On  the day of our arrival, Uncle Marvin picked us up at what, at that time, was called Lambert Field in St. Louis.

Aunt Iris, my mother's sister, and Uncle Marvin were my closest relatives on my mom's side. It is fair to say many of my best boyhood memories are connected to them. This was a fine, loving couple. 

One of my fondest memories in their home was we watched the Wizard of Oz together in the family room every year for several years on their old black and white set. Then Uncle Marvin bought one of the first new color sets, and I bet you also remember the broad smile on your own face when you first saw Dorothy's entrance onto the yellow brick road in color!

You do remember that, don't you?

I spent a lot of time at Aunt Iris's house in the summer because my mom-who was single at that time-worked a job at the local bank. "Aunt I", as we called her, was what was known in those days as a "housewife" and for me was effectively my "back up" mom.

 A wonderful cook, I remember her tossed salad  and lasagna very well. Aunt Iris's house was home, simple as that. 

Playing in her backyard, I used to eat slices of Wonder Bread white bread just by themselves. Soft and fresh, it was my practice to first discard the crust, then roll the doughy white remainder into a ball as if a hard cooked egg.

For many years, there was not a shred of furniture in their living room though I do recall Aunt "I"'s dining room set where we had our seders, Thanksgiving and the like. 

"Aunt I" was my mom's red-headed older sister by a year or so whose raspy voice, I am sure, was due to her excessive cigarette smoking. She died well before her time. Oh what a dreadful day that was! Uncle Marvin cried torrents as did we all.

No matter the occasion for which we gathered together for a family meal, Uncle Marvin was there, as always, seated at the head of the table. He was an expert in slicing the turkey.

Though sparse as was our family's observance of Jewish holidays, I retain a few "memory windows" of Passover at Aunt "I's" house. I see now-from the perspective of the Monday morning quarterback-that we were much more interested in eating than in recalling our national past, despite the fact that we used the estimable "Haggadah Shel Maxwell House".

Their two sons, Craig and Neil, remain my closest first cousins. Once to his credit ... Neal, the younger of Aunt Iris and Uncle Marvin's sons rebuked the entire family gathered around the table for not taking the seder seriously enough. Regrettably his was a minority position although at the time the sound drubbing we collectively inflicted on him seemed right.
 
Through Uncle Marvin's influence my brother and I were enrolled in the Epstein Hebrew Academy, an orthodox religious school. I'll get right to the point ... we hated it. I just could not fathom the strange alphabet chart on the wall. We cried and complained until my mom, a very young woman, surrendered. My mother withdrew us, but then we subsequently found ourselves enrolled in the Hebrew school of Uncle Marvin's conservative shul.

As a couple, they were loving and always treated me and my brother Ron as if we were their own. Uncle Marvin, a 'gutte' neshuma, was in the food brokerage business and spent much time volunteerring and donatng to area food pantries. I learned much of what it means to be a "good man from him". He was and is a "mentch", and a lover of good jokes.

We still exchange them when I'm in St. Louis to visit my mother. I remember that about him: a good man, kind, of good humor and an army airforce machine gunner on a B-26 during World War 2.

Uncle Marvin, is-at the time of this writing-still alive and well and, in fact, lives right around the corner from my mother. He is thankfully in good health for a man of his years, just a tiny bit shorter. 

Dear Uncle Marvin ... may you have length of years!

Alan D. Busch

April 2008