JEAN ROSENBAUM
My Stories:
AFTER PEARL HARBOR ON DECEMBER 7, 1941
My parents were Spanish Sephardic Jews who came to America in 1909 from Istanbul, Turkey and settled in Seattle,Washington. I came into this world two months before the First World War ended. I was the 4th one down the line. We were extremely poor and then came the Depression. These were terrible hard times, but we always got new shoes for Rosh Hashana. My father delivered 100 lb. sacks of coal to all the public schools for $12 a week.We got one ice cream cone a year. A dime was a big thing in my life.
I believe I grew up with an inferiority complex. To this day it's hard for me to get up and speak before an audience and I worry. I graduated high school at 17 and went to work at National Biscuit Co. for 25 cents an hour. I walked back and forth about five miles each way. Half of my weekly salary I gave to Mom for household expenses.
Three years later I was married, nine months later my husband. volunteered and was in the service five years. When he returned we had two more children.
My husband was sick for 10 years and died of kidney failure. He was one of the first patients for the experimental Dialysis machine. I worked hard to support my three girls, got them through school and then they went on their own.
After 32 years I remarried after I retired and moved to L.A. We had a wonderful seven years, traveled extensively and enjoyed our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I am alone again but I thank God for giving me so much.
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AFTER PEARL HARBOR ON DECEMBER 7, 1941
During the war, my husband was stationed at camp Barkeley, Texas for several months. After basic training he would attend officer candidate school in at Northwestern University.
One morning in February 1942, he volunteered to serve. On the morning he was to report, I went with him to the armory. We sat there together until his name was called. He went through a door.
I sat and waited there, I don't know how long, and finally I got up and went to the reception desk and inquired. I was told that all the men had left, including Jack quite some time ago. I thought he was going to come out and be given time to say good-bye.
There I was, a bride of nine months about to burst in to tears from not knowing where he was. I took myself back to our little apartment and tried to keep myself busy for the next two months with family and friends.
I was working for the Post Office at that time at the Terminal building in Seattle. I acquainted myself with the person that handled the mail for the area where I lived and if any letter came for me he would hold it out and bring it over to where I worked; otherwise it would be another two days before I received it at home.
Finally I received a letter and George came running over to give it to me. Everyone around me was whistling and clapping. They all knew Jack because he had worked there.
Also I was the youngest there-22 years old-so they kind of looked out for me. I couldn't wait to open the letter. Jack was stationed at Camp Barkeley, Texas near Abeline, a Godforsaken desolate area. After corresponding with him back and forth we decided that I should move down there even if it was going to be for a short while.
A retired doctor with his wife lived in a lovely home on the corner of 1192 Palm Street. He had a notice on the bulletin board at camp. Jack and two buddies saw the notice and the three came into town 35 miles away and rented the three bed rooms.
They were corner rooms and all had a door to the street with a huge porch all around so you could go from one room to the other without having to go through the house. Came the day for me to leave Seattle.
Everyone is crying and Mom especially. She had never even heard of Texas. I was several days getting there. Trains were very slow. I understood that at Wichita Falls, I would have to change trains and get on a local that carried feed, milk, and animals. My brother, Morrie was in the Air Force, stationed at Shepherd Field near Wichita so I made arrangements to meet him there.
He was my favorite and we were inseparable. I let him know what day and time. Finally my train came in. I got out with my baggage and looked around and Morrie was no where in sight. Finally the local I was to take came, and we would be pulling out very shortly as it was running late. I waited as long as I could and the conductor said, "You had better get on because we have to leave."
I was beginning to turn to face the train and there comes Morrie flying down the street. Did he look handsome in his Air Force uniform. We embraced. "How are you doing, Jeannie? Did you have an extra 5 or 10 dollars?" I remember giving him $10 which I could not spare but could not refuse him.
I thought, God only knows if I would ever see him again. I went inside the train and sat. There were no windows so I waved and said good-bye from the doorway, as the train moved out. This little local stopped at every watering hole to take on or discharge even teenagers going to a dance or parties at towns along the way.
Several hours later it stopped in Abeline to let me out. There I was all alone; the station was closed and locked, no lights, 1 a.m. in the morning and no Jack or anyone else around. Was it creepy and scary! I waited there by the station door, thinking that I was sure that this was the right place.
About 10 minutes later, I saw some lights in the distance and soon a jeep drove up with Jack and a buddy. I got in and the buddy left us at 1192 Palm St. and returned back to Camp Barkeley. I had to wake up the doctor and his wife to let us in. They were using a sofa bed in the living room for their bed. I always wondered if they needed the money from renting the three bedrooms or was it part of their war effort. Their son and daughter were away at college.
Delighted, I saw their garden. It was the first time I saw eggplant or okra growing. The next day was Sunday and all three servicemen were home for the weekend. We all became acquainted.
Minnie and Jessie were from Columbia, S.C. Mary and Binnie were from the Arkansas backwoods and later I learned she was pregnant. She was a little thing and never felt well.
Came Monday morning, I took the bus with Jack and headed for camp. We got off at the main building. I was shown where to go to apply for work. Jack went on to where he had to report. I was interviewed for cashier work at one of the PS's and I was put to work immediately.
It was the very last Post Exchange on the camp. I remember it took forever to get there with the bus winding its way through latrines and barracks. I have a picture in my mind, very clearly of seeing dozens of pairs of dangling legs as the bus went by the latrines every morning.
