Thanksgiving Day Memories

By Ken Thompson

     It was Thanksgiving Day, 1957, and I had gone to the St. John's Prep - Brooklyn Prep football game in the morning. Following my Mom's instructions, I went to my Aunt Rose's apartment in Bay Ridge to wait for my family along with a host of other direct and extended family members. The plan was a traditional Brooklyn Thanksgiving Day dinner.

     When I got to Aunt Rose's apartment her husband, Uncle Phil, and her three kids were out running last minute errands including buying essentials for the meal that Aunt Rose had forgotten to get.

     As I came in she greeted me with a big warm hug and maybe a dozen little kisses as she told me "Happy Thanksgiving", how much I had grown, how I looked just like my Mom and what a wonderful holiday and meal it was going to be. It was pretty obvious that she had had a couple of beers to fortify her for the day. That was okay though.

     Kenny, you allowed to have a beer now and then; like on holidays and with you favorite Aunt?"

     "Sure!" I said, lying unashamedly. I rationalized the lie because it was a National Holiday and that I was almost fifteen and I wanted her to think I was an actual adult.

     "I'll get you one; put your coat in one of the kiddie bedrooms and come tell me all about the game. I'll get you a glass."

     She poured me a glass, half-full with almost no head, and sat at the other end of the kitchen table overloaded with pots, pans, food boxes and vegetable in varying states of preparedness, two ashtrays and a few open cans of Rheingold beer.

     Evidently the present priority for Aunt Rose was glamouring herself up and she was setting her hair with beer and curlers. True to keeping things proper and separate she had a glass for her drinking beer and an old pickle jar for her hair setting beer. She was doing pretty good.

     She forgot that she wanted to hear about the game and she proceeded to tell me in machine gun fashion about her in-laws, her job at Con-Ed, her nosey neighbors, what she was cooking, and who was invited. I figure she named about 30 guests.

     I was in awe of how she was at setting her hair...

Sip glass, dip comb, wet & roll hair, bobbi-pin, puff, yak-yak,

Sip glass, dip comb, puff, wet hair, bobbi-pin, yak-yak, roll hair,

Sip jar, puff, dip comb, yak-yak, bobbi-pin, puff, dip comb, sip glass, wet & roll hair,

Sip glass, sip jar, dip comb in glass, puff, yak-yak, wet & roll hair, puff, bobbi-pin,

Dip comb, puff, bobbi-pin, sip jar, sip glass, yak-yak, puff, roll hair, wet it via two fingers in jar, bobbi-pin, puff, yak-yak.

     I smiled as I watched.

     She just kept goin' and goin'. I was amazed and fascinated. I had never seen anyone do anything like this. With all this going on she was still able to adjust the flames under the pots on the stove AND cut celery and stuff it with Kraft pimento cheese. Once in awhile she would take one of the stuffed pieces, dip it in her beer, and pop it in her mouth.

     My parents sometimes spoke a bit sarcastically and maybe even nastily about Aunt Rose but they loved her. For Aunt Rose, all of the family were simply FAMILY! and were to be loved and treated with kindness. For Aunt Rose, each day was a new day and all the problems and hurts from prior days were quickly and easily forgotten. That's also what people liked about her, and that she always tried to please.

     The sip, dip, wet, roll, bobbi-pin, puff, yak sequence was still goin' on when the door bell rang.

     "Kenny, could you get that while I shuffle the pots and put together the stuffing."

     As I headed to the door I looked back and saw her glass and her jar were empty and her taking a sip from my glass that had not yet reached my lips.

     I opened the door and an old man in a Navy P-coat was standing there with a cane on his arm, his hat in one hand, and a box of Loft candies in the other.

     With a scowl that went through me he said,

     "Who the hell are you?

     I was totally intimidated and simply said, "Ken."

     He looked at me and sorta smiled and said, "I can too but I don't get many chances." He chuckled at his own wit. I didn't really know how to continue the conversation... or that I wanted to.

     He handed me his hat and coat and headed to the kitchen.

     When I got back to the kitchen, Aunt Rose was telling her father the story I had already heard rambled. He looked at me and said, "Get me a scotch with no ice and a twist, and fill it."

     Before I could do anything Aunt Rose said, "No liquor until Phil gets back. You know how he is about HIS liquor. You want a beer until he gets here?"

     "No, not if your doin' your hair with it. I shoulda brought Scotch instead of candy."

