RESPONSE TO KINDLE PROMOTION OVERWHELMING

Rosetta is on TOP-Again!

Rosetta Schwartz 1909-2006

That's her at the top of the heap back in in the 1920s during a day at the beach. Her sister Edna is the one on the left.


The response to the free Kindle edition of Rosetta's memoir on June 6-7 was overwhelming. In two days nearly 5,300 copies were downloaded followed by many more people buying copies from Amazon for only $2.99.


Rosetta almost made her 97th birthday, but If she had lived long enough to see this response and realized how many people will now read her stories and tell their friends and relatives about her book, she would have been ecstatic. After all, when she was approached and asked to write about her life, her answer was, "But I'm  not a writer, Honey."

Oh yes she was. The book came about because I turned one of her favorite phrases around and used it on her: "You can do it." And, she not only wrote Part I of the book, she did it with a flair for comedy in a tightly written memoir.    

                        Morgan St. James

From Part II: 

I remember when Aunt Rosetta walked into a room it was painted with sunshine.  Soon that room overflowed with laughter. Laughter is contagious and let me tell you Aunt Rosetta was the primary carrier.  Even though she is no longer with us, I know that she is spreading sunshine and laughter somewhere.  

Nephew Sandy Schwartz, her brother Charlie's son 

My brothers made my mother look like she was at "Heaven's Gate"

I'm sure this true story "WAR STORY" will make you laugh 
on Memorial Day.
 It is one of the stories in CAN WE COME IN AND LAUGH, TOO? and you'll find many more amusing stories between the covers. Kindle and paperback on Amazon.

Rosetta in 1932 - 23 years old

Let me look back for a moment. The year was 1918 and I was nine years old. That was the year World War I was declared. We were still living in the same apartment on Ogden Avenue. My brother Meyer was drafted into the army and was sent to France. He was an M.P. and was there about three years. He got really lonesome for home and wanted to get a furlough, so he invented an excuse and said that my mother was very sick and he wanted to see her before anything serious took place. He hinted that she could die.

It was a luxury to have a telephone back then and we knew they would send an inspector to check out his story in person. We didn't know when the inspector would come so we had to be ready to react at a moment’s notice to make sure our mother looked very sick.

One day the doorbell rang and sure enough it was the inspector. Thank God for the three flights of steps to climb. In the time it took him to make it to the top, we had enough time to prepare the scene.

My mother was in the kitchen cleaning a chicken. In my day when someone bought a chicken, it had to be cleaned from scratch, feathers and all, before you cut it up to cook. Now-a-days you go into the market and purchase a chicken, or parts of a chicken, and it's all ready for use. That’s progress.

The boys grabbed her just as she was, dress, apron, shoes and all, and dusted some flour on her face. Then they each grabbed one of her arms and hurried her down the hall to the bedroom.

They practically threw her in the bed, clothes, shoes and all, and told her to groan and moan—above all they prompted her to act like she was on Death’s doorway.  There was no electricity at that time and all of the fixtures were the gas light type. They turned the gas lights up and covered her right up to her neck so the inspector couldn't see she was fully dressed. The light from the fixtures cast a sickly greenish glow all over the whole room and between the flour and the green light she looked ghastly.

My brothers led the inspector into the room and said in hushed voices, “I hope Meyer can come home soon.” Hearing that, my mother took the cue and began to groan. She kept up a chant of "Oy Vey" the whole time the inspector was there. It was an award-winning performance, and I remember it to this day. The poor inspector took one look at Ma and said "Oh my, she is very sick, isn’t she?"  He gave her a comforting pat on the arm and said, “We’ll bring him home to you as soon as possible. Don’t worry, Mrs. Schwartz. Just hang on.”

After he left, my mother got up and went back into the kitchen to finish cleaning the chicken!

And, as for Meyer? They granted him a two week furlough and he came home a week later.

EVEN IF IT IS FREE, GET THE FACTS

Excerpt from CAN WE COME IN AND LAUGH, TOO?

 In 1949 the family moved to Miami, lured by her sister-in-law's offer of a free apartment for as long as they needed it.

It took almost a week for us to drive to Florida, and when Al pulled up in front of the address his sister Helen gave us, I thought he made a mistake. The building looked so small I couldn’t imagine how it could hold three apartments.

We quickly discovered what his sister hadn’t told us—her “apartments” were only efficiency units. In just one room the living space was combined with a kitchen space, if you can call it that. A sink with a drain board took up one wall. Under the drain board was a small refrigerator and a few cabinets overhead. We had a tiny bathroom, and as far as sleeping arrangements, closet doors on another wall in this room hid a bed on hinges known as a Murphy bed. It was built into the wall and at night you opened the doors and pulled down the bed. Once the bed was down, you barely had any space between the couch and the bed.


