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Walter had liked Marsha from the moment he met her. Her Hebraic classic beauty; her demeanor; her personality; the friendly, loving way she’d treated Myra and himself… in the beginning.
Walter had been envious—actually jealous—of his son, and when Marsha and Mitchell decided on marriage he was finally able to admit—only in the deepest recess of his mind, though—his love of Marsha… But it was, so he convinced himself, the love of a father for a child… But deep down he knew this love was far different than the love he felt for his three sons. And, as he had only sons, Walter rationalized his feelings for Marsha as the love a father might only have for a daughter, and in return he did recognize and appreciate, very much, the special love he knew Marsha had for him…
Before it happened.
Walter remembered, only too well, when it happened.
Walter remembered the evening, the very moment that had changed everything between Marsha and him, and…
Walter Lipensky would give anything to turn back time, to do what he knew he should have done.
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Chicago, Illinois
October 22, 1956
Walter remembered Myra’s irrational fit of anger when, with Mitchell aboard the Halfmoon, planning on staying in Skokie overnight, sitting at the kitchen table—because Mitchell’s best friend, Norman, had joined the Navy and would not be able to be there to stand as best man—Marsha had told them that, in an effort to cement a friendship between them, Mitchell had requested her brother, Roger, to be his best man….
Thinking this prompted by Marsha or her mother, “Oh,” Myra said, “it was Mitchell’s idea, huh?”
Remembering Myra’s irrational fit of anger as, missing Marsha by inches, Walter could still see the coffee cup—as if in slow motion—as it flew across the table spraying Marsha with hot coffee then shattering on the wall behind her.
What Walter specifically remembered—and regretted—was his cowardice for not defending Marsha. For not coming to her aid. For allowing the frightened girl to remain in his home with the blind, unreasonable anger of his wife.
Due to Myra’s incessant lessons in “homemaking” and meddling into the tenuous, delicate relationship between Marsha and her mother, to say nothing of “putting her nose” where her nose should not have been regarding the planning of the wedding, Marsha’s seething anger towards Myra had been mounting and, in her anger, she had stopped calling Myra “Mom” weeks before.
But it was at that time, sitting in open mouthed shock at having a cup of coffee thrown at her.
It was at that time, under those circumstances, that the young woman vowed to never again address that woman as “Mom,” or Walter—by whom she felt completely betrayed—as Skipper. It was at that time that Marsha stopped addressed Myra and Walter in any direct way.
As though the coffee cup incident had never happened, neither Walter or Myra had ever mentioned the occurrence to anyone, including each other. And as Mitchell never said a word about it to either his mother or father, they had no idea if Marsha had or had not told him.
But because they were, after all, his parents, not wanting Mitchell to fight with them, or afraid that he would not fight with them, Marsha had not told him, although she had, very often, wanted to.
Mitchell placed his wife’s refusal to address his parents on the tension and problems Marsha claimed Myra had caused before the wedding, and, of course, Marsha’s unbending—in Mitchell’s opinion—unreasonable stubbornness.
****
“Mitchell, what’s the goddamned big deal? So talk to her again! Tell your wife,” Walter’s voice rising, “you want her to call your mother ‘mom’!”
“Tell her I want her to, huh!” Mitchell said angrily. “I do tell her! And every time I do we get into a fight and she tells me she’ll call her mom when she gets good and ready. I know Marsha, Dad! I know all this damned nudging isn’t going to change her mind; it’s only going to make her angry and more stubborn!”
Either not hearing or not caring, or, maybe, only trying to get his wife off his back, “Mitchell,” Walter rebutted just as angrily, “what’s in a goddamned word?”
“Mom!”
A Word in Time
Retrospective: Chicago, Illinois; June 28, 1947
“Nu, Morris,” pushing the chair from her place—not around the corner but—directly to the left of her husband, Jennie stood, “you’d like another cup of coffee, maybe?”
“Sure, why not!” Morris Barrish looked at the cluttered table. “Anyone else want more coffee?”
The seating arrangement for the alternating Sunday morning lox and bagel breakfasts at the homes of Morris and Jennie and their married children had remained the same throughout the years, with the exception of their eldest son, Jerry, who at that time lived in Pittsburgh.
With Jerry away, his brother Sheldon sat to the left of Jennie, and Linda, his wife of two years, sat alongside her husband.
But for this change, all else remained the same: Mitchell’s cousin Marvin, who was four years older than Mitchell, sat next to Linda. Marvin’s sister Sandra, who was Mitchell’s age, sat next to her brother. Customarily sitting on the other end of the table, across from Morris and Jennie, was Al Marcus, Marvin’s and Sandra’s father, and to Al’s left was his wife, Myra’s sister Bea. Then came Myra, Walter and Mitchell, who always sat—around the corner—to the right of his grandfather.
Except for a second, third or fourth cup of coffee—this usually for Walter—breakfast formally ended at 10:30, just in time for the Jewish Federation radio program of dramatized Old Testament stories. As had become routine, on this day, Sandra and Mitchell were laying on the carpeted floor listing to that week’s dramatization of the story of “David and Goliath.”
“Pa, Linda can’t! She just can’t!”
Hearing the loud, angry words, sitting up, Mitchell and Sandra looked towards the dining room.
