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A Brooklyn Bargain

I’m trying to recall it all now - a conversation I overheard at a thrift sale for a Brooklyn synagogue. There seemed to be a touch of romance in the air, between a man and woman in their 60s. I was curious about them, because being 50 myself and considering myself unlucky in love my whole life, I still hoped to meet a nice man one day and have a relationship again. Was it even possible at an older age when so many men in their 50s wanted younger women? I’d been feeling lonely and isolated in my apartment and at my thankless job as a telemarketer, and maybe that’s why I became so interested in this older man and woman who appeared to be enjoying themselves at their booth.


This couple were seated, and before the man was a pair of well-worn back leather baby shoes. Before the woman was a plate of cookies.There was a banner on the wall saying “Thrift Sale for the Brooklyn Synagogue.” I’d been living on the Upper West Side and happened to find myself walking through Prospect Park that afternoon, but popped into the thrift sale to see if I could find any bargains. This couple interested me because of the random course of their conversation, and because I kept wondering if they’d ever hook up together.


Through listening to them, I found out the man’s name was Samuel and the woman’s was Lottie - which seemed like appropriately generation-based names for people that age.


Samuel picked up the pair of baby shoes and affectionately caressed them in his hands.


“Hmm..baby shoes,” said Samuel. “Like when I wore them in yesteryears… do you know, my grandfather in Amsterdam used to make them? Soft, almost like lambskin...polished black with shoe polish...but that was all before World War II.”


“World War II was a long time ago,” said Lottie. “And we’re in Brooklyn, not Amsterdam. And times have changed -- Jews have done lots in America besides making shoes.”


“Of course. Made billions of dollars, contributing to the economy…,” answered Samuel.

Lottie smiled.


“Yes, like building the Williamsburg Bridge…”


“Well, Jews didn’t build it…,” said Samuel. “...but did you know that The New York Herald even called the Williamsburg Bridge the “Jews’Highway”?”


Lottie seemed to be thinking.


“Hmm… The Jews’ Highway. I’d like to have a “highway” for health care.”


“It’ll happen,” said Samuel.


Samuel put the pair of baby shoes down and, impulsively, I picked them up.


“Health care,” said Lottie. “Hmm...I worry about my heart and my bones.”


“I have arthritis myself.” Samuel rubbed his hands together as if they caused him pain.


“The government owes it to take good care of older people.” Lottie pushed a plate of cookies towards Samuel. “Here...have a Hamantaschen...a good Jewish cookie...shaped like a tri-cornered hat.”


Samuel took a cookie.


“Do you imagine we’ll make much at this thrift sale? Hardly anyone comes to these while Covid is happening. Everyone’s afraid…”


Suddenly I, still listening to their conversation, felt a little guilty for not purchasing anything from them yet. I fingered the pair of baby shoes I was holding, pretending to be interested in buying them.


“I’m not afraid,” said Lottie. “Listen. I went to the Empire State Building last month. And along the skyline I saw the World Trade Center.”


“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Samuel. “But just ONE building, not TWO…”


“But it was breathtaking, the view…,” Lottie continued. “All those lights projecting from it into the sky.”


“Yes. You know, New York City was built partly by Jews...as well as Hollywood was,” said Samuel.


“Well, Hollywood! There’s a symbol for you. And Charlton Heston. Handsome. He was a gentile but

often played proud Jews. Hollywood made BEN-HUR -- what an exciting movie - with chariots and horses! Full of action --”


As I listened to Lottie I was trying to remember the movie BEN-HUR. I remembered something about a chariot race.