are. Now that's not to say that people like me, cannot also turn on a dime if your cut is too deep, because we do have the ability to turn ourselves off with one clean click of the switch..walk away and not turn around to take a last look. We learned to do that since childhood and that ability is what saved us, kept us sane amongst the insanity around us; but that is only with non-family members . Never with family. Never!

For people like me, and you know who you are, it is sometimes difficult to separate 'liking' from 'loving', sexual passion from passionate love. Therefore, you are sometimes grateful to the wrong people and your choices are all wrong for the wrong reasons, and despite it all, you never do fill that empty hole inside of you anyway. Does any of this make sense? I suppose not. That same shrink said that when a baby is emotionally abandoned, and then the same child, over and over, one of the results of this is what I described above. Either that, or you go to the Texas Depository building, or a post office, or a school, and a blow a ton of people away, or maybe you become an addict or a whore, or maybe you become me.

One of my earliest memories is standing on the bottom rung of a black metal fence, tip-toe, bending over as far as I could, & craning my 3 year old neck to see up the street who was coming to pick me up. It is a Saturday and all the children that live there with me, and there are not that many, have been picked up already from the Ventnor Private School (my boarding house). I am the last to go. Who is coming? Will it be my brother Mikey? Mike is 5 years older than I am. My Father adopted him when our family doctor called my Father and told him about a local 16 year-old girl who had an out-of-wedlock baby. Since he knew my father wanted to adopt a boy he called and offered the baby. And that is how my brother Mike got into the mix. Michael had a terrible life. But that's another story. On Saturdays, Mikey would come walking down the street and I could not wait to take his hand and then take the trolley uptown to Oriental Avenue to stay with my grandparents. We would go to Grandmom Dora's apartment where there was good food and a comfortable bed, which I think was out on an enclosed porch. Sometimes I would sit on the floor and rub her feet when she asked me to. I think my Aunt Betty also lived there. Grandmom Dora died when I was very young and I remember nothing of it at all. I do know, or was told, that they never told my father while he was in prison. They told me later that if he knew she had died, he would have just fallen apart. Well he did anyway, but later on.

On Sunday nights I was brought back to the Ventnor Private School (read boarding school). I slept upstairs in a room where there were a row of cots. Downstairs, Miss Armstrong and Miss Zimmerman would teach classes but for the life of me all I remember is listening to the Blue Danube which I guess was our introduction to 'good music'. And I remember hearing the "Anniversary Waltz" which to this day I can still hum. The only birthday I ever celebrated or at least remember was held there and I got a 'brides doll', something I wanted very badly. To me she was the most beautiful doll I had ever laid my eyes on, with a white satin dress, and a long veil over her head. Why I wanted that doll I will never know, but I wanted it more than anything in the world. I never knew or remembered kids came there to actually attend school, and it was not until my 50th high school reunion that someoe came up to me and told me they went to that 'school' after they moved to Atlantic City and they needed a transition until they could start public school. I never knew kids came to school and left every day and she never knew some of us lived there.

I remember having my hair washed with 'tar' soap and one of the women brushing and braiding it as well. And I remember being carried in the dark of night down a long flight of stairs, wrapped in a blanket and into a waiting car. I asked them where I was going and they said to a hospital to have my tonsils removed. I know I wasn't crying or anything. I actually never cried when I was a child.

Once I was made to sit on a stool, in a room all alone, with soap and mustard in my mouth and I was told I could not spit it out. I was being punished for being a 'bad girl'. I had climbed a tree in the backyard, and when I saw the little boy that lived next door, I tried to hit him by throwing down branches and nuts and whatever else I could get my hands on. I guess he told his mother and they told Miss Zimmerman and Miss Armstrong. And so I was punished. But again I wouldn't cry. I felt they wanted me to so I would show some remorse, but I did not. However, I do remember hurting myself by rubbing my hands on my thighs really hard til I broke the skin...and I think I was touching myself sexually but I am not sure. That's where all my feelings went; inside, not outside! No yelling. No crying. No begging for forgiveness. And one thing I remember clearly is that I would not cry or spit out that soap. When I started to think back about my life in the Ventnor Private School, (boarding house) I think Miss Armstrong and Miss Zimmerman might very well havebeen lesbians. What better way to have a secret life together than to run a boarding house/ school? But they were kind to me. They probably knew who my father was and knew better than to mess with me.

