Memories
Title
Memories
Identifier
MEMORIES
Creator
Jacob Schlitt
Description
"Carol just sent to Sylvia and me a photograph of the Mt. Tremper, NY post office, which she passed, on vacation with Alan."
Date
2016-08-13
Coverage
1951/1979
Format
application/pdf
Type
text
Text
MEMORIES
Carol just sent to Sylvia and me a photograph of the Mt. Tremper, NY post office, which she passed, on vacation with Alan. She remembered that we told her that was where we went on our honeymoon 64 ½ years ago. Of course, being reminded of that occasion brought back a rush of memories.
I began to relive the days of our honeymoon, and the days and weeks and months before (and after). I have already written about our “courtship and marriage.” Nevertheless, feelings and questions are still rattling around. They are not settled, or answered, by putting something down on paper.
The first question: In retrospect, was our marriage “bashert”? Were we in love? Real love. That was what I felt for Sylvia. However, I was not sure if it was reciprocated. I pursued her. In 1951, it was the custom for the boy to pursue the girl, for the girl to feign resistance, and then give in as she was overwhelmed by the boy’s charm and persuasiveness. I pursued Sylvia the spring, summer and fall of 1951. She gave in, and we were caught up in a whirlwind of planning for a very simple December wedding.
This involved, among so many things, changing what was a two room apartment I shared with my mother, until she died in March 1951, to our new home: Getting rid of old furniture and replacing it with “our” furniture, and our hi-fi set, and our art work. It involved setting a date, selecting rings, getting a Rabbi to officiate at a ceremony in his study, extending invitations to a small group, and sending out announcements that we were married. And making arrangements for a honeymoon.
Remembering back to those days—what were we feeling? Were we head over heels in love? That everything the other did was wonderful? That we would have it no other way? All around us, people were getting married “traditionally.” Somehow, despite the limited incomes of parents, they came up with the money for fancy invitations, a formal wedding, ushers and bridesmaids, gowns and tuxedos, a band, a big wedding dinner party, a photographer, an open bar etc.
I was walking on air. Sylvia had said yes! The girl of my dreams. We were going to live happily ever after. I assume we saw an ad in the NY Times describing a cottage in the Town of Mt. Tremper, which we had never heard of, available the last week of December. It would be our honeymoon getaway. The day after our wedding, I had a meeting at my office for several of my fellow ILGWU Training Institute graduates, and the next day, we left by bus on our honeymoon.
We obviously knew that most other folks did it differently. With class. I was making a virtue of doing it on the cheap. Just as we ended up hitchhiking the following summer. Actually, we did a little hitchhiking on our honeymoon. Was Sylvia feeling as I did? This is fun! This is the way to live! We are unconventional. We were being hippies before there were hippies. We were at Woodstock before there was Woodstock. We lay in bed naked. We hiked. We learned how to ski on the beginner’s slope. We ate at cute restaurants. And we came home to a hectic reality. And to our friends.
And to our life together. I was sure this was going to be a story book romance. Complicated, but wonderful. Sylvia worked. I worked. But I also was going to graduate school to keep out of the Army. We partied, we went to concerts and plays, we ate out in cheap ethnic restaurants. I was sure we were happy. Our lives revolved around each other. Family, friends, work, school, play, adventures. I was sure we loved and respected each other.
Over those first few years, the military draft hovered. My constant companion. By February 1954, I gave up the fight, entered the army in June, Sylvia joined me in September, and we finally settled into a life in Camp Gordon Georgia, where Carol was born October 1955. We were ecstatic.
All these memories from a photograph of the Mt.Tremper post office. I remember plotting to get out of the army three months earlier. I remember Sylvia nursing Carol, my changing her diapers, our returning home, our looking for a larger apartment, our finding 960 Sterling Place in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Lewis being born, then Martha. Were we still ecstatic? I thought we were. Sylvia found an outlet in a neighborhood theatre group. I was caught up in work. Without realizing it, we found ourselves arguing. Differences emerged. Tensions. Sylvia found a therapist. I was not aware how serious the situation was. We will work it out.
