Yesterday was the shared birthday of my mother Henrietta Brisk and her father Alexander Brisk. First a quick rundown of the people in this pic: It's my Mom and Dad's hastily planned wedding in a chapel by the Pacific, the bride (Cookie) front and center, with her sister Sheila on the right, and her parents (Kathryn and Alex) on the left. In the back is my Dad's best friend Forrest, his stylish wife Jan, my spiffy Dad in Navy dress whites, Sheila's husband Edgar, and my mother's favorite relative, Aunt Lollie (my grandma's sister) in a gorgeous hat. Do you see my dad's white gloved hand under my mother's right breast? And look at the way my mother is clutching her sister's hand. I just love the way mom and Sheila have their heads tilted in the same direction, like a sister act from the Catskills. Very sweet. I'm in the picture, too - actually, I'm the cause of all the folderall. That's me, behind the bride's bouquet. In six months, I would be born "premature." But that's another story.
This is about Cookie and Alex.
For years they thought their birthdays were two days apart. Alex had celebrated his birthday on December 27th his whole life. Kathryn was due to give birth in late December. According to family lore, Kathryn "kept her legs crossed" until the 27th, then "pushed like hell." But no such luck. The kid was too stubborn to make an appearance on the 27th. Two days later, little Henrietta was born. It was December 29, 1923. Twenty years later, Alex's birth certificate was unearthed from some dusty steamer trunk and, amazingly, it turned out he was born on December 29th as well, in 1898.
Nobody ever called her Henrietta. She was too small and too cute for such a big name. From the start she was called Cookie, because "she was sweet as a sugar cookie." She was more like a ginger snap, really. She was small and cute, all right, but she was also smart as hell and brave, too. She took no prisoners, little Cookie. Like a petite but ruthless queen, she emphatically spoke her mind, much to the delight of the family. She had moxie.
Alex was as proud as could be. He had five sisters, four of whom were older, and Kathryn was seventh in a family of ten. Everybody lived in Brooklyn so what with the various spouses and children, not to mention Kathryn's parents and Alex's mother, there were usually forty or fifty people gathered at the frequent family events. The Brisks and the Ezechels had grown up next door to each other in Mamaroneck, New York. Many of Kathryn's older brothers were dear friends with Alex from the time they were kids. The Brisks were Russian Jews (Father Brisk didn't speak English) and the Ezechels were half German Jewish, half Italian Roman Catholic. Their families had emigrated to the US during the great influx of the late 1800's, coming through Ellis Island to America, where it was said the streets were paved with gold.
Everyone was loud, funny, talkative, and had a zest for life. It was the roaring 20's and they exemplified the times - they were enthusiastic, ambitious and always ready to have a good time. There was a great deal of food and a great deal of fun whenever they got together. They made their own entertainment. Alex would recite "Casey at the Bat" complete with hand gestures and hilarious schtick; Kathryn sang in a rich contralto and mimicked Catherine Cornell in scenes from "The Barretts of Wimpole Street." Her younger sister Edythe was a contortionist who had appeared in Vaudeville. The carpet would be pulled back and Edythe obligingly performed her amazing Dance of the Seven Veils while older sister Janis pounded out "The Shiek of Araby" on the spinet. A conga line was always a possibility, and the sisters could be persuaded to demonstrate the latest dance steps from Radio City Music Hall. It was big, rambunctious fun in those days - the Kaiser had just had his ass kicked in the war to end all wars, and the future was brighter than ever.
Uncle Arthur was the big shot of the family. He was the first to become successful and rich, and he liked big gestures - taking the entire family to Coney Island, for example, or to the Hippodrome, and buying all the popcorn and cotton candy they could eat. He'd show up at a family block party with a huge Genoa salami, and they'd rotisserie the whole thing over a fire in a trash can, cutting hunks for all the kids in the neighborhood while the spit was still turning, encouraging the boys to dip the hot, salty, greasy chunks in good German mustard, he'd say, "To put hair on your chest!" Dressed in dapper duds and head held high, Uncle Arthur was the center of it all. Alex was plenty smart and full of hustle, too, but hadn't made it big yet like Arthur had, so it rankled him when Arthur would pull him aside to patronizingly deliver words of advice.
At one memorable family gathering, Uncle Arthur was grandly complimenting the meal, especially the soup, comparing it to the nectar of the gods (he was quite full of himself). Cookie, who was 4 at the time but very tiny for her age, was seated in a high chair at the end of the table, where everyone could see her. She may have looked like she was two years old, but she had the mind of a six-year-old, and she saw that her father Alex chafed under Arthur's heavy handedness. After Uncle Arthur had finished his pontificating, everyone stopped chattering and they turned their attention to the delicious food. Alex put a bowl of soup in front of his tiny daughter and, in his booming voice, asked her, "How's the soup, Cookie?" With all eyes on her, she fed herself a spoonful, swallowed it without expression, then said in her clear little voice for all to hear, "It stinks!"
It is from moments like this that reputations are made, that opinions are formed which last a lifetime, and the terms of a relationship established. Pandemonium ensued, everyone laughing and chattering at once, marveling at the audacious little child, reenacting the moment, slapping Alex on the back and congratulating him on having such a remarkable child. At first Uncle Arthur turned beet red, his face blowing up like a balloon, then he saw the humor and began guffawing loudest of all. He swept little Cookie out of the high chair and onto his shoulder, and proclaimed Cookie the wisest and most audacious little girl in the world. Cookie, for her part, accepted the cheers and accolades of her laughing, admiring family, and Alex about busted from pride - his tiny daughter had skewered the head of the family, something he had wanted to do but couldn't.
In letting the hot air out of Uncle Arthur in front of the whole family, Cookie had secured a place of great importance in the eyes of everyone there, most of all in the eyes of her father. In a family that appreciated chutzpah and moxie, not to mention impeccable comic timing, Cookie had scored a huge hit. And so had Alex. It was the start of a unique father-daughter dynamic that was built on mutual admiration and respect as well as love. They were kindred spirits.
Here's to you, Cookie and Alex - Happy Happy Birthday!
