Update 11-27-07

Hi,

Some light stuff, and then something more serious.

First, from Fran Bellucci Johnson:  I meant to reply last week but got caught up in other things.  I should know by now that "later" never happens.
        Fruit loops brought back memories of walking down hallways and seeing someone's shirt getting yanked.  I also remember that it changed from yanking a shirt to collecting fruit loops.  Somehow it became a mark of "manliness" to have them.  I remember handfuls of fruit loops collected proudly and shown off.  Thankfully, the fad didn't last too long.
        I think the idea of a fruit loop was a local Long Island/New York thing.  When I was at college in Kansas, I said something about a fruit loop, and no one, from Kansas or other state, knew what I was talking about.
        A piece of useless information:  that horizontal strip of cloth across the back of a shirt is called a yoke.  I was taught to iron it first, and then the sleeves, since the crease you put in the sleeve was often pressed out when you were ironing the yoke.
        Hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving.

    Next, from Robert Fiveson:  I find it sad, yet gratifying, to know that possibly for the first time in the now- long history of this newsletter, two of my all-time favorites in high school -- Greg Kaplan and Stephen Gootzeit -- emerged from lurker status.  And they came out together for fruit loops.
        Kaplan used to host games in his basement where a group of us would yell 'Stomp!" and then just jump into the center of the room and beat the snot out of each other.  Afterwards, we ritualistically ate chili from wooden bowls with wooden spoons  (I cant make this kind of stuff up.)
        Gootzeit had a famous expression he would say constantly, and which I seem to have stuck in my head because I still say it to people even though it is entirely a non sequitur:  "Oh, so you wish to fight zee bool,  eh, Senor!?"
   
    Coincidentally, from Steve Gootzeit, but not about shirts or animals:  I am positive that I took dance lessons -- the Lindy -- at a Y in Cedarhurst, in a house near a major intersection.  I have no recollection of the others in the class.  These lessons were very helpful in later life.
   
    From Amy Miller:  Found, by my husband, in his shirt collection -- two shirts, in beige and in blue, with button-down collars and fruit loops.  The one made in India had a thicker width loop.
   
    [Rich -- I asked Amy if these were new shirts or if her husband's collection was vintage.]
   
    Amy:  Yes, in his collection.  He must be cajoled into getting rid of things/clothes and has items from before the beginning of time.  "You never know when you can use them in a performance," he says.  This is what I get for marrying a singer AND an "older man."
   
    From Judy Brill:  It was a treat to see some very familiar names in your last post.  Having left Long Island many moons ago, I don't hear much about or from members of the class of '68, although there have been a couple of sightings over the years.  Kudos to Larry Levy, and warm greetings to him, Freda Wagner, and Terry Early.  And regards to all.
   
    Finally, more seriously, from Ellen Epstein Silver:  Dear family and friends, I am sorry that I have not had an opportunity to write earlier, but for those of you who do not know, my father Julie Epstein passed away on Saturday, November 3rd, after a long illness.
        He died surrounded by his family, including me.  For those of you who have sent cards, letters, e-mail, and gifts, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.  These were all a comfort during a difficult time.  Whether or not you knew my father, I thought you could get a better feel for his life though the eulogy that my daughter Jessica wrote.  Also, I know it is late, but for those who still wish to do so, we are encouraging donations to "Hospice by the Sea," which made my father's last days so much better than they would have otherwise been.  Love  to all.
   
    Jessica Epstein Rogers' memory of her grandfather:  My Pop is gone, and I do not want you to be sad.  He suffered for way too long, and he's in a much better place.
        I am the second grandchild born to a man who will forever be p-o-p-p-a  j-u-l-i-e-e-e.  His name can never be just said but rather sung.  He had a way of walking into a room, and you just knew the party was about to start.
        He had to dance and laugh, and everything was over the top -- from the way he gambled to the way he sat us down and cut our hair.  He rolled the dice, and whatever happened, he made you feel good about it.  He had an infectious laugh and smile, and his blue eyes would twinkle in a way that made you make the face.  The face, you ask?  Well, I never could perfect it, but my sister Lisa could.  It's kind of like a frown, but Pop would always wind up in hysterics at your attempt to imitate it.
        My son was born a redhead.  In the hospital, they called him "Red" -- a nickname people also used for my Pop.  Everyone says my son Alex seems so happy, and he flirts with the world.  Very much like my Pop would.
        My Pop would tell us wild stories -- like the one where Japanese soldiers got him with a bayonet while he was fighting in a fox hole in WW II.  In reality, he fell off a stoop as a child, and a piece of pottery cut his leg, which gave him that great big scar.  He'd just laugh as he saw our eyes get as big as saucers as he told us of his hand-to-hand combat.  Again, in reality, he was stationed in the Philippines and never saw any actual fighting.
        Our Pop was larger than life, and he and Gram had a love that deep and true.  They loved, they fought, they lived, and they created a family that we see here today.  Now, I may live across the country, but I will always hold Florida as a very special place -- a place where I'd go as a child through adulthood and be with Pop and live life over the top.  He will be sorely missed but forever loved.