These efficiency units were furnished with a few sticks of furniture, and it just took one glance for us to realize they were only meant to accommodate a single person or a perhaps couple in a pinch, but certainly not four people. Al and I were pretty upset that Helen hadn’t explained what kind of apartments she had, but we couldn’t say anything to her. She meant well. With no children of her own, she probably didn’t have a clue what it would be like to live in that one room with two kids.


We tried to make it work, but it was just too tight. Since we didn’t have much money and Al didn’t have a job yet, we had to make the best of it until we could find better accommodations. Phyllice had to squeeze onto the Murphy Bed with Al and me and Morgan slept on the sofa. We felt like we were living in a sardine can.

The Thing in the Corner

Today I had lunch with my cousin Sandy (Rosetta's brother Charlie's son) and gave him his copy of Can We Come In and Laugh, Too?. I showed him where his contribution is in Part II and then we reminisced about Rosetta.


Somehow we began to talk about modern appliances. My mother Rosetta was certainly all for keeping up with modern technology although she never learned to use a computer and didn't embrace some of the things we use every day to make life easier.


That brings me to the "thing in the corner."


My sister and I had decided to buy her a portable microwave oven  in the late 1980s. We figured it would make it easier for her to heat things up quickly instead of waiting for the oven. We put a big bow on it and presented her with our wonderful gift.


She said, "Honey, let's put it right in the corner. See that space on the counter?" That's where it went, and she was right. It was a perfect space. However, when I'd visit her, I noticed that she still turned on the oven and the protective clear covering was still on the door of the microwave. Finally one day about a year after we'd given it to her, I said, "How do you like using the microwave?"


"Well, I haven't actually used it yet." 


"Why not, Mom? Look at all the time it will save you."


"Honey, why would I want to save time? At my age, (she was around 80 then) I've got lots and lots of time on my hands. In fact, sometimes I have to figure out things to fill the days. What would I do to fill the time the thing in the corner would save me? Maybe I'll try to use it one of these days, but not right now."


She never did use the thing in the corner, but from that day on, that's what she called it. Eventually, after she had mini-strokes and had to move to an assisted living residence, I inherited the thing in the corner. In fact, that old thing in the corner, now about 23 years old, has rarely been used and sits on a cabinet in one corner of my guest casita in Las Vegas. And it still works.



Her dishwasher was rarely used for anything more than keeping dirty dishes out of the way until she could fill the sink with soapy water, then wash and dry them. One time we had a big dinner at her apartment and after I loaded the dishes I said, "Where do you keep the dishwasher soap? We might as well just run the load now."


She looked at me for a minute, then said, "Why, I don't have any."


"Did you run out?"


"No, I've never had any and don't even know if the darned thing works."

Rosetta commented on the economy and homeless people back in 1989

Rosetta's book is available in Kindle and paperback.

Chapter Sixteen, the last chapter in Part I focuses on the economy and the homeless problem.

Editor’s Note: This was, of course, written in 1989 when Rosetta was 80 and not much has changed relative to her “Last Word”. Rosetta even wrote to President Bush and asked why they couldn’t do something like the WPA to help out the homeless problem. Barbara Bush wrote back that she would discuss it with George, but at least she did get a White House reply.

 SIXTEEN

 Last Thoughts

I cannot conclude my memoir without mentioning my opinion on the subject of street people in this generation. During my parent’s generation as well as mine, no matter how tough it was to get by at times, you did not see street people sleeping on sidewalks and in doorways. It was bad enough when you saw adults doing that, but now you see families with little children on the streets with no place to live.

When my parents left Latvia, a part of Russia, to settle in the United States, they didn't have much to back them up. They were newlyweds, and my father had two brothers living in Chicago. One of them was willing to accommodate my parents by letting them live in his apartment and was happy to put them up until my father was able to find a job and an apartment.

This is how the majority of foreigners that came to America from Europe and other continents solved the problem. Living on the streets was unheard of. People helped each other out. The only really bad times I can remember when we lived in Chicago, Illinois, was during prohibition days with Al Capone as the head of the mob. It was a time of great corruption in my city and my husband also had to pay protection money to the gangsters to stay in business.

I’m afraid this present generation not only has a bad drinking problem, but in addition to that a bad narcotics problem is killing our young people. Teenagers are so addicted to dope that they cannot support their habit and so many have committed suicide. It's not only the teenagers, but unfortunately this problem also includes the rest of the age groups. They rob and kill to support their habit, and eventually become street people. How is this all going to end? The answer as I can see it is that we have to stop the Central American and South American countries from shipping these narcotics into America.

As for work, after the Great Depression there was the WPA and it put people to work rebuilding our country. They could earn money which allowed them to hold their heads high while taking care of roads, bridges and more. Maybe that’s what we need today.