daniel – Page 2 – Kathleen Bryce Niles

The death business

When Michael died, the undertaker came to his mother’s home to peddle the casket and vault. Mother, who was 90, was a woman who may have still had her First Communion money, so I was well aware of her attitudes on spending. The gentleman took out a book to illustrate the vaults … those are the concrete walls and flooring into which the casket sets in order to prevent the ground from sinking over time. The first photo was of a vault sitting on the ground. It cost X dollars. The next picture showed the same vault sitting on an acre of green grass. And, this cost XX dollars. The third and final photo showed the vault on green grass with flowers and trees surrounding it. It was lovely and cost XXX. He assured us that no water would seep into this vault. Knowing that I was on firm footing with Mother, I said, “Let me ask you this: If water does seep into any of these vaults, is there any chance that Mikey will drown?” He began to stutter and stammer and replied, “Well, No!” I looked across the table and see Mother trying to hold her always dignified self together. She is ready to fall out laughing. Then, I looked at the poor defeated undertaker and said, “Do you ever embarrass yourself?” He bowed his head and said, “Yes, sometimes.” You know we took Vault #1. They got us though on this … Just after they picked Mike up and took him to the funeral parlour, the RC Bishop called me to ask if we would like Mike to lie in state at St. Lucy’s RC Church where he had served as Dir. of Music for a quarter century. You might imagine what an incredible honour that would be. The funeral home charged us $1000 to transport him two miles. It was money well-spent. Michael was an Immigration and Nationalization expert. The church was filled with clients who dressed in their native garb from Africa, the Middle East, the West Indies, etc. Mikey would have loved it.

A dark, Muslim visitor

Just now reading a piece in Smithsonian Magazine on Malcolm X. It reminded me of a time in the late 60s, early 70s when we taught quarter courses. It was a tumultuous time in urban schools and we did whatever possible to keep our kids engaged. Because of my friendship with the great guidance counselor, Sara Walker, my classes tended to be predominantly Black. In fact, one year I had one White kid out of 150 total. So, my Quarter Courses tended to run to Black Lit, Black Poetry, etc. It came to pass that I had the opportunity to have a guest speaker. I had a Black Muslim come in to address my kids relative to his beliefs. He was dressed to the nines and conducted himself beautifully. There was no hate speech nor negative vibe expressed. He merely laid out his beliefs. I soon found myself vis-a-vis with the principal. It was a cordial meeting but it was clear that any guests would need to be cleared in advance. Of course, I knew the ice was thin … I elected not to get pre-approval because I knew it wasn’t going to happen. We are so careful sometimes that we miss the opportunity to learn, to grow. I had no misgivings about taking that chance but I was also very respectful of direct orders from those who were my bosses. I never repeated the invite. To my way of thinking during those frightening times, it was an alternative to street life. Those young men and women were clean, hard-working, alcohol & drug free. That had a faith and a purpose. Yes, there were the far-left/right? haters of “Whitey” who leaned toward violence but the moderates had a good idea about the future of my street babies. Anyway, we learned that day and that was always a good day.

A “B” for Tolstoy

I was a Comparative Lit minor in college. I took courses in Dostoyevsky & Tolstoy as well as writers from around the world. As it happened, my prof was a Russian woman nearing eighty years old. I would describe her as looking like Nina Krushchev but not so pretty. She was barely five feet tall and as round as she was high. On the first day of class, she set the terms. “Front row is for Russians and boys … As are for Russians.” It was pretty clear that this child, neither Russian nor male, was going to be in the back praying for a B. Each year, the University had to appeal to some higher authority to allow Mme. Wolkonsky to continue teaching because of her advanced years and the old rules of forced retirement. She was a very good teacher if slightly prejudiced in favour of her countryMEN in specific, and men, in general. One day, Mme. relayed a story telling us what a “stupid” child she had been. Apparently, Tolstoy came to her home and she elected to run off out of doors to play rather than to sit at his feet enthralled. She finished this cautionary tale with this admonition,”Dostoyevsky great writer, Tolstoy greater writer. Tolstoy relative.” It seems our Mme. was kin to one of the world’s finest authors. We were smitten … from the row in the back. The B was an okay thing, too!

Haute couture at Easy Bargain Center

Much of what I know of haute couture I gleaned from shopping at the Easy Bargain Center in Syracuse, NY. It was the store of choice for those families of cultured taste and classic style. Once one blew the dust off the “designer” apparel and shoo’d the mice back into the crevices, there was a veritable plethora of stuff from which to select. Funny, I never felt as if I was less dressed than my peers in school … quite possibly because most of them shopped in the same “boutiques.” What clothing we didn’t get from my cousins or Mrs. Hookway’s Rummage Shop, we got there. I always find it amusing to note that my pajamas were handed down from my cousin, David Gordon. I simply assumed that all jammies had a fly front!!! People have to be taught to be snobs and wastrels. Few truly comprehend the vast difference between WANT and NEED any more. Sad, methinks.

