By Robert Field
Strange how in old age the mind can suddenly turn to memories of incidents from 65 years ago that, though perhaps trivial at the time, were significant in impact on later life.
Returning from piano lessons at the musical academy on Spruce Street, I stopped in at a haberdasher on South 16th street on my way to Suburban Station.
I remember the proprietor, Stanley Barr, a distinguished looking and kindly gentleman in his sixties. We had chatted on earlier occasions. He helped me select a pair of gold colored cuff links as an end of the year holiday gift for my father, Sylvan Field.
Father was surprised but somewhat displeased to receive the cuff links. He and Mother owned and operated a credit department store in a North Philadelphia neighborhood and it had a jewelry department. To Sylvan, purchasing cuff links retail, when they were available to us wholesale at half the cost, was both profligate and stupid.
It is likely he appreciated the sentiment. But he thought it important that I understand my folly. As he often reminded us, his job as father was not to be loved but to prepare us for the challenging world ahead.
(Keep in mind that Sylvan had experienced the Great Depression.)
I learned the lesson. Perhaps too well.
The renovation of wife Karen’s apartment in Manhattan has long been delayed because I have dragged my feet on engaging an architect and a general contractor to do work that I feel I can handle at half the cost through my design and construction contacts.
