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June 24, 2005
A true Prairie love story
Immigrants thrived with their Winnipeg tailor shop.
SHARON MELNICER
She was an imperious, Prussian beauty, born in Bismarck's Austria
just before the turn of the century. Her sculpted features and elegant
figure turned heads everywhere she went. She carried herself regally,
chin held high, shoulders swept back, spine stretched and taut as
a parade-ground soldier's. She was every inch the "Grande Dame"
and she viewed her world with the arrogance and disdain that only
a very beautiful, cultured woman from a very good Austrian family
of the late 1800s could. This was my grandmother. Her name was Blooma.
My grandfather, Osher Zelig, was also a product of the Austro-Hungarian
Empire, but he came from a region which is now part of Poland. His
beginnings were less privileged than my grandmother's. His family
was poor, he lived in the country, and waltzes were self-indulgent
pastimes for the idle rich.
Eking out an existence on a patch of land in a Polish shtetl
(village) was a far cry from the well-bred, sophisticated life of
upper-class Vienna. An empty stomach rumbling was the music my grandfather's
ears heard while my grandmother danced to waltzes by Strauss.
Nevertheless, he, too, cut a dashing figure. Darkly handsome, he
carried himself with his own brand of elegance and poise. In contrast
to my grandmother's haughty air, my grandfather presented a kindly,
more gentle demeanor. He was a humble man, sensitive to the feelings
of others. It was an unlikely match, and yet they came across each
other at a coffee house, quite by chance, in Vienna in 1907 - my
grandfather in the picturesque city on a family errand, and my grandmother
sharing a lunch with her two sisters at a table not far away. There
was a shared glance and, fatefully, their love story began.
Twenty-year-old Osher came to the United States first. Although
he intended to remain in New York, it seems that U.S. immigration
had other plans for him. Like thousands before him, he navigated
his way through the hollow, echoing tunnels of Ellis Island. Two
days later, seasick and exhausted, he wound up in Montreal. Once
again, it was only a transfer point.
Finally, in the autumn of 1908, "Sam" got off the train
in Winnipeg. He quickly got himself a job in a suit factory in the
garment district. Before long, he was promoted to the cutting room
floor. This needle-trade experience allowed him to eventually open
a little tailor shop of his own.
He set up his business on Broadway and Osborne in 1918, the year
of the Armistice - the year the entire world looked toward building
a new future. Even the location of my grandfather's shop, at Winnipeg's
famous Four Corners seemed to mirror a philosophy that merged the
practical and spiritual elements of his life. On the northeast corner
was education, the site of Manitoba's Normal school, on the southwest
sat damnation, in the shape of Shea's Brewery. Salvation could be
found on the northwest corner inside the walls of the All Saints
Anglican Church and on the fourth, or southeast corner, towered
the legislative building. Among these formidable institutions nestled
Sam's British Tailors.
My grandfather had been in Canada for a year when my grandmother
followed in 1909. She was barely 18 years old. Alone, she sailed
across the Atlantic Ocean to her new life and her waiting fiancé.
They married almost as soon as my grandmother reached Winnipeg.
Propriety dictated the wedding be held immediately upon her arrival
but, sadly, it was without family or friends to help celebrate.
Like her husband before her, the government assigned her a new name
for the new world. She became "Bertha."
My uncle Harry was born in 1911 and then a year later, my Auntie
Goldie. My mother, Annette, was born in 1920. A fourth child, a
daughter named Frances, came along in 1934.
My grandparents' marriage lasted 65 turbulent years. They loved
each other unconditionally and wholeheartedly. In their 60s, they
still walked about holding hands. But despite their passion and
devotion, their marriage was always noisy and heated; minor skirmishes
alternating with major battles on a daily basis. My grandmother
did most of the arguing; my grandfather did most of the apologizing.
She bossed and he listened, and for more than half a century, these
two people drove each other to distraction.
Sadly, the marriage ended in September 1964, when my grandfather
died of a massive heart attack. My grandmother lived on until she
was 92, disdainful, imperious and elegant right to the end. Although
their years together were marked with friction, she missed him profoundly.
No more than children themselves, they had left their families behind
in Europe. They had crossed an ocean, learned to speak a new language,
built a life and raised a family in a foreign land - and they had
survived more than 60 years of married life when my grandfather
finally departed.
The journey through Ellis Island had been an arduous, difficult
one. Nonetheless, it was full of richness and texture. Above all,
it was a love story. The empress had married the tailor, the peasant
had won the princess, and against all odds, they had survived a
lifetime, inextricably linked and unalterable in their love.
Sharon Melnicer is a Jewish writer, artist and teacher living
in Winnipeg.
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