When I was growing up in New London, Grandpa Sam was the most compelling figure in my young life. My mother, sister and I lived at 31 Morgan Street with Grandpa Sam. 31 Morgan was a two story house. Grandpa rented the second floor to others and we all lived on the first floor. How we all fit is still a mystery to me. There were only two bedrooms a kitchen and a parlor. I think my mother often slept in the parlor since my sister and I shared one bedroom and Grandpa had the other.

My memories of him are from a child's perspective. To me he was always an old man who spoke very broken English. I remember him trying to read the paper out loud to practice his English. He was most comfortable speaking Yiddish and he and my mother both spoke it. Some of my oldest memories were on those Sundays when Uncle Moe, Uncle Arthur, Aunt Rose and others would come over to see Grandpa and they would sit around the table speaking Yiddish. For some reason I enjoyed listening and trying to figure out what they were saying. I remember two of the necessary topics were Grandpa's complaints that his teeth didn't fit right and his mattress was too soft! They spoke about this on each and every occasion and I realized even then that the mind can play some weird tricks. It's funny how the little things stand out in my memory of him. Friday night he would always take a bath and when he would open the bathroom door steam would billow out. He liked it hot. Mom would spread the New London Day newspaper on the floor between the bathroom and his bedroom and he would walk and drip his way to his room to dress for Shabbat dinner. Early mornings would find him facing the eastern wall of the kitchen praying - swaying and davening. When I would come out of my bedroom to go to the bathroom he would look over and say "good morning Larry, don't forget to wash your hands and get the witches out from under your finger nails." I guess that's why I've always bitten my nails - trying to kill those damn witches.

Grandpa was tall with a full head of hair and even in old age he was imposing. He liked to play cards and now and then I would spend hours at the kitchen table playing his favorite card game - Casino. I forget how to play now but remember the 2 of spades and 10 of diamonds were special. We also played War. I loved to ask Grandpa Sam to tell me stories of his days in Russia. He told me about his time in the army - he was a musician who played the sousaphone and how he had a hard time because he did not eat the pork they would serve him. After a pogrom he escaped somehow on a white horse galloping over a bridge. That image has always stayed with me. I always wondered if it were true.

He was a hard worker. We heated the house and fired the stove by coal and would get deliveries every so often. I would go out to the coal shed and bring back pail's full of coal to fill the stove. I still remember baked potatoes placed right on those hot coals. To this day they were the best I ever had. We had a chicken coop in the back yard and on Fridays Grandpa would take one of them and slaughter it. He'd chop off its head and I'd help pluck the feathers. Today it all seems a bit surreal but back then it was the way we lived.

At the synagogue Grandpa was a major star figure. He was the "Kohen" (High Priest) who "duchoned", or blessed the congregation during the holidays. I always felt important sitting as a child in the row with my Uncles while Grandpa sat on the Bema, or stage, covered in his talis or prayer shawl. It was an orthodox synagogue. The women sat upstairs, the men were downstairs. The prayer books were all in Hebrew - not one word of English. The game I would play would be to see what page my Uncle was reading then try to find my place by listening to the Hebrew and trying to find the letters from the sounds I heard.

Grandpa was proud of me, his grandson, and wanted to show me off. Once on Simchat Torah, a holiday when they take out all the sacred Torahs and with song and clapping march through the aisles, Grandpa handed me, then all of 7 years old, one of the big Torahs. I remember how heavy it was and as I was marching around it started to slip. Finally I dropped it and it unraveled. There was a collective gasp and scurrying around. Some of the older men began to yell at me and I remember running out the swinging doors into the lobby wanting to hide from the world. I found out later that Grandpa fasted for many days to atone for that "sin." Grandpa was so religious that on Saturday morning he and I would walk the several miles from our home to the synagogue and back. This was every single Shabbat. Finally, when he was ill and too old to walk Grandpa and I rode in my Uncle Moe's car. When we got to the top of Federal Street where the synagogue was, Grandpa noticed all the others walking and he slouched down onto the floor of the back seat so no one would see him riding to Shul. I remember asking him "Grandpa, can't God see you there on the floor?" To me Grandpa was a presence but as I was growing in 1950's America I began to see him as a man of another time. We were the only Jewish family on my street and since none of my friends were Jewish or knew much about our customs they could never understand why I couldn't have ice cream from the Good Humor truck because it hadn't been 6 hours since I had eaten meat. As a child you don't question certain rules - especially when they were considered critical to Grandpa Sam. Later in my life I redefined for myself what customs and traditions I would embrace and what I would let go of. The one I haven't wavered from, first out of respect for Grandpa Sam and later out of a feeling of connecting with all those who suffered from keeping the faith is that I don't eat pork, ham or bacon. Somehow the thought of Grandpa Sam's life and legacy keeps me resolved to that.

Grandpa Sam was a smart man - more than smart, he was wise. There are two stories I so distinctly remember from my childhood with him - two lessons of many I learned that have always stayed with me. Once he and I walked to the small grocery store on the corner of Coleman and Broad. Funny I can't even remember its name. We had no big supermarket there. He gave me the job of finding the tuna fish and bringing him 3 cans. I must have been 8 years old. When I got to the tuna I saw Bumble Bee $.32, Star Kist $.31 and Tom's Tuna $.18. I grabbed 3 cans of Toms and proudly brought them to Grandpa Sam. He said, "What's this? Where is the Bumble Bee?" I said this is a lot cheaper. We walked over to the tuna and he said slowly - "Bumble Bee $.32! Star Kist $.31! Tom's $.18? Larry, there's something wrong with that tuna fish!" To this day I'm always skeptical about all those great bargain priced items. Finally, he taught me a lesson I have never forgotten. One Sunday when all my Uncles were visiting around the table I was listening when Uncle Harry said he had read that the back cover of Life magazine cost $50,000 to advertise on. I loved Life magazine, all those great pictures. Well the next week we got our copy of Life and when I turned it over there was an ad for Wrigley Spearmint gum. I was shocked. I remember telling Grandpa - these people are stupid. They paid $50,000 to advertise gum that only costs a nickel. Grandpa laughed and said, "well, they sell a lot of gum." Then in his strong accent he told me these words of wisdom. He said "Larry, always remember, a lot of a little is a lot!" That's brilliance without a college degree.

Grandpa Sam was special, a good man, a simple man, a man of strong faith and family values. He was a hard worker, a dedicated provider and someone who faced the fires of discrimination (some neighbors literally burned down his barn killing several horses. Later it was discovered that it was a "hate crime") but he was never bitter. He persevered. I sometimes try to think about the courage it took to sail in steerage to a strange new country where he didn't speak the language, far from the comfort (or discomfort) of his world. Like millions of others he came to America for freedom and opportunity. He provided me with a bridge to the past and set a foundation for my future. He's still inspiring me.