2 | March 13, 2013 | ST. LOUIS JEWISH LIGHT | Visit WWW. STLJEWISHLIGHT.COM news schmooze BY ELLEN FUTTERMAN Most people have guiding principles. One of mine has always been: What would Rhoda Morgenstern do? Rhoda has been on my mind a lot the last week after the actress who so indelibly portrayed her, Valerie Harper, announced she has inoperable brain cancer and possibly only three months to live. Like certain women of my generation, I owe much to Harper and her alter ego. When she first appeared in 1970 in the iconic “The Mary Tyler Moore Show,” Rhoda was as unique as the concept behind this show about a single, careerminded woman (Mary Richards) and the memorable characters that imbued her life. As the feisty, warm-hearted, New York Jewish transplant best friend and upstairs neighbor, Rhoda was never at a loss to crack wisely on matters of some consternation, including dating, diets and long-suffering mothers. She made girls like me laugh uproariously on Saturday night the second she entered Mary’s swanky apartment (poor Rhoda lived in the attic where she hung her clothes on a coat rack, for goodness sake) bellowing, in her broad Bronx accent, Hey, Maaarrre!” Rhoda may have been conceived as a sidekick to TV news producer Mary, who was supposedly prettier, thinner and sweet to a fault (her only failing, it seemed, was throwing bad parties). But to me, and I am sure I am not alone here, window-dresser Rhoda was more like the rest of us, trying to do the best with the deck we were dealt. She sometimes wore flowing kaftans and tied scarves around her head, but she exuded a bohemian style that was enviable. She wasn’t afraid to stand up to people who belittled her such as Phyllis Lindstrom, played by Cloris Leachman, or to be adored by Phyllis’ daughter Bess who called her “Aunt Rhoda,” much to Phyllis’ chagrin. Rhoda even had a way of making Mary’s crusty, hard-nosed boss Lou Grant (the singular Ed Asner) feel comfortable, as if the two were longlost pals. Rhoda called him “Lou,” while the typically deferential Mary called him “Mr. Grant.” Is it any wonder that Rhoda, oozing individuality, self-confidence, style and sass, became a heroine us Jewish girls could embrace? Sidekick my tuchus; Rhoda was the real deal. So beloved was she that after years of second banana, she earned her own spin-off aptly named “Rhoda.” Actress Valerie Harper, when she was “Rhoda,” in the early 1970s. True, she was plagued by some of the stereotypes that have taunted Jewish women throughout the ages. Her hair was dark and curly, her humor self-deprecating. Also, too, were periodic visits by an overbearing mother (Nancy Walker) quick to cite Rhoda’s shortcomings while heaping on the guilt. Yet Rhoda, the anti-Jewish princess if ever there was one, showed us how to defuse the most obstinate of mothers with laughter and love — not exactly a bad lesson in human relations. (A great irony is that Harper isn’t Jewish, nor was the late Walker, yet both were often mistaken as such. In fact, Harper was so good at playing Jewish she was later cast as Golda Meir in the national touring production of “Golda’s Balcony,” then starred in the film version.) Upon hearing about Harper’s illness my heart began to ache, not just for her and those she loves but for all of us who love her, too. Then I thought about my guiding principle: What would Rhoda Morgenstern do? Harper, 73, must have read the minds of fans like me, for in explaining about her diagnosis in People magazine, she said, “I know a lot of you feel like you know me, that you are part of the Morgenstern family, and I feel I know you, too, and so I owe you the truth at the same time as everybody else.” In the same interview, she joked about already living beyond her “expiration date” since the onset of her symptoms started eight months ago. Then she glibly remarked: “I have a fighting chance until I’m gone.” With her same wry wisdom, in appearing on the TV talk show “The Doctors,” she added, “More than anything, I’m living in the moment. I really want Americans and all of us to be less afraid of death. And know that it’s a passage. But don’t go to the funeral before the day of the funeral.” Live in the moment. Enjoy each day to the fullest. Give yourself room to grieve but don’t let it consume you. These are all the things I am sure Rhoda would say. They just happened to come out of Valerie Harper’s mouth. As I see it, both are a long way from their expiration dates. Family Favorites For Passover! We’ve got everything you need to celebrate the Passover season! You’ll find name-brand favorites in our Kosher Food Department. Plus, we have a selection of matzo, and other traditional kosher foods and ingredients for Passover. We wish you and your family a happy and healthy holiday. 3 19 Manischewitz WHOLE WHEAT MATZOS 3 79 Manischewitz CAKE MEAL 16 oz. canister 10 oz. pkg. 3 99 Streit’s PASSOVER MATZO FARFEL 3 79 Manischewitz MATZO MEAL 16 oz. canister 1 99 Manischewitz 2 49 Manischewitz POTATO CHIPS MATZO BALL MIX 3 3 5.5-6 oz. bag–Thin salted or unsalted, ripple or potato stix 49 Manischewitz VEGETABLE OIL 24 oz. bottle 5 oz. pkg.