I have often been asked why I was not angry with my aunts and uncles for putting me in a boarding school at 3 years of age. Why couldn't they raise me? Why wasn't I put up at my Grandmom Dora's apartment, instead of only being allowed to just visit on the weekends?

Well I believe that children accept whatever their circumstances are, whatever life throws them and never question, why? One reason is that they sense DANGER! ...don't tread any further as you might not want to hear the answer, and maybe people will get so angry at you for asking and that they might leave you...won't want to be in your life anymore.

So children just go along with whatever they are dealt. You really have no strong likes or dislikes of your own. Take what you are given, smile, be grateful and that's that.

When my daughter was really angry with me, she did not hesitate to yell or even curse or tell me she hated me more than life itself, as many teens do when they are really upset with their parents. And when she did, I was never really all that upset about it, because I knew that deep down she loved me and felt totally secure and safe in my love of her. She knew I would never abandon her ever ever ever. If she needed my right arm, it was hers!


Now that I look back on it all, I don't think anyone of of my relatives were really capable of raising a small child. My Aunt Jean was already taking care of her two kids and running the family grocery /liquor store. And her husband, who was a cop, hated my father and wanted nothing to do with me or any of the Friedmans. Or so I was told by other relatives. And he mosted hated that Aunt Jean would go to visit my father in prison, as much as she could. No matter what her husband, the cop said, she went. My Uncle Bernie, who truly adored me, was a drinker, Aunt Betty was considered just a simple 'old maid' in those days, Uncle Label was a bachelor and a loner, strange as hell; so who was there really? And what Jewish Grandparents wouldn't take a little child into their home? But not mine. I don't think they were really too crazy about me either as I was after all, the illegitimate child of that "shiksa dancer". If my father was not their blessed son, God knows where I might have been sent. So.....I think therefore, I was lucky to be where I was with at least the opportunity to have some family on the weekends. I never, ever ever asked "where is my mother"or what happened to my mother". Or, why can't I live with you? Never! It wasn't until I was 10 and was moved out of the boarding school and into the big house on Windsor Avenue, and enrolled in public school where kids asked me that very question, "where is your Mother"? So I asked my Uncle Bernie..."where is my mother?" And then he only said, "she died in Panama when you were a baby". And so that was that!

Whatever their failings, I adored my family, such as it was. My Aunt Betty was loving and kind and used to always sneak pocket change in my hand feeling no one in family should see her give it to me. She would whisper to me, to take the change and say, Shhhhh! I wonder who she was hiding this from? My Uncle Bernie bought me all my clothes, had all the photos taken of me that do exist. Taught me to drive when I was a teenager. Brought me up to college on the first day of my admission. Talked my house mother into not throwing me out when I did some typical freshman antics... He knew a drunk when he met one and he used to drive up on weekends and sit with her in her quarters. They would drink and talk and she would laugh and all would be well with the world agian.

They both gave me money for the movies which I usually went to by myself and I would also go to the Steel Pier to watch the Diving Horse in the Water Show and to the big music hall. I loved to watch the Ink Spots up on stage and that's where I fell in love with black singers and R&B. And I loved seeing "Tony Grant and His Stars of Tomorrow". This was a show just featuring children; tap dancers, and singers. I would love going into the Diving Bell. This was a very special entertainment. This huge steel structure, shaped like a bell with windows on the side would drop down very fast to the bottom of the sea and sometimes you could see fish. It could hold about 10 people and I would go by myself and was never afraid. I would watch other kids scream in terror as their parents tried to cajole them to go into the Bell and I would stand there and laugh.

I once asked Aunt Betty if I could call her Mommy and she just smiled and hugged me but no answer. She must have felt very uncomfortable. She and I shared a bedroom together and I can remember vividly watching her pull on this immense girdle with clips on the bottom to attach to her stockings. It seemed like torture to me. And she would be so relieved when she would take it off at night and just wear her nightgown.

Sundays were my favorite days at 26 S. Windsor. Aunt Betty would go out early in the morning and buy smoked fish, sturgeon, lox, bagels, cream cheese, olives, onion, herring, and danish for desert, the traditional 'Jewish' Sunday breakfast. Everyone would come to the table and eat together. I get a warm feeling when I think back on it.