     Mr. Brooker just sat there, looking annoyed at Aunt Rose as she continued the sip, dip, yak, stir, stuff, bobbi-pin, sip, puff, yak, wet, roll routine. I just stood in the doorway not being sure of anything and wondering why I hadn't managed to come much later.

     After about 15 seconds of Mr. Brooker looking around he asked, "What time we gonna eat, I'm hungry?"

Aunt Rose didn't look up and said, "We'll eat around two, have some stuffed celery, the fiber is good for you."

     "Bullshit, it gets caught in my teeth," he said even more annoyed than ever.

     There was a silence as Aunt Rose was finishing putting-up her hair.

     Mr. Brooker looked over at me and said, "You're Marion and Roy's boy?"

     I nodded.

     "You play checkers?"

     Again, I nodded.

     He got up from the chair using his cane. Grabbed the candy box and announced, "We're goin'? inside. The checker box still under the Ottoman?"

     She answered with, "Yeah Dad, and don't spill anything on the couch."

     To himself and me he said, "What's to spill? She's an idiot and her husband hides the liquor."

     Mr. Brooker got settled in an arm chair as I set up the board.

     He started play and moved the pieces very rapidly. First game to Mr. Brooker. Reset and second game to Mr. Brooker. Reset and third game to Mr. Brooker.

     "I thought you said you could play?

     "I didn't want to be too hard on you 'cause of your age"I said in my indomitable smart-ass way.

     "You little shit, try harder."

     As I set up again, Mr. Brooker opened the Loft's box and helped himself to three pieces.

     The fourth game went to Mr. Brooker in the time it took him to pop two more candies. The last piece he took from his mouth and slid under the seat cushion. He saw that I saw and just winked at me.

     The last game went to Mr. Brooker and as I was closing up the board, Uncle Phil and his kids arrives with grocery bags and Uncle Phil sister Aunt Pauline.

     There was scuttling about as the kids fought over the TV channels and grocery bags got moved in. With four true adults now present, I seemed to become invisible and that was okay with me.

     Aunt Pauline had put on an apron on and was moving things on the stove and the kitchen table. Aunt Rose was yelling at her to not touch anything 'cause she knew where everything was!
Evidently Aunt Pauline was sometimes hard of hearing.

     Mr. Brooker was sitting at the kitchen table taking up valuable space but now had a big scotch in his hand. He seemed happier.

     At a lull in the mayhem, he called in his three grandchildren and had them each take two pieces of the Loft's. He didn't let them take the pieces he liked. He then made them put both pieces in their mouth at the same time. This made very messy drool for the two littlest ones. He put the remaining pieces in his jacket pocket and announced, to no one in particular, "Kenny and the kids finished all the candies".

     This brought me an un-approving glance from Uncle Phil.

     I was able to get in enough trouble without the old man lying. Now I liked him even less now.

     When Uncle Phil asked what time dinner would be ready, Aunt Rose announced, "The bird got a late start and we'll be eating at three". There was a little slurred glee in her voice as she spoke.

     "Rose, I thought you said we would be eating at two," said her father.

     "I said it got a late start. Have a Scotch."

     Over the next two hours more families and kids arrived, in what I call the 'Holiday Spirit'. Each family brought something, maybe a pie, wine, liquor, or beer. It was nice to see everyone happy.

     By the time my parents and sister arrived at 1:30, the kitchen table was half-bar and half-food prep area. At this point Aunt Rose, with Aunt Pauline in tow, went into the bedroom for a comb-out and a face decorating event.

     The apartment was way too small for all the people who arrived. Some were now standing in the hallway to the apartment.

     Aunt Rose knew she always invited too many but didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings by not inviting them. Everyone invited knew there would be too many people but didn't want to hurt her feelings. A few came not with any sensitivity to Rose but wanted to be part of the event and the pandemonium.

     By two, a number of male attendees had relocated for the wait time down to the Shamrock bar on Fifth Avenue where Uncle Gene was on duty. The men seemed to be on constant round-trips to the Shamrock, always in a happier but slightly more degenerated state.

     For the women it was a bit different. They seemed to sit in the living room having a glass of beer or a "Presbyterian" even though none of them were Presbyterians as far as I knew. Their subjects of discussion seemed to be either children or spouses. They all seemed so proper early in the day though they loosened up during the day; including the removal of girdles.

     The few kids who still had the TV on had the volume up as high as it would go. This contributed significantly to the overall noise level. In spite of the noise and everything, Mr. Brooker was dozing in the arm chair with his drink ever so slightly spilling on to his pants and onto the cushions.