“She can’t? So, what’s so terrible?” His face flushed with anger, leaning forward in his chair, jabbing his finger inches from Sheldon’s face, “Your wife, she can’t call us something?” Morris asked angrily. “Your wife can’t call ma, Ma?” Looking at Linda, “You ain’t got respect for your husband’s mother and father? You can’t call my wife Ma or Mother?”
“I… uh, Mister Barrish, I…” Flustered, cowering under Morris’ withering stare and verbal attack, Linda stammered.
“No!” he shouted. “I ain’t no Mister Barrish! And she…” pointing at Jenny, “ain’t no Mrs. Barrish!
“We’re Ma or Pa! Or Mama or Papa! But no, we ain’t nobody! We want you should call us by a name!”
“Pa!” Glaring at his father, “I told you,” Sheldon said, “she can’t!”
“Ma?” Myra questioned indignantly. “Your, uh, Shelly, your wife can’t say ‘Ma’?”
“You,” pointing his finger, glaring at his sister, “mind your own goddamned business!”
Beginning to stand, “Wait a minute!”
“And you, too, Walt! This is none of your business!”
Walter dropped back into his chair.
Standing, crying, looking from Morris to Jennie, “Pa, Ma,” and back to his father, “Linda can’t call you by a name! god-damnit, why won’t you understand? She just can’t! The words won’t come! And if you bring it up again, Pa, then this’ll be the last you’ll see of us!” Stopping, taking a deep breath, scrubbing his hand over his face, wiping the tears away. “The last you’ll see of us,” he said softly. “This I promise you, Pa.” Looking from Morris to Jennie, Sheldon sat down.
Ma… Mother… Mom.
“Mom.”
In Myra’s mind there was no excuse, no reason, no reason at all for her sister-in-law’s refusal to address Morris and Jennie as “Ma” and “Pa”.
****
In time, the scene in her parents’ dining room between her father and brother became buried in Myra’s subconscious, until…
1956 and forward
When her daughter-in-law refused to address her as mom; Myra construe d this as the ultimate insult, and in time…
Unlike Morris and Jenny, who wisely backed away and let time run its course until Linda eventually did address them as Ma and Pa, doing just the opposite, Myra did not back away; and in time, a very short time, her fixation with the word mom became an absolute obsession, and…
Even if it meant breaking her son’s marriage, Myra would do anything to win this, to have the satisfaction of being called “mom” by her daughter-in-law.
Unknown to all, including Myra, Linda Barrish inadvertently became the catalyst for the dominant problem between Marsha and Myra, Mitchell and Marsha, and Walter, too, because so long as his wife’s anger was focused on Marsha it was not aimed at him, so Walter went along with his wife on this, sometimes… more often than not becoming the messenger of his wife’s indignation.
Hating to argue, Mitchell would often go out of his way to avoid an unpleasant situation, especially with his parents, whom he was then also employed by. Besides, he also thought, If it means that much to my mother—and to him—really, it wouldn’t hurt Marsha to call her “mom.”
So, sadly, unlike his uncle Sheldon, Mitchell did not tell his parents to butt out, and because he did not come to the defense of Marsha, Myra and Walter felt they had the right to complain to their son about his wife’s refusal to address his mother as “mom.”
And they did complain to Mitchell, constantly!
Causing Mitchell to speak to Marsha, maybe not constantly, but certainly often enough…
Resulting in an ongoing argument that caused Marsha to dig her heels in, to become even more adamant, to despise her in-laws even more, until…
In time, a very short time, the meaning of the word “mom” became secondary and “mom” became a war of wills between Myra and Marsha with Mitchell—because he, cowardly, did not tell his parents to “butt out,” to “fuck off”—giving true meaning to the phrase “caught between a rock and a hard place”—And Mitchell, deservedly, definitely, became caught between a rock and a hard place.
As for Marsha and Mitchell, the word mom stressed their marriage up to, and beyond, the breaking point.
“Mom”… What’s in a word?
October 22, 1956
“Mitchell,” Walter rebutted angrily, “what’s in a goddamned word?”
“Dad, please! There’s nothing I can do about it! Believe me, I’ve tried!” Feeling anger, not at his father, though, but at his wife for putting him in this spot, for refusing to call his mother mom; for not doing this little thing for him. “Dad, this is my first day at work! Can’t we please talk about something else?”
“Yes, of course we can.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, thinking, Thank God!
“But your mother and I feel that as a man—if you’re a man—you should be able to control your wife!”
Thinking, Yeah, like you do! “Okay, Dad,” he said tiredly, “I’ll talk to her—again.”
****
No sooner was the elevator door pulled open, “Walt, come in here, will you?” Myra called from her office. “You’ve some calls I’ve got to talk to you about.”
Troy in the studio setting up a shot, Tats in the darkroom, the dryer running in the work area, having no one to talk to, actually not wanting to talk to anyone, upset over the conversation with his father, taking his portfolio into the sales office—his first day back in the real world—Mitchell moodily looked through his samples.
As, “So? Did you talk to him?”
“Yes,” Walter said wearily, “I talked to him.”
“So?”
“He said he’d talk to her.”
“He always says that!”
“Myra, I talked to him for you! Okay?” Changing the subject, “Were there any calls?”
“Reynolds called and said he’s replacing the caskets tomorrow, and Rappaport wants at least five each of the new sofa shots today, so I’ve got Tats making the prints.”
Noting the time: 2:32, “I’ve a three o’clock with Iverson. Soon as the prints come off the dryer, send your son over with them.”