The manager of the PS was a very nice older gentleman and he showed me around. To get to the storage room I had to go through the barber shop. The barber was a big fat, revolting slob, and the walk through was very narrow. He liked it if I tried to squeeze through, but I finally had him get out of the way so I could get through and get candy, cigarettes or whatever from the back room.
When he came past the counter where I cashiered on his way out, I always jumped up and sat on the counter while he went by. I met hundreds of servicemen. Some were lonely; some thought they were going to make it with me.
The saddest of all were the group from the hills of Tennessee. The could not read or write and were just not with it, but the Army put them to use regardless. We carried lots of chewing tobacco because they loved it, but their teeth were all black from it.
One day the soldiers invited me to join them in the mess hall for dinner. I had one admirer, the most handsome tall blonde who always hung around the cash register. I used to tell him over and over that I was married and could not date him. He did not believe it.
One Saturday afternoon he came in to see me and asked me again for a date. At the same time, Jack walked in and came up to the counter. So I looked up at this Adonis and said, "This is my husband. Would you like to ask him?" He never came around any more and I always wondered whatever happened to him.
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Our Synagogue, Sephardic Temple Tifirth Israel was being honored by the presence of King Carlos and Queen Sophia of Spain at the request of our Rabbi Ott. Arrangements were made with the Spanish government in preparation for the 500th anniversary of the Expulsion of the Jewish people from Spain.
I volunteered to be one of the hosts to help people sit in the right section of the sanctuary. The King and Queen and their entourage were to sit at the front, in front of the Aaron Hakodesh (the altar). The rest of the officials and dignitaries were to be seated in the front rows. Members of the temple were allowed only by invitation. Security was everywhere.
The whole occasion was set for 10 a.m. I was to arrive at the temple about 8 a.m. I took the elevator up from the parking garage to the lobby and went to the Ladies room. I checked myself over, hair, makeup etc.
While standing in front of the mirror, the room began to sway. After a few seconds, I realized what was happening so I began my "Crea Shema." I thought to myself in those few moments while the earthquake was taking place, "No better place to die than here."
I ran out into the lobby and others were there, shaken like I was. Here, the royal family was expected at 10 a.m. We went into the sanctuary and started to clean up fallen plaster on the rugs and seats. The janitor got the vacuum out and we did as best we could. 10 o'clock sharp, the limousines showed up and they were all escorted to their seats.
Everyone was calm and collected as if nothing happened. It had been the most powerful earthquake L.A. had ever had. Was this an Omen?
After 500 years since the Expulsion, the King came to apologize for what Spain did to us, and to personally welcome us back. How strange. I was standing in the aisle when the King walked right past me. I extended my hand.
I could have touched him and I said, "Bien Venido" to him. The Queen was escorted down the other aisle to her seat. After everyone was seated our Rabbi got up and spoke some beautiful words, which I don't remember, but were very appropriate for the occasion.
He introduced his Highness, King Carlos. The King spoke in Spanish and made his apologies to us in the audience in the name of the Spanish Government. After him, the Queen spoke to us. I was impressed with her manner. Very charming, dressed simple for a queen. Very little make up and not much jewelry. A lovely plain person.
And she told us she is taking Hebrew lessons. The Ladies Auxiliary presented her with a beautiful silver etrig box, which she accepted most graciously. After that the Turkish Consul was introduced. His words amounted to "Spain's loss was our gain. My ancestor escaped on one of the ships the Sultan sent to Spain."
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Three years ago, which was my first time to Spain with Sam after we settled in our apartment in La Manga, near "Costa Del Sal," we decided to visit Barcelona and then take a plane across the water to spend a few days in Majorca.
I had read in my Jewish travel guide about a synagogue, the address, and the person whom to contact, and the day and time of Sabbath services.
From the airport we took a taxi to the Nixe Palace where the travel agent from La Manga made air reservations. We checked in and got settled and went down for dinner in the dinning hall. As soon as we finished, the taxi took us to the address I gave him, and to this day I can't believe that we arrived at the little synagogue in time for Sabbath services.
A distinguished looking gentleman with a British accent greeted us at the entrance. At first I thought we had the wrong place, because it was not a separate building per say.
The doorway was an entrance to the synagogue with a big room on the ground floor of a large building. It was set up very nicely with chairs. The front rows were for the men with a divide for the women sit in the back rows. The bimah was in the front. They didn't have a rabbi.
Two older men with this delightful British accent officiated. Mr. Greenfield was very friendly. He introduced himself and some others to us and we felt very welcome. To say I was surprised is putting it mildly. I thought or assumed that everyone would be speaking Spanish, but not so. This was a small colony of Ashkenazi Jews who came from London and settled in Majorca.
I did not ask, so I never learned what type of business they were in. In Hebrew with British accents, the services were charming. They finished up with the Kiddush. We stayed for the "Oneg Shabat" and met the rest of the congregants while having tea and pastries.
I inquired as to who made the pastry. She turned out to be a lovely women who spoke to me in Spanish. She and her family came to live there from Argentina. They were the only Spanish family there. Later we said our good-byes and told them we would be back again the following year.
We didn't make it, but we do hope to and this time visit the old "Jewish Quarter" where our people lived up until the Inquisition. (They converted and were called "Marronos." Secretly they observed Jewish ways. Today they still go to church but live like Jews at home. Today they are known as "Chuetas.") Then...it was back to the hotel and a goodnight sleep after a very long day.
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