Aunt Sandy

 

I found out a few months ago that my very last living aunt had passed away. Actually, Aunt Sandy was my aunt by marriage and had been divorced from my Uncle Parvin since I was around 15, but even after that, I always considered her my aunt. Aunt Myrtle, who later stepped into her shoes, never captured the same loyalty that I had for Aunt Sandy.

Her given name was Eloise, and I am not certain how she came to be known as Sandy, but everyone who knew her called her by that name. My Uncle Parvin was 14 when I was born, and I can almost swear that I remember him throwing me up in the air and catching me when I was a baby…but, no, that cannot be true. But it does foretell the kind of relationship we had, and when he married Aunt Sandy, we continued to be close including my new aunt.

Aunt Sandy and Uncle Parvin lived in a subdivision near Dover Downs (the well-known auto racing track in Dover, Delaware) which was non-existent when they first built their home back in the 1950s. In fact, I remember their home being delivered by truck from Sears and Roebuck, one of their first prefabs, I believe. I can also remember walking around in their basement when it was just a hole in the ground, so interesting to me at that age and I’m not sure why.

Both Aunt Sandy and Uncle Parvin wanted children, but their wish was never granted, and I think that may have contributed somehow to their separation. When Aunt Sadie told me Sandy had moved out, I felt like I had lost a best friend, and I could not understand why she would do such a thing.

She taught me to crochet when I was very little, exhibiting the patience of the proverbial saint I’m sure. Granted, it was crocheting around special handkerchiefs but crochet nonetheless. We both were so proud of ourselves. And as a part time job/hobby she tinted black and white photography. I was spellbound watching the delicacy of her work, and she even let me try a few times under very close supervision. That led to my interest in drawing and painting, and she was my biggest fan. To have been in our family for such a short period of time, she made a huge impression on me. And did I mention how pretty she was. Sadly, I have no pictures of her.

After their divorce, she moved into an apartment on the south side of Dover and worked at the Secretary of State’s office for a long time. I begged for overnight stays and was allowed once in a while, but eventually we drifted apart, and I lost track of Sandy. I heard from relatives that she had remarried, and after that news of her became non-existent. 

Several years after we had moved to Florida and the internet was in full blossom, I thought of Sandy and “googled” her and to my complete surprise, she was living in The Villages, yes, that famous retirement 

community down south. Lucky for me I knew her married name, and she was still married to the same person. I couldn’t wait to write to her and that is exactly what I did. This was probably in the 1990s. I received a letter right away and the very first sentence asked if I was still drawing and painting. That was Sandy, always more interested in you than in herself. We exchanged a few letters, and I always checked Google to make sure of her address.

Through a letter in the early 2000s I learned of her husband’s passing and that she had traveled back to Delaware for his burial. She had visited with my Aunt Frances, my only other living aunt at the time, and sounded excited at seeing old friends and old places, but said she would remain living in Florida. One would think we would have visited each other and we planned to, but something always came up to thwart our plans, and a visit never materialized.

Then, around the first of this year, as I had been prone to do, I “googled” Sandy Jopp and found this. I waited too long for that visit. I would have  loved to have seen Sandy in person, but her impression on me was in no way dimmed because of that, and if there is any chance she can hear me…”Thank you Aunt Sandy for always making me feel special.”

Uncle Nick

He rattled the pages as he searched for the sports section of the Delaware State News. Leaning back in the metal porch glider, arms held wide, his teeth clamped down on the unlit stub of a Phillies Blunt. The cigar was fireless because Aunt Sadie put her foot down about smoking in the house.

"Get rid of that stinking thing, eh!" Aunt Sadie's words are stamped on my memory.

Uncle Nick never gave up his cigars though. He just chewed them to death. They became a part of his presence after he went into the Army in 1941 when he was twenty years old.

I stayed with Aunt Sadie and Uncle Nick many summers as I was growing up. They never had any children so I guess they sort of adopted me for the months I had no school. I didn't mind. In fact, I loved it.

Uncle Nick was a movie projectionist, and there were numerous perks for me that went along with that. He even showed movies in the service, training films and first run movies to departing soldiers. He told me he was stationed at some base in New York State for the entire War because it was such an important job. He was responsible for keeping up the soldiers' morale.