My Uncle Bernie lived in the house as well. He was the male love of my life and I knew deep down that he adored me. I always felt that right down to my toes, even though he was what they call 'a no-good drunk'. Grandpop Frank was very tall and stern and sometimes he would pat me on my head but never ever kiss or hug me. I remember coming down the stairs early in the morning as I would get ready to go to elementary school which was right up the block. He would be praying, saying his morning prayers, rocking back and forth, facing a wall, wrapped in a tallet and with Tfillen (a leather slim strap) wrapped around his arm.

My brother lived upstairs on the very top floor, sort of like the attic and he liked it up there....was like a hideaway for him. And I do not remember if my father was already in the house when I was there or if he came into house after I arrived; all I know is that he was there. I never ever asked about him or where he was...he just suddenly appeared. I was kind of scared of him. I do not remember him ever really talking to me, or touching me. Never. Except when he yelled at me a couple of times for not doing what he wanted. Like calling my step-mother, "Mother", and I tried to stay out of his way. I was supposed to call him Daddy, so I did, but I never really felt like he was a Daddy. I never felt anything towards him. Even when I found him dead on the cellar floor.

But I do have happy memories of sitting on the living room floor and huddling up close to the big standing radio listening to "The Shadow", "Let's Pretend" and "The Green Hornet". And one day my father brought in a piece of furniture with a television screen. With it was a huge magnifying glass on a stand to put in front of it. We were the only house on the street with a TV. My Aunt Betty and I used to watch the Milton Berle show together and sometimes neighborhood kids were allowed to come in and watch also. He also brought in a big dog named Mark, that sort of was like my dog. He was a 'bird' dog and loved to go out on the sand dunes chasing pigeons. Suddenly, when I was looking for Mark, my father said Mark was stolen out of our car. I was really sad but he would not replace the dog with another one.I think my step-mother told him to get rid of him. I am sure of it.

Grand pop Frank would dill pickles in giant wooden barrels down in the cellar and I would love reaching down into them and scooping one out, when Grand pop said they were 'ready'. The juice was like a nectar and I would drink it straight out of the keg if I could. Even today, if I close my eyes I can see those kegs, and smell that brew and to this day, I still adore sour pickles.

So maybe now you might understand that when I was located by my real mother's family, I was hungry to see, touch, hug them. I loved them immediately. Without even meeting them. After all, they were part of my Mother.

When Elaine and I finally spoke on the phone, I felt like another part of myself was on the other end. I asked her a million questions about our Mother Ruth (alias Ondra), and about her own life. She was not bitter and she had every right to be. She, like me, dealt with what she was given and was only stronger because of it. Our Mom put her in a few different boarding houses to live in as a youngster. She was truly moved from pillar to post, sometimes to a relative's house as well. But never for long and never permanently. And as far as Elaine knows, Ruth never raised her. She does not know where she was when she was an infant. And to this day, she does not know who her father is. Elaine has vague memories as a very young little girl attending a big funeral and hearing whispers about the person who had died. She thinks her father was a small-time gangster and that would not be surprising because who else could our mother have met being in nightclubs all the time. Gangsters ran the clubs, visited the clubs, dated the showgirls. That's how she met my own father as well. It all makes sense.

When Ruth died, Elaine was eleven and was shuffled off to the West Coast to live with one of our aunts. Elaine was not happy there at all. Our Mother did not raise either one of us and mores the pity! As the song says, "God Bless -----" well you know.

My kid sister, Harlene, flew in from Los Angeles to meet Elaine, when I had my dinner party, as she wanted to be included and I think to state her place in my family. If she was worried about being usurped it was for naught, as I was always crazy about her. When she was around 5 years old and I was going through my boy-crazy teenage stuff, I used to have to schlep her everywhere with me; football games, to the beach, even to social events. Although I complained of course, I loved her dearly. My friends and I would use her to help us meet boys on the beach. We would send her over to a blanket with the cutest boys on it and tell her to ask them what time it was. She would point to us and the rest is history. She is incredibly talented, terribly smart, top% in every grade right through college and now very successful in her own right. I always said she got my Father's brains, and personality, that's for sure. And make no mistake about it, he was very smart. If not for him, all his brothers and sisters would have starved as kids. He was the hustler and the brains of the family and they all depended on him. If only he had used his brains for legitimate work or schooling, God knows what might have become of him. But there was real poverty and 4 younger siblings and two immigrant parents to support. He took the easier route. He was the only one born in Russia. The other's were born in Philadelphia which is where my Grandparents had settled when they came from the 'old country'.

