Many of you know my father as the man that was at the forefront of the fight for universal school lunch feeding, the man that worked tirelessly for organizations like Freedom Gardens and The Blue Card, and of course his passion for close to 40 years as The Patriarch of the Five Generation Fuerth/Nurenberg Family.
I am going to tell another story, that some of you know, most of you don’t, it’s about a father and son and the journey he and I took together for my 66 years.
I was born in Washington DC and my Dad in order to support his young family worked two jobs as a chef at The Army /Navy Hospital Officers Club in Bethesda Maryland and selling Encyclopedias door to door. No one, who knows my father, would doubt that he would work multiple jobs to take care of his family. It not only included a baby son but a wife that was ill.
As a result of my mother’s illness, when I was four years old , my father had to make a life changing decision, for him and for me- he sent me to live with my Aunt Bella, Uncle Paul, and my cousin Elaine in Milwaukee. I can’t imagine any parent giving up their child- but he did- believing it gave me a better chance for a normal life. So from the age of 4-12 (My Wonder Bread years), I was separated from my parents, but in so doing I had my own version of “Happy Days” in Milwaukee. I thrived as a young boy under the watchful eye of my Aunt Bella. And given that Elaine and I were the same age, we had lots of friends that loved to come to our House- especially because we had coed sleepovers and birthday parties. Hank Aaron and the Braves, Vince Lombardi and Packers, were/are still my favorite sports teams to this day. My Mother and Father would come to visit two weeks every year- and we often went to Elkhart Lake in Wisconsin to vacation. It was a bitter /sweet two weeks to say the least. Painful for him and painful for me
But, when I turned 12, my father made the decision to bring me back to NY- for better and for worse-another life changing decision for both of us. But it was also a time to make up for lost time- it was lots of ball games and hockey games. Many trips up that back escalator at the Old Madison Sq Garden to watch The Rangers- He also took me to my first World Series Game in 1962- Giants vs the Yankees- Willie Mays vs Mickey Mantle. I still have the home movie of Chuck Hiller hitting a grand slam to win the game for The Giants. I can remember it like it was yesterday – walking on the field at the end of the game as they allowed you back then – with my Dad.
It was also lots of ski trips to the Catskills, where we spent many a weekend at our version of The Winter White House- a place called The Sunshine House. And it was also summer weekends there- with The Jonas’s, The Herman’s, The Hardwick’s, and The Bachenheimer’s- and lots and lots of good German Food and Poker. I sat by my father’s side watching him play poker- learning “The Harris Way” and contrary to the belief of my Poker friends today – the term – “you are full of crap Harris” was first heard in those Poker Games in the Catskills.
There were many trips together to DC to visit The Hauptman’s, always Thanksgiving at The Biebers in Philadelphia, up to Lexington Mass in the spring and fall to visit The Oppenheim’s, and the many day trips to Long Island and The Reissner’s. We were always on the go- always going someplace doing something.
Everything came crashing back to earth when I was 15 and my father had to make another life altering decision and divorce my mother- and he and I had to adapt to being together just him and me. A challenge to say the least but we made it work- in spite of the fact I had to endure the endless blasting of his stereo listening to some opera on WQXR- usually early Saturday mornings, as he pranced around in his underwear, with his hair net over his head, slicked back by gobs of vitalis, waving his arms like he was The Barber of Seville. To this day I associate lack of sleep with Operas.
Eventually, and somehow, I got thru High School and went off to college- it was during the Viet Nam war era and I left home with short hair, wearing chino pants and a button down shirt. I came back months later in ripped jeans, a tie dye shirt, and a big Isro. Probably reeking of Pot. My Father never said a word. But the second time I came back from College he shows up at the airport wearing a big Afro wig , sun glasses, plaid pants, looking like some freak from Palisades Amusement Park. As I ran from him in embarrassment- he kept saying in that German accent of his – “what’s happening man” – horrified I kept running from him and he kept chasing me- letting me know in his own way how silly I looked to him.
That was my Dad- never conventional- but was always purposeful.
In the summer of 1973, my father remarried, to his beloved Beri- a relationship that not only endured for 43 years- but for most of those years they worked together and lived together 24 /7. Honestly I don’t know how they did it- I love my wife dearly – but we make it work BECAUSE we are not together 24/7.
My Dad – now remarried- was about to embark on a journey to find his way professionally and otherwise. And thus began a new chapter in our life as father and son.
He found his compass after that- as did I – and what bonded us was the knowledge that we both came through on the other side from some tumultuous years pretty good.
Today I feel so fortunate – I have an amazing wife, two incredible children and spouses, and two unbelievable grandchildren and another one on the way
For my Dad, I know he was very thankful for his good fortune and no one knows better than I what it took to get there- not only escaping the horrors of Nazi Germany, not only coming to this country as an immigrant, not only as a soldier during WW11- but as a young man with so many cards stacked against him- he endured and he made a difference.
And that tenacity and endurance , is why today there is a Freedom Gardens, A Central Kitchen in Norwalk, a newsletter that goes to 1000’s around the world uniting people that thought they were lost to Holocaust, The Blue Card, and all the other good work that he did. He had a unique perspective on his good fortune- and it was not just about being thankful for that good fortune but to want to give back because of his good fortune-
And there is no better way to close then to use own words
“We live in the present while we learn from the past and dream of the future. The strongest lesson I have learned is that we must never allow our neighbors to be driven to their deaths, if only through our silence. We must speak out against injustices wherever they occur. We must learn to judge people not by the color of their skin, their religious affiliation, or their material wealth, but their contributions, small or large, to a better world, and a greater understanding among all people. Human beings must at long last become human and humane to endure. Mankind needs to build bridges, not walls. Bridges between man and man. Bridges between faith and faith. Bridges between nation and nation. And finally, bridges between the creature and his creator”
Dad, you done good- we will miss you- but know that your legacy lives on
Schlaf Gut – Pop
Frank A. Harris 