The entrance to Hopkins sits on a hill above our old home on Alston Ave. To get to the school you would have to go up a rather long, steep and snaking driveway to where the academic buildings were clustered on yet another hill. And to get to the playing fields one had to go up another elevation to a “plateau” where the fields existed, side by side. It was an area that had been cleared of the forest… a forest that had probably been there since the last ice age.
To a six year old, the fields looked like the Russian Steppe. And one of my first memories as a child was being on that field, on a grey Saturday morning to watch Hopkins play football against Kingswood. I was too young to know what was going on, or really to follow the path of #19.
But Paul was there… one of the tri-captains on the team, and its star halfback.
The field was not fancy. I don’t recall bleachers; but it’s possible that there was minimal seating. And I probably kept myself busy during the first half running around and “messing about”, as my parents stood and watched the play on the field.
At half time the team retreated to the far corner of the clearing (the locker room was too far away?) where they took off their helmets and sat about as the coaches began to assess the play from the first half. And almost immediately Mommie Soph appeared bearing a gigantic tray heaped with oranges cut into quarters. She walked gingerly thru the scattered bodies of sweat besmeared boys offering them reviving sweet and sticky oranges.
To all the boys, Mommie Soph’s appearance had been a welcomed and accustomed sight. That day, not only was Paul Winston my big brother; but Mommie Soph was my grandmother!
Mommie Soph participated in our lives. She kept a watchful eye over us. And sometimes it could be a bit annoying. Lynn would come home from a date, and waiting at the front door, light on, removed corset under arm, stockings rolled down, a cup in her hand (with her false teeth), welcoming Lynn back to the safety the home. The only thing missing was Bobby Short playing piano on the front lawn Isn’t it Romantic? It mortified Lynn.
Ten years later I suffered a similar embarrassment. I had brought Ellen back to the house (perhaps after going to a movie?) and we had staked out our den… put on the tube, hit the lights and proceeded to make out on the couch. And completely unbeknownst to me Mommie Soph had stationed herself on the couch in the adjacent living room. But after a bit I heard a voice ask not so quietly, “Jimmy… when are you going to take her home?”
How she behaved with Paul’s dates I haven’t a clue. But she did watch us, and my guess is she put her two cents in with my parents as to what should be what.
She was always there for help. As mentioned, she help set her sister’s husbands in businesses. And significantly when my Dad started Chipp in 1947, it was Mommie Soph that staked him to $10,000 (ironically, my Dad’s partner was staked to his share by his wife… but they were still short 10K. Mommie Soph offered to make up the difference; but my Dad refused because he was worried that if Chipp proved a failure he would have stripped Mommie Soph of her life’s savings. So, a third partner was brought in for the money — and the money alone… that guy never worked a day in his life after 1948… and I was still paying him off long after my Dad had passed on).
And she was always providing for little things around the house.
After she retired from the meat business all of her chopping blocks were brought into our basement which she transformed into a butchers corner. I think I must have been 15 years old before I realized that the super markets offered already ground meat for sale! And every day she would drive to the market, for example and buy 3 kaiser rolls, a quarter pound of sweet munchie cheese & a bag of pecan sandies. Without fail, every day she would go to the store to make a purchase of some type. And at one point my Dad would suggest to her, “Ma… why don’t you buy a dozen rolls and only shop once a week?”
And later I could see that my Dad had missed the point entirely. Shopping for food… shopping for the home… shopping for us, was a way for Mommie Soph to demonstrate her love. More than that, it gave her a sense of value, of being valuable and needed. To deny this would be to strip her of her esteem.
Daily she would get in her car and drive to do an errand… and perhaps she stayed behind the wheel past her years; but as one would suspect she was very, very reluctant to give up her independence. And yes, at the end there were days when she would drive off in her car, get lost and disoriented in a city that had been her home for 70 years… only to have a police car lead her home… and invariably my mother was told…”You know Mrs. Winston, maybe it would be a better idea if your mother didn’t drive alone anymore… oh by the way, my mother used to buy meat from your mother…”