My Dad’s Brigadoon

“It’s the hardest thing in the world to give everything. Though it’s usually the only way to get everything.” Quote from the musical Brigadoon.

My father, always felt the musical Brigadoon encapsulated his life’s philosophy. The story of Brigadoon is magical, he used to tell me because, “The community fell under a magical spell designed to protect it from evil. The hero is a brash, optimistic, young American man who is always looking for something. And he is a protector of the one he loves.” This is my dad, he was always searching for new ways to increase his wealth because he was driven to protect my mother, the one he loved.

I would say, my mother’s musical theme was “Porky and Bess” but not for the nature of the story, even though Bess, is protected. It is for the song “Summertime”. My mother loved this song.

“Summertime, and the livin’ is easy, Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high (Here’s the part she liked) ‘OH, your daddy’s rich and your ma is good lookin’, So Hush little baby, don’t you cry.’

Yes, I can still see her singing this song. She had a wonderful soprano voice, and she was beautiful. My dad always watched her, actually his eyes never left her when they were together. He felt it was his duty to make every day special for her, because she was his “Brigadoon”.

When my dad was in high school, he started a small business. His sister’s husband, Herman, worked in a porcelain factory. He noticed that Herman, would bring home objects from the store that had imperfections. He asked his parents if he could use the garden apartment of their building to start a store selling these objects. To his families surprise the business took off. Soon his mother told him that his sister really needed the money and to give the store to her. Which he did. This store gave him a taste for merchandising. And from that time on he was always looking for opportunities to move ahead.

To recap yesterday’s story, my dad started working for his father when he returned from the war. His father and his grandfather were in the used clothing business. After the war, everything was hard to come by, therefore, used clothes were a necessity. Monday through Friday my father picked up his dad and the two men went to work around seven in the morning. On Sundays, they would get up at five to shop at the Maxwell Street Market to look for merchandise. To describe Maxwell Street in the late 19th century: Well, it could be said it was a ghetto street market started by Jewish immigrants. It was a nine city block open air market. Can you imagine shopping there in a Chicago snow storm? The merchants sold almost everything one could want, new or secondhand, legal or illegal, car parts, produce, appliances, tools, records, furniture, can you see where I am going with this? This is where Esrael, my father’s dad, shopped for his used clothing store on Roosevelt Road.

Going every Sunday to see the same merchants, my dad, who was always kind and respectful developed a good reputation. He was always asking what new items were being sold and if the merchants knew any gossip about the changes that were occurring in Chicago.

“Yes, Solly,” one merchant told him one Sunday, “You know the Palmer House? Well, they are going to be remodeling. They need to get rid of all their furniture. If you want I can set you up with my nephew, who works there, and you can discuss the details with him.”

My dad went to meet the nephew where he learned if he could get a truck, he could clean out a floor every day. He started with mattresses, which he had pre-sold. His arrangement cost him nothing because the hotels were looking for a way to get rid of the old room furnishings. But in time his peers started to see what he was doing. Now he had much competition, so he moved on to his next venture.

Then he noticed how service men returning from war were leaving their duffle bags with uniforms and other items behind in the railroad and bus stations storage lockers. He worked with the station management to claim these left behind abandoned bags. Because he had learned tailoring in the service, he was able to change the military coats into police uniforms. It was hard work, changing the buttons and getting the correct police patch sewn on the sleeves. He started taking his merchandise to different police departments, but again he had a problem. He was Jewish and the Chicago Police Department policemen were primarily Irish. He changed his last name and always gave the police sergeants gifts.

When his dad, Esrael, passed away, my dad was devastated and slipped into a severe depression. My mother helped him cope by accompanying him everywhere, never leaving him alone. She even left my two year old brother with sitters and started going to work with him. This became a pattern in his life, he couldn’t bear to be left alone.

Chicago’s Roosevelt Road was changing. New buildings were being built and he purchased a ten store strip center. He had saved his money, but realized he needed investors to buy this property. He didn’t believe in mortgages, having experienced The Great Depression. He included in the purchase his sister, and his wife’s cousin Eddie. Remember Eddie from my story of my grandmother? This was a pattern, he always wanted to help his family, and he did!

He started his uniform business with one store and rented out the other nine. In time he needed six of the stores to house his growing inventory. He loved this store which, my mother always teased him by saying he loved it more than he loved her.

In the late 1950s, my parents left Humboldt park and moved to the suburbs. They purchased a bi-level house in Lincolnwood because his brother Irv, had just moved there and he wanted to be close. My parents were comfortable in this Jewish community and they made a lot of close friends on the block.

A neighbor sparked a new chapter in my Dad’s life by inviting him to a poker game. Julie Gaule, the neighbor, also brought clients to the table. Other than my father he included two brothers who owned a property management company. After a few months of poker nights, the two brothers asked my Dad out to lunch. At lunch they presented him with an opportunity to be an investor in a 500 unit apartment building. Without hesitation, he said “YES”

And from that meeting and subsequent investments he learned about properties and management. It was through these investments that a love of property ownership bloomed in my father. He no longer wanted to be an investor, he wanted to be the management company. And his portfolio grew. This was the real key into his creating a comfortable lifestyle for his Sylvia.

Brigadoon, this idea of amazing things happening in the blink of an eye, was my father’s future and he relished every moment of it. He loved visiting and talking about his properties. In the end, his buildings became a reflection of his personality, because he loved to enhance the lobbies and halls with pictures and furniture, reflecting his past shopping on Maxwell Street. Sad to say just like Brigadoon my father’s light went out.