     At three it was announced that the turkey would be ready at five but the vegetables, except for the turnips and mashed potatoes, were ready now for anyone who wanted an early tasting. My Aunt Millie made paper plates of vegetables for all the children, including me, which she delivered with a feigned smile. I hated cheap paper plates that didn't hold their form and easily soaked through.

     As I at first rejected the vegetable plate she told me, "Take it, you may get nothing else to eat."

     With an exaggerated "Thank you so much," I took the plate but declined the plastic fork. I really didn't know what I was doing but it was the only way I could hold my own.

     At four, Jimmy and Maryann, the newlyweds, were yelling and screaming at each other and Jimmy turned and left the apartment. This only caused Maryann to cry even louder and she seemed to peak in anguish as all the older females gathered around to comfort her and share the wisdom of their longer led lives. Annie, Jimmy's sister, arrived with a "7 & 7", handed it to Maryann and said loudly, "I told you not to marry him; you weren't even pregnant." This renewed the crying and comforting cycle.

     At 4:30 Uncle Phil cut into the turkey, mock admired its pinkness and said we would eat at 6. The kitchen had taken on an aroma of burnt food and scorched pots. At this point all the windows in the apartment were open and it was still HOT from the cooking and all the bodies. Aunt Rose had changed into a sleeveless housedress to fight the heat but even so had paper napkins stuck in her armpits to stem the flow.

     Some families were already leaving claiming other stops to make and that they had another memorable Thanksgiving Day.

     Lotsa hugs and kiss-kisses on either comings or goings.

     It wasn't the first time I noticed but it seemed the women gave kisses with their cheeks and made a "kiss sound". For the men it was different. When they went to kiss a woman, they seemed to aim for a lips-to-lips kiss but most always got only cheek which caused the kiss sound to be was more natural though sometimes exaggerated. When women kissed each other they could continue talking without interruption since the "kiss sound" was evidently deemed unnecessary. In my family the men never kissed each other except when it was a father and son situation; or when cousin Larry was with his "special" friends.

     Since I was again denied permission to leave and was therefore available, I was directed and entrusted to take Mr. Brooker down to the corner to get him a cab, prepay to take him to his home on Cropsey Avenue, and to remember the hack license number. As I got him settled in the cab, he offered me a tip of two pieces of the Loft's candies from his pocket. I politely declined.

     Back at the apartment I was asked the hack number and the driver's name. I assuredly replied, "86977 and his name was Gardner." This passed muster with Uncle Phil but my Mom glared at me as she realized that the numbers were from our phone number and the name was her maiden name. I didn't look at her.

     At 5:30 Uncle Phil set up a card table in the living room to do the carving at. He had his big knife and some large forks. Also on the table were three large platters to receive the product of his efforts.

     Just at six, Uncle Dave made a big "to-do" as he carried, with his multi-toweled hands, the steaming roasting pan full of turkey and sloshings, sometimes onto the floor, "natural juices" from the kitchen into the living room. I don't know how he could see with his glasses so totally steam clouded-over. As he put down the pan the table shifted and there was audible pause in the chatter. The table held but no one felt particularly good about the situation.

     As if to calm the audience, Uncle Phil beamed broadly and announced, "Step 2 is complete". As he dug forks into the sides of the turkey, he told Uncle Dave to take away the pan after he lifted the bird and it was clear.

     Uncle Phil dug in again and lifted mightily. It didn't feel right to him so he paused. The audience was in rapt attention. With the next lift attempt the turkey cleared and the pan was pulled out. All of a sudden we were overwhelmed as Uncle Dave screamed in pain as the essentially boiling "natural juices" sloshed up onto his hand. The audiences attention was quickly brought back to the carving table as the dripping turkey, balanced on two large but very under-sized forks, shifted and fell to the table.

     The inertia of the fall had the turkey slide on the table, knocking off two platters that crashed on the floor. It wasn't over.

     Uncle Phil could probably see it all in slow motion. He lunged forward, his forks as spears failed him. It only seemed to push the turkey faster in its futile attempt to escape.

     Uncle Phil could hear the pounding of his heart and he was sure that that was why everyone was giving him their total attention.

     The bird became airborne. It could no longer really fly or even jump. It seemed to glide and make a belly landing on the rug and come to a dead stop right by three year old Steve Walsh's leg leaving a long grease skid-mark on the rug; and a very scared kid.

     All eyes shot over to Aunt Rose who grabbed the sides of her hair and screamed, "You fool! You've ruined everything. The day was perfect until this. I was going to write this up and send it into the Saturday Evening Post or Reader's Digest who'd pay me for it. You've ruined it all!"