– Original or reduced sodium 69 Oppenheimer CHOCOLATE CHIPS 10.5 oz. pkg. 16 oz. box Double coupons apply to manufacturer DOUBLE coupons valued at 40¢ or less; limit 15 ©2012 Schnucks COUPONS coupons. For more details, check in store. Some items not available in some stores. We reserve the right to limit quantities. For all Buy One Get One Free offers there is a limit of 2 free items with the purchase of 2. ©2013 Schnucks Prices good thru March 19, 2013 in our Chesterfield, Creve Coeur,* Ladue Crossing,* Bellerive Plaza,* Woods Mill and Richmond Center stores only. *Kosher Certified Bakery and the largest selection available at these stores. Visit us online www.stljewishlight.com 2 | | June 12, 2013 ST. LOUIS JEWISH LIGHT | Visit WWW. STLJEWISHLIGHT.COM news schmooze BY ELLEN FUTTERMAN Life as a salesman, a tribute to dad Sorry to get all schmaltzy and sentimental on you, but sometimes that happens as Father’s Day draws near. My dad passed away at the age of 73 on Sept. 11, 2000, a year before “that Sept. 11th.” While he isn’t around to celebrate his day with us kids anymore, his imprint remains solid in my heart and in my memory. Howard “Footsie” Futterman was a cross between a Damon Runyon character and Willy Loman. He grew up in the Bronx across the street from the old Yankee Stadium, but hated the ballclub because he thought the ownership was anti-Semitic. He did a stint in the Navy, which best as I can tell accounted for why he never asked for a cup of coffee but rather a cup of Joe. Also, whenever he drove us anywhere he would always, upon arrival, announce in a low, deep, resonating voice: “All ashore that’s going ashore.” My dad had a lot of unique expressions and quirky ways of doing everyday things – Footsie-isms, as we called them. Endearing in retrospect, they drove my brother and me crazy when we were growing up. Like the way my dad took phone messages. Though he knew the first names of all my friends, he’d always relay the message using their last name followed by gender. �’Did you call the Bernstein girl back yet?’’ Dad would ask in his inimitable way, expecting me to return the call immediately. If I didn’t, he would hound me until I finally did. My dad worked most of his adult life in the garment center of New York, commuting from our home in Westbury to Manhattan via the Long Island Railroad. When I was little, he sold “woolen piece goods,” as he called them, for his father’s wholesale house, but then found himself out of a job when my grandfather retired and closed the business. It seemed woolen piece goods couldn’t compete with less expensive, more versatile polyester and other synthetic fabrics. My dad knew that, but my grandfather was set in his way and didn’t want to diversify. So after my grandfather’s business folded, dad had a series of salesmen jobs, none of which lasted more than a couple of years. As the last salesman hired, he often was the first to be let go as cheaper overseas labor and production marked the downsizing – and demise – of many garment center businesses. Having nearly a dozen jobs in as many years took its toll on dad. Still, he had an animated side that was utterly charming, and which I reveled in when it shined. Like when he would sing. My father is the only person I ever knew with a worse voice than mine. But that didn’t stop him, nor does it stop me, from belting out show tunes at the top of our lungs. Sometimes he would crank up the hi-fi and sing and dance with me to “With A Little Bit O’Luck” from “My Fair Lady.” I especially liked when he would mimic Zero Mostel’s Teyve in “Fiddler” performing “If I Were A Rich Man” with his arms stretched high above his head, fingers snapping in the air, hips gyrating side to side. A highlight of junior high and high school was skipping school to spend the day in the city with my dad. He would take me to the various showrooms of clients, and buy me a couple of skirts and dresses (wholesale, of course!) at each. We’d stop for morning coffee at Chock full o’Nuts and lunch at a Horn and Hardart automat where I’d slip coins into the see-through window, giddily awaiting my meal to pop out. W h i le my mom took charge of our cultural educaHoward Futterman tion, dad was all about cultivating a love of sports in his kids. He taught me to swim when I was 3, bowl at 5 and ice skate at 6. Less successful were his attempts to teach me golf, mostly because I found his “helpful instruction” infuriating and walked off the course in a teenage huff at 16. What stands out most about my dad was his unwavering faith in his children’s abilities and the fact that he would do anything for us. Money was tight in our household but both he and my mother made sure their kids had everything they needed, wanted and then some. As a parent now, I’m not quite sure how they did it, but I’m pretty sure no major laws were broken. When I was about 11 or 12, my father became deeply involved in our Conservative synagogue, and eventually served in several capacities as an officer on its board. As president, he championed the granting of aliyahs for women in the congregation, thus allowing them the privilege of being called to the bimah to witness the reading of the Torah and recite blessings. This might not sound like a big deal today, but in the late 1960s, early �70s it was damn near pioneering. Rabbi Carnie Rose mentioned this when he helped bury my father after cancer, and pneumonia, took him from us that September. Rabbi Rose’s position prior to his coming to B’nai Amoona in St. Louis had been as rabbi at my childhood synagogue, Old Westbury Hebrew Congregation. Sometimes I wonder what my dad would say about me serving as editor of a Jewish newspaper. As crazy as it sounds, part of me thinks he might have had a hand, from above, nudging me in this direction. Regardless, I know he would be proud. It makes me sad that my dad didn’t live long enough for his grandchildren to get to know him, or for him to see them grow up. Nothing would have delighted him more than watching my son sink a basketball or my niece dive like a swan. They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Maybe it’s with that in mind that I’ve learned ways to keep my father’s spirit alive. I taught my son to swim when he was 3, bowl at 5 and ice skate at 6. I continue to belt out show tunes much to his chagrin. And when his friends can’t reach him by cell and call the house phone instead, I never miss the opportunity to ask, “Did you call the Miller boy back yet?” and then hound him until he finally does. Announcing A medicAl reseArch study for AdvAnced hereditAry breAst cAncer. not just for you, for them. Men and women aged 18 years or older who have advanced breast cancer due to a BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene mutation are invited to see if they may qualify for the Brocade Study. 