Long committed to community service, Mr. Stein is a Member of the Board of the Watchung Hills Children’s Home, which specializes in the care of polio patients. He is also on the Board of the Janet Memorial Home.
“Though polio cases have surged in recent years, we now see hope for a vaccine to prevent this dread disease,” Mr. Stein said. “We must redouble our efforts to raise funds to provide care for the afflicted and finance the research to end it.”
13
Miri
Everyone Miri knew considered The Tavern, in the Weequahic section of Newark, the best restaurant in New Jersey. Some families, like the Osners, treated The Tavern like a club. They were Sunday regulars. Other families, like Miri’s, celebrated only the most special events there.
Miri wasn’t surprised to see the Osners lining up just as she and her family arrived. The Tavern didn’t accept reservations. Miri had had Sunday dinners at The Tavern with Natalie and her family more times than she could count. She knew what they would order before they even sat down. Corinne, Natalie and Fern would start with consommé and they’d slice dill pickles into it. Slicing dill pickles into chicken soup struck Miri as disgusting but Natalie swore it was delicious. Every time Natalie said, Have a taste, Miri would say, No thanks. Miri supposed dill pickles in chicken soup was another tradition Corinne had brought with her from Birmingham, Alabama, like the Jewish Santa. Probably Tewky Purvis sliced dill pickles into his consommé, too.
When Irene had asked Rusty about the New Year’s Eve party, Rusty told her Tewky was the best dancer she’d ever danced with. “A lovely man.”
Irene brightened. “And…you’re going to see him again?”
“He lives in Birmingham, Alabama. His family owns a bank there.”
“A bank!” Irene sang. “So what’s a few miles between friends?”
“Unfortunately, he’s a confirmed bachelor.”
Irene paused. “He told you so?”
“He did.”
“Did you ever hear that meeting the right girl can change all that?”
“I’ve heard it but I don’t believe it.”
A confirmed bachelor? So Natalie was right. He was never getting married. Well, that was a relief.
At 4 p.m. the line to get a table at The Tavern was already long, extending down Elizabeth Avenue all the way past the Krich-Radisco building, where Fern would tilt her head back to see her reflection in the mirrored overhead. Families laughed and talked while waiting as if the wait were part of the whole experience, even in winter. Rumor had it the only person who never had to wait was Longy Zwillman. No one complained about that, either, at least not to the owner, Sam Teiger. They all wanted to stay on Sam Teiger’s good side. Not that Miri had ever laid eyes on Longy, but she listened when his name came up.
Miri introduced Leah to the Osners. “We’re celebrating our engagement today,” Leah said, holding up her hand as if she couldn’t believe it was her hand, with polished fingernails, a white orchid wrist corsage and, to top it all off, the ring. Corinne called the ring a truly elegant heirloom piece. Leah looked pleased. “Yes,” she said. “It is, isn’t it? Thank you so much.”
“It was my grandmother’s,” Miri told Natalie.
Natalie said, “My mother wears my grandmother’s ring, too. But she had the diamond reset to look more modern.”
Miri would never change Irene’s ring. She hoped Leah wouldn’t, either.
After forty-five minutes of waiting outside in the cold, they made it to the heated vestibule of the restaurant, where they shed their winter coats. Ben Sapphire helped Irene out of her Persian lamb, worn only on special occasions. Miri had always liked the way it smelled from the cold. When she was little she once napped on it at a family party. Lately she’d been thinking about how before it was a coat it was a real lamb, a little black lamb, maybe more than one little black lamb, and that thought haunted her now whenever Irene wore the coat, which was older than Miri. Every few years the furrier on Bergen Street in Newark would update it, making any necessary repairs. Last year he’d relined it with black-on-black patterned silk, embroidering IRENE AMMERMAN in shocking pink just inside the waist, like a fancy name tape, in case someone went home with the wrong coat.
Both Irene and Leah’s aunt Alma had purple orchid corsages pinned to their suit jackets. Alma had never been to The Tavern but, like everyone else, she’d heard of it.
Sam Teiger greeted everyone. “Doc,” he said to Dr. O, “have a little something,” as a waiter passed around a tray of hors d’oeuvres in case a person got hungry while waiting for a table.
Alma helped herself, daintily wiping her mouth with a cocktail napkin. “Delicious,” she said.
Dr. O introduced Henry to Sam Teiger. “Henry is the star reporter who’s been writing about the crash of the plane in Elizabeth. If you haven’t read his stories, you should. I hear he’s considered so good the paper is doubling his salary and giving him his own byline. Is that right, Henry?”