When he was fourteen, he got a job as circular boy, handing out movie programs from house to house with free movie passes as pay. He sneaked up to the projection booth to learn the job. Nobody under eighteen was allowed up there at that time, but the theater owners saw that he was determined. They encouraged him with the promise of a real job as projectionist when he was old enough.

He showed his first film in 1938, a movie titled The Crusades, a Cecile B. DeMille spectacular starring Loretta Young. He never stopped until the theater finally closed its doors in 1982. He did everything from splicing film, playing the music before the show, dimming the house lights, even opening the curtain.

I know some of this firsthand because I got to sit in a special chair in front of the little window in the projection booth and watch movies. Of course, some movies I wasn't allowed to see, but that was okay. Disney films and westerns were my favorites anyway, and they came with hot salty French Fries, fountain sodas, and sometimes a Sugar Daddy for dessert. Aunt Sadie came with us once in awhile, but I think the newness of it all had worn off for her years before. And the booth reeked of cigar smoke.

When a new feature started, Uncle Nick had to go early enough to check the film for breaks. He set up a full reel on this old hand-cranking machine, fed the film onto an empty reel, and with his thumb pressing down on the film to feel for splits, he turned the crank with his other hand until all the film was loaded on the empty reel. He repaired breaks with some kind of stinky brushed on glue. Then, the reel had to be rewound to start at the beginning again. I never remember a film breaking during a show in all the times I went with him. He said he never wanted to hear those boos the audience makes when the screen goes white. A feature film came on several reels so there were two projectors for switching from one to the other. This happened almost every twenty minutes. Uncle Nick did this seamlessly without missing a beat. He showed me how to look for a little blob in the right hand corner of the screen. This was his cue to get ready. He said there could be a murder scene happening, and he had to make sure the audience never missed a shudder. Years later, as I watched Psycho I thought about Uncle Nick switching those reels in the middle of the shower scene.

Since Uncle Nick never learned to drive, Aunt Sadie always picked us up after the show. At home, he would turn on the television and watch Jack Paar for a few minutes, then channel check for a late movie. Yep, he watched movies at home. He said he never got to see the good parts because that was when he was busy changing reels.

Uncle Nick smoked Phillies Blunt cigars, but that was not the only Phillie he was fond of. He was a Philadelphia Phillies fanatic before the real Phillie Phanatic ever existed. I'm talking about the Philadelphia Phillies baseball team. I watched the games with him when they were on television, and we knew every player, every position, and all their stats. We yelled and shouted at the TV screen as though the players could hear us. I am a big Phillies fan to this day, never to change. No matter how many times they let me down, I'll always be looking forward to next year.

Going to the horse races was another of Uncle Nick's favorite pastimes. He always claimed he was not superstitious, but when he won an exacta or trifecta, he would wear the same tee shirt, unwashed, back to the races the next time and the next time if it kept bringing him good luck. Sometimes it did. I remember some of those tee shirts getting holey. He was a pretty lucky fellow. He never bet a lot, but he loved to see the horses coming down the homestretch. His dark brown eyes grew animated and intense as they neared the finish line. To punish his losers, he threw his program and tickets on the ground and stomped on them. He chewed his cigar down to nothing by the last race.

When I got to tag along to the races, on the way home we always stopped at a restaurant specializing in chicken and dumplings. For dessert, we ordered rice or bread pudding, his favorites and mine, too. Oh, and I forgot to mention, he especially loved donuts and Tastycakes. A covered cake dish for these sweets held center place on Aunt Sadie's red-trimmed Formica table. Tastycake sponsored the Phillies. When their song came on during a game, that was my cue to grab two. Vanilla was the best.

When I think of Uncle Nick, I always picture him on the porch glider, reading the sports page, and chewing on that cigar. He had curly black hair and, of course, a little paunch from all those sweets. I miss him. There'll never be another one like him. He passed away in 2011, at ninety years old. I don't think anybody had as good a time at living as he did, and it rubbed off on everyone nearby. A person couldn't help but have fun with Uncle Nick around.