Archive 01/12/12

 

   

Glow

                                                                  

My parents had made Hollywood, Florida, their special destination,

During the three winter seasons preceding that jubilee,

With extended stays at the recently opened Sheldon Hotel.

But those were nothing like the glamorous nineteen-day vacation,

Over Christmas 1949 and New Year's 1950,

Which my father orchestrated as a celebration of his prosperity,

His having achieved the epitome of the American Dream.

 

It was a moment for my dad to share his hard-earned glow,

With Charlotte and their eight- and five-year-old, L.D. and Babs,

Along with Dorothy, his mother-in-law, and Ruth, his mother,

At one of South Florida's most elegant, prestigious hotels,

The Boca Raton Club, dating back to the Meizner late-twenties.

Just forty, my dad had become one of a rare American breed:

An honest-to-real-life cash-and-assets millionaire.

 

And as an added end-of-the-year dividend extraordinaire,

He was hosting, on his nickel, Sam Boosin and his family

(Gert, their children, Kenny and Elaine), of Jamaica, Long Island —

Sam, the president of Rutgers Fabrics, in Manhattan,

To whom my dad attributed a significant sum of his success,

Since it was Sam, who, during WWII and its aftermath,

Channeled impossible-to-get piece goods Biltwell's way.

 

And what a festive two and a half weeks those were,

For Saul and Sam, who got to play golf, every day,

On that immaculately manicured eighteen-hole course,

Alongside their U.S. Open–champion mentor, Tommy Armour,

And for all of us, who luxuriated in the ice-sculpture-graced buffets,

Sunned by private cabanas surrounding the pool,

Enjoyed dances, movies, swimming, bike rides, sheer leisure.

For the first time in his entire driven existence,

Frugality was not a welcome guest of my father.

This trip was a tribute to his Solomonic wisdom, vision,

And he was not only reveling in his manifold roles

Of proud husband, father, son, son-in-law, appreciative friend

But astute clothing manufacturer of the year, decade,

Biltwell Company's newly affluent blue-ribbon industrialist.

 

Then, that turning-point visit to the Boca Raton Club ended.

The Boosins faded away; our mother's and father's matriarchs died;

Babs and I grew into our own families; our dad deceased;

And time did everything, in its omnipotent power, to forget us.

But though it's been five decades since that Christmas, New Year's,

What remains is that shimmering glow of a man who'd made it

And, for nineteen days, played host to immortality.

 

 

 

 

 

01/12/12

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 

 
   
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