Happy Birthday, Ms. Steinem!

About fourty years ago, I had the distinct pleasure of meeting the brilliant and delightful Ms. Steinem. It was the time of NOW when many professional women were becoming angry and frustrated with the double standards facing us as the “glass ceiling” and the wifely responsibilities attested. We brought her to Syracuse University to speak. She was magnificent. She never married until about ten years ago. Reporters constantly asked her about her sexuality … because she had to be lesbian to be so enraged, didn’t she? Her response was one of the most classic of all responses. She simply said, “Are you, Sir, the alternative?” That may have been the last time Gloria Steinem had to field that question!!!!! Because of this wonderful fighter, all women have made inroads into the sexism that continues to exist today. Happy Birthday and Thank You, Ms. Steinem!

Jackpot at the Dollar Store

We all like to tell stories and torture our loved ones at family gathering. I like it far too much. It came to pass that one of my adorable young (at that time) relatives had come to me for a visit. I will keep his name out of this but will let all the Dodge Family off the hook! Let us just say that Dollar Stores had not yet proliferated especially in his country. Of a day, we did indeed go to the Dollar Store. We had separated and from his aisle I heard the happy scream of a banshee calling out, “Auntie, Auntie, look at this!!!” I made my way to him to see what had delighted him so very much. I should have known having once had boyfriends of a similar vintage. My ecstatic boy had found the condoms!!! They were in long rows by the dozens. In the midst of all this joy, he yells out … “I am buying all of them.” Well, he would have needed every cent of his First Communion money for that transaction so a reasonable stash was settled upon. I was really quite pleased that he was savvy enough to take care of business … and especially happy now that he has a wonderful wife and beautiful family. Who knows from what that fateful trip to America’s Dollar Store saved our dear boy. Auntie loves you.

Avoiding the indiscretions of youth

All this talk of Spring Break and the high school & college students heading South unchaperoned reminded me of this. Mikey, my bestie, and I decided to go to Maine and tent. My father, as you know by now, was very much the gentleman and quite careful with doing all things properly. When we broke the news that we were heading out of the weekend, he was beside himself. How would it look? What would the neighbours think? Please do not tarnish your reputation, etc. Here is the kicker. I was not in high school. I was not in college. I had finished the first three yrs of grad school. I was 26, married, divorced and a high school teacher. Do I think kids get to do whatever they want these days? You bet your proverbial they do. Jealous? Absolutely! But I do think my father may have saved a potentially wild child from a few indiscretions. Yes, we did the trip and my virtue was not compromised. Truth be told, I would never trade that father for all the holidays today’s kids get.

A Port of Spaniard

It seems that being Spanish has long been preferable to being Black in America. As a school child, teacher asked us to go home and come back the next day ready to rattle off our nationalities. I came back with Irish and Spanish … info garnered from my parents. I saw a US census where my Dad had written “Spain” not “Port of Spain.” POS is the capital of Trinidad and has little in common with the country of Spain. When a nosy landlady in Florida asked my Mom if Dad was Spanish, the answer flew back in the affirmative … otherwise there would have been no housing. I always wondered how my father got into the “White Army.” It seems simple now. Spanish, of course. And, of course, Spain not the relatively new Hispanic. What a very bizarre and sad way for a people to try and survive.

Instrumental Protection

My grandmother was a tasteful & genteel woman whose Caribbean upbringing taught her culture and class. She thought it the way in which to educate her son. It never struck her that it could lead to an untimely demise. They lived on Burnet Ave, a bastion of old world Italian dealers in guns, knives, thuggery and all manner of wholesale thievery and power struggles. She did not want my Dad mixed up in anything that smacked of tawdry and malevolent behaviors. Ergo, she sought to have him mature in the roots of the classics. My father wondered his entire life why a nappy-headed boy toting a violin up those wicked streets remained vertical and scarless. We may now know the answer … mobsters were well-known for carrying their machine guns in violin cases. In truth, my grandmother may have saved that young fellow from being a Black guy living in a neighbourhood that didn’t want him there to a lad who may or may not be simply taking lessons from the local violin teacher!!!

BG Rudolph

As a kid, just graduated from Central Tech HS and waiting to become a freshman at Albany, I received a great gift. I cannot remember how it came to pass but I spent that summer and one or two more working with BG Rudolph (Rudolph Jewelers). He was in his 80s and we set about writing his book A History of the Early Jewish Settlers of Syracuse. I followed him from synagog to synagog, from cemetery to cemetery, from rabbi to rabbi. It was a great education. On the day the book was published, Mrs. Rudolph called me to say that Mr. BG had just died. His work was done.

daniel, Page 2 Author