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STLJEWISHLIGHT.COM news schmooze BY ELLEN FUTTERMAN Of Weiss and Mane Flipping through the channels the other evening, I came across one of those episodes on Oprah’s network called “Where Are They Now?” This installment featured a segment on �90s hunk Fabio, who never married, lives with five rescue dogs and touts a line of nutrition products. Seeing Fabio I immediately thought of Helen Weiss. Before I explain the connection, a bit about Helen. I’m sure many of you remember the “Face of Famous-Barr,” as fondly as I do. When Helen passed away in 2008, at the age of 83, obituaries described her as “PR Maven Extraordinaire,” having worked in that capacity at Famous, and then Macy’s, for more than five decades. She dazzled on so many fronts. Not only did she help blaze the trail for women in retail management, she did so with kindness, humor and such great style. Imelda Marcos had nothing on Helen when it came to shoes — the City Museum once put a part of her collection on display – and ostentatiously large earrings became her signature fashion statement. She also was a tireless champion for the causes and organizations she believed in, including the American Civil Liberties Union, the Nursery Foundation and the National Council for Jewish Women. As a reporter and editor at the PostDispatch for 25 years, I got to know Helen not only when I did stories she pitched, but also because she pitched great parties and was kind enough to invite me and my family to ones for the Jewish holidays. That’s another thing about Helen — she never met a stranger. Her Rosh Hashanah and Kol Nidre dinners were legendary, impeccably catered affairs with a typical guest list hovering at 50 and ranging in age from 8 months to 80. Live It UP! Helen Weiss and Fabio No hostess had more mostess than Helen. She hated someone not having a place to go for the High Holidays, and this included non-Jews as well. My friend and colleague at the Post, Bob Duffy, was one of several who eulogized Helen at her memorial. Out loud he said what many of us were thinking: “What are we to do about Rosh Hashanah?” Oh how I miss Helen, my wonderful St. Louis Jewish mother, especially at this time of year. Which brings me to Fabio and the uncanny timing of watching that Oprah segment just a few days before Rosh Hashanah. It was October 1993 when the phone rang at my desk at the Post. “Hi, it’s Helen,” said the caller. “Fabio is coming to town to do an in-store promotion. You want to spend the day with him?” Mind you, Fabio in the 1980s and �90s was what the Kardashians are today – famous for no other reason than being a cultural juggernaut. Kim Kardashian rose to celebrity because of a sex tape; Fabio, with his chiseled features, long mane and taut abs, graced the covers of hundreds of Harlequin-type romance novels. When I spent time with him in 1993, he had not yet landed his biggest claim to fame as pitchman for the “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!” campaign. Still, a date with Fabio. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. Helen and Fabio picked me up at the Post in a limo. It was a little before 9 a.m. and Fabio’s black leather shirt was unbuttoned to his navel. His streaked blond hair, flowing past his shoulders, looked better than yours or mine on our best hair day. We headed to KMOX radio for his first interview. The plan was for me to spend the morning shadowing him before sitting down together at lunch. Over a 10 egg-white omelet (his, not mine), I asked lots of questions about being a woman’s fantasy and how he found leather shirts big enough to fit across his titanic frame. It wasn’t by any stretch a cerebral conversation, but I do remember him being warm, receptive to all of my questions and pretty interesting as he talked about growing up in Italy and his goal to educate people about good health. Always the consummate professional, Helen insisted on sitting elsewhere to give me privacy for the interview. When I was done, she suggested that he and I take a picture together. I usually don’t go in for things like that, but he seemed game, having posed with dozens of women throughout the morning. So he wrapped himself around me like a bun on a burger and together we said “cheese.” Single at the time, I used the photo for the front of that year’s December holiday card with a message that read, “Fabio and I want to wish you a fabulous holiday season.” I sent it to everyone I knew. When the story about Fabio came out in the paper, Helen called to say “good job.” We talked about what fun we had that day and the throng of women who showed up at Famous to get their picture snapped with him. Then, in her inimitable Helen-esque way, she added, “I’ll be sure to invite him for Rosh Hashanah next year.” L’Shanah Tovah. Extraordinary high-rise senior living in Ladue Experience life on Cloud 9. No cooking, no cleaning, no driving necessary. Just gourmet food, lots of fun and good friends…the way life ought to be. Everything included in one low monthly price – with no buy-in. Centrally located near the finest St. Louis has to offer – on 170 north of Clayton.
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