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My Family: Resisting Trump for Nearly 60 Years
My grandparents – Sonja and Harry Kryshka – raised my Uncle Sid, Mom and Aunt Harriet in family-run bakeries throughout New York City. If you don’t know the kind of place I’m talking about, picture the stereotypical “Jewish bakery” in your mind and you’ll have it:
Bright white rooms floored with tiles. Big, rounded, thickly-glassed display cases held together by gleaming chrome. Heavy brushed-chrome swinging doors with little square glass windows separated the bakery and shop from the store where cheerful goils greeted everyone who came in. It was the kind of place where the neighborhood mingled. African-Americans, Puerto Ricans, Jews, Catholics – everyone was treated fairly.
That’s why I was flabbergasted a couple of months ago when Aunt Harriet piped up with the following during one of my routine Trump rants:
“Well … You know … The only time I ever saw your Grandpa throw someone out of the store was the time he kicked out Fred Trump.”
“Whaaaaa?!?” I said. “Tell me more …”
“Well,” she said, “it was back when they owned Shelley’s on 63rd Drive in Rego Park. Daddy and I had just walked into the store. I think I was about 20 years old, so it would have been right around 1960. … Anyway, Grandpa and I were standing in front of the counters talking to the girls when the front door opened.
“I remember I turned and saw a well-dressed man I didn’t recognize with a mustache. He greeted Daddy, and your Grandpa greeted him like any other customer. I don’t remember what they said to each other.
“At that point, a voice called out from the kitchen. ‘Is that you, Mr. K?’ The doors swung open from the shop and Joe came out.”
“Who was Joe?” I asked.
“Grandpa’s foreman,” she continued. “A part of the family. He was a biiiiiiiiiiig African-American man. … Came to my wedding. Oh! He was sweet like sugar. Anyway … Joe came out and talked to Grandpa for a minute and then went back into the shop.
“I remember looking up when I heard the man say, ‘Harry … I didn’t know you hired ni---rs’?”
“No way!” I said.
“Yup,” she continued. “At that point, all I remember was seeing Daddy turn beat red. It’s like time stood still. I got really scared because I was sure Grandpa was having a heart attack. I’d never seen him that color before.
“And then all hell broke loose.
“Daddy – all 4 feet 8 inches tall and 3 feet wide of him – whirled around and stormed right over to the man. He grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and started pushing him backward towards the door without saying a word. Then, all of a sudden, I heard him hiss: Yoo geht out! Yoo are no longer velkom is dis establishmehnt!
“I remember shaking and crying. He pushed old Fred Trump out the door, into the vestibule and right through the outside door onto the sidewalk.
“Then he yelled right into his face: ‘No one tahlks to meh woikers daht vay. Yoo geht out and don’ kohm behck! Yoor not velkom heer anymohr!’
“Then, without another word he dropped Trump’s lapels, turned on his heal and marched back into the store.
“Goils!’ he yelled, when he got back inside. ‘If dat man eveh koms behk, yoo call me! Don’ yoo sell him eveh a krum ohf brehd!’
“Oy! I’ll never forget that day. I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared.”
“That’s hilarious, Aunt Harriet,” I said – cackling with glee. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that proud to be a Kryshka.”
Hours later I recalled the story to my husband. “Huh …” he said. “Just think of that. Your family’s been resisting Trumps for nearly 60 years.”
“Yeah … I guess we have,” I said. “I guess we have.”
https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2019/1/1/1822902/-My-Family-Resisting-Trump-for-Over-60-Years?detail=emaildkre#comment_72448344