After myparty, Elaine, 3 of her daughters ( my new nieces), and one of her sons, Keith who works out of New York 3 days a week, all went out to dinner the next night and when they left New York the next day, to return to Cincinnati, I became sullen and agitated. Elaine and I agreed that in April,we would first meet in Las Vegas right before the reunion that David had arranged to occur in Utah at one of his brother's homes. That is when I would meet all the Mormon cousins as David has two brothers and two sisters as well. There would also be 2ndcousins who's mother's were sisters of my Mom, Ruth. I could not wait to meet my new family.

Before the reunion, Elaine and I agreed to meet in Vegas and this time, my daughter Jennifer, flew in from LA and met Elaine and her husband Eddie. Elaine and I had dinner that night and got to talk some more. We had more questions of each other than was possible to answer in just a few short days, but I felt love for her, no matter what anybody says. Some say that is just wishful on my part. So be it. It is what I feel.

The next day, David picked us all up and we drove a couple of hours up to Utah and the reunion .Jennifer was a bit wary I knew. First, that they were Mormons and second, that they were my 'family'. Suddenly and out of nowhere! But she kept her doubts to herself and was as usual, charming to everyone. Everyone was crazy about her of course. She is beautiful, articulate and has all the graciousness of someone 'to the manner born' as they say. But I know she had her doubts as to whether these people were really 'my people'. And there are cousins that could not come out to Utah and I have yet to meet them. One is also called Dolores, only she spells it differently, and many have the middle name Ruth as part of theirs. They are all Christians of one faith or another.

It is because of Jennifer, that I asked Elaine to take a DNA test with me. Elaine did not feel this was necessary as she just "knew" we were sisters. But I needed to do it for all of the Nay-Sayers around me and I have plenty of them. So....not too long ago as a matter of fact, on my last visit to Elaine's home in Ohio, we went to a well-known lab, Genetica which happens to be based in Cincinnati. They took 4 swabs from the inside of our cheeks and said it would take 3 weeks to determine if we were in fact from the same mother. When they knew the results, they would call and follow up with a mailing of the results. This is the wording of the DNA test.

"MITOCHONDRIAL DNA TEST"
GENETICA lABORATORIES, INC.
June 22, 2009

Alleged Relative #1 Alleged Relative #2
Elaine R. Arlinghaus Dolores Danska
Born: November 29, 1928 Born: June 5, 1939

Maternal Lineage Likelihood Ratio: 563 to 1
Specimens from Elaine R. Arlinghaus and Dolores Danska were submitted for DNA analysis to determine the likelihood that Elaine R. Arlinghaus shares the same maternal lineage as Dolores Danska----the likelihood of maternal relatedness is 563 to 1 and the probability is 99.82%.

So there you have it! Elaine got the call first since she lives in the same city. She called me and said, "I told you so! We are sisters and there is absolutely no doubt about it. I just spoke to the lab! They will call you today as well."

And they did and said "congratulations to the both of you."

Now back to the Mormon reunion and moi!.

I was a bit concerned as I was going to stay at David's house after the reunion and I wasn't sure how his friends would react to meeting a new family member that one, was Jewish, and two, was the illegitimate daughter of his Aunt Ruth, and some small-town hood who went to prison and also blew his brains out.

David said he was not worried at all so I started to relax, but the day he told me we were going to his Mormon church and he wanted me to address his ward, with whom he taught bible studies, I almost died. He said they had heard all about me and his search and how he knew this was our destiny and he wanted them to now actually see and hear me. And so one Sunday, I'm finding myself standing in a Mormon church, in Hurricane, Utah. before a stern looking group of Mormon men, women, and young girls, to tell my story. As much of it as I could without getting into too much detail but to fill out what David had already shared with them. I told it as dramatically as I could, as if I were pitching a documentary concept, and I was looking for financing, something I was totally familiar with doing. I had told David to give me the high sign when I should wrap it up and he did. I knew I could carried away. When I was finished, they greeted me with hugs and smiles and told me how happy they were for me and for David and if it was true as the Mormons believe, that they could...then they must be in quite a tizzy!