     Annie, Jimmy the missing newlywed's sister, started to slowly clap, whoop, and yell "Bravo!" And as if on cue everyone joined in. Over the din she yelled to Aunt Rose, "You can still send it in but no one would believe it. You'll get a rejection letter that you could frame and hang up to immortalize the day."

     I had come to really like Annie even though she was old... maybe 27!

     Aunt Rose shot her a "How could you," look.

     As people were tending to Aunt Rose and Uncle Dave, and ignoring Uncle Phil who was still standing, frozen in time with the forks in his hands; Aunt Pauline made her move.

     It actually seemed like she was stalking the turkey. As it lay on the rug in an ever increasing pool of its own "natural juices", she snuck up on it and threw a heavy bathroom floor-mat on it and scooped it up and headed to the kitchen.

     As Uncle Phil tried to excessively but unsuccessfully apologize and comfort Aunt Rose, the women had a discussion as to what to do about the skid-marks. Against my Mom's objections they deceided to saturate the area with flour that would absorb the fluids... so they thought.

     Normalcy for that Thanksgiving Day at Aunt Rose's seemed to return.

     My father took to carving the turkey and Aunt Pauline, using triple paper plates, made trays of the meat and her daughter, the model-to-be-who-never-got-a-job Julie, made smaller individual plates for the kids.

     Aunt Rose was still sobbing and distraught and was saying that everyone should probably leave since Uncle Phil ruined the day.

     I note that a quarter of the people had left before the flying turkey event when the better scotch and Canadian bottles were empty. Another quarter sneaked out right after the event without making too many goodbye and "thanks for a wonderful meal" statements.

     My Mom, Annie and Aunt Pauline huddled and then announced that since not everyone had eaten, they would give Rose and Phil some privacy and take the meat, the mashed potatoes, and whatever else they could salvage down to Uncle Gene's bar where they would serve and finish whatever remained.

     When my still sobbing Aunt Rose saw everyone was getting ready to leave and head to the Shamrock, she quickly composed herself and said, "Wait... give me a minute to change and fix my face."

     As she headed to the bathroom she told Aunt Pauline, "Have Gene put the tables together."

     Uncle Phil, once again, just stood there in shock and amazement.

     My Mom came over to me and said they'd be home late and that I should take my sister and get something to eat, maybe even go to a movie. She handed me $10.00.

     Finally, I left with my sister in tow probably eight hours too late.


     The next morning I asked how everything had wound up. My Mom gave me this synopsis...

     The bar was pretty empty till everyone from Rose's dinner arrived. Gene, who was half-Italian, ordered in five large cheese pizzas for all those not interested in the flying-skidding turkey. Some people put some turkey on their pizza in honor of the holiday. Nobody ate the cold, lumpy mashed potatoes.

     Since it was pretty late for the kids, Uncle Gene spread out some "emergency blankets" in a back room and almost all of them went to sleep. An exception was little Stevie Walsh who wondered around and sipped adults drinks whenever they left their chairs. He finally threw up and he was put in the back room to sleep and sober up.

     Jimmy came back and it seemed that he and Maryann were gonna get into another fight as they each insisted that they themselves were responsible for the earlier argument and were apologizing. Finally, Annie told them to leave, go home and have a holiday screw. They left.

     With everyone full and feeling mellow they took turns singing along with the jukebox in singles, duets, trios and any sort of assemblage they wanted.

     Uncle Danny played guitar, my father the spoons, and Uncle David with his hand wrapped in butter and a towel played as best he could on his seemingly always available snare drum.

     Aunt Rose had forgiven Uncle Phil and they did their 10 minute (only) comedy routine that everyone already knew.

     My Mom said that most people left around 11 but some others probably stayed till one or two.

     As my Mom finished the story the phone rang and it was Aunt Rose. The end of the conversation I could hear went something like this...

     "Oh yes, were all fine."

     "It was a special day. Thank you so much for inviting us. It was so very special and unforgettable."

     "You'll be cleaning for weeks."

     "Just rearrange the furniture; no one will ever notice."

     "We won't be able to come. Roy committed to go to Rita's for Christmas."

     "I'm sure she would love to come but she is having a houseful herself. "

     "Maybe for New Year's Day. We'll have to see."

     "I gotta go... Roy's calling me. And thanks again for yesterday; it was so special... we'll always remember it!"

     "Yes, we love you too."

     "Goodbye."

[end] © Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2005.