When I was offered a job in Washington DC, I thought it would be wonderful. Sylvia seemed to think so too. We made the move. It seemed to go well. We found a wonderful neighborhood, then a wonderful house. I eventually got a wonderful job, and we made wonderful friends. We had wonderful vacations, alternating West Virginia Parks and ocean beaches. Then, things started to come apart. Life was not as wonderful as I thought. More arguments. More differences. Sylvia wanted out. She did not love me. Did she ever? I hope so. I still loved her. In 1972, we separated. I felt as if my world had fallen apart. Eventually, I put my world back together.
I still had my kids, and my old friends. I found new friends, my job brought me to Boston in 1979, where, (was it “bashert”?) I found a new wife, and a new child, and a new set of memories.
8-13-16
Carol just sent to Sylvia and me a photograph of the Mt. Tremper, NY post office, which she passed, on vacation with Alan. She remembered that we told her that was where we went on our honeymoon 64 ½ years ago. Of course, being reminded of that occasion brought back a rush of memories.
I began to relive the days of our honeymoon, and the days and weeks and months before (and after). I have already written about our “courtship and marriage.” Nevertheless, feelings and questions are still rattling around. They are not settled, or answered, by putting something down on paper.
The first question: In retrospect, was our marriage “bashert”? Were we in love? Real love. That was what I felt for Sylvia. However, I was not sure if it was reciprocated. I pursued her. In 1951, it was the custom for the boy to pursue the girl, for the girl to feign resistance, and then give in as she was overwhelmed by the boy’s charm and persuasiveness. I pursued Sylvia the spring, summer and fall of 1951. She gave in, and we were caught up in a whirlwind of planning for a very simple December wedding.
This involved, among so many things, changing what was a two room apartment I shared with my mother, until she died in March 1951, to our new home: Getting rid of old furniture and replacing it with “our” furniture, and our hi-fi set, and our art work. It involved setting a date, selecting rings, getting a Rabbi to officiate at a ceremony in his study, extending invitations to a small group, and sending out announcements that we were married. And making arrangements for a honeymoon.
Remembering back to those days—what were we feeling? Were we head over heels in love? That everything the other did was wonderful? That we would have it no other way? All around us, people were getting married “traditionally.” Somehow, despite the limited incomes of parents, they came up with the money for fancy invitations, a formal wedding, ushers and bridesmaids, gowns and tuxedos, a band, a big wedding dinner party, a photographer, an open bar etc.
I was walking on air. Sylvia had said yes! The girl of my dreams. We were going to live happily ever after. I assume we saw an ad in the NY Times describing a cottage in the Town of Mt. Tremper, which we had never heard of, available the last week of December. It would be our honeymoon getaway. The day after our wedding, I had a meeting at my office for several of my fellow ILGWU Training Institute graduates, and the next day, we left by bus on our honeymoon.
We obviously knew that most other folks did it differently. With class. I was making a virtue of doing it on the cheap. Just as we ended up hitchhiking the following summer. Actually, we did a little hitchhiking on our honeymoon. Was Sylvia feeling as I did? This is fun! This is the way to live! We are unconventional. We were being hippies before there were hippies. We were at Woodstock before there was Woodstock. We lay in bed naked. We hiked. We learned how to ski on the beginner’s slope. We ate at cute restaurants. And we came home to a hectic reality. And to our friends.
And to our life together. I was sure this was going to be a story book romance. Complicated, but wonderful. Sylvia worked. I worked. But I also was going to graduate school to keep out of the Army. We partied, we went to concerts and plays, we ate out in cheap ethnic restaurants. I was sure we were happy. Our lives revolved around each other. Family, friends, work, school, play, adventures. I was sure we loved and respected each other.
Over those first few years, the military draft hovered. My constant companion. By February 1954, I gave up the fight, entered the army in June, Sylvia joined me in September, and we finally settled into a life in Camp Gordon Georgia, where Carol was born October 1955. We were ecstatic.
All these memories from a photograph of the Mt.Tremper post office. I remember plotting to get out of the army three months earlier. I remember Sylvia nursing Carol, my changing her diapers, our returning home, our looking for a larger apartment, our finding 960 Sterling Place in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Lewis being born, then Martha. Were we still ecstatic? I thought we were. Sylvia found an outlet in a neighborhood theatre group. I was caught up in work. Without realizing it, we found ourselves arguing. Differences emerged. Tensions. Sylvia found a therapist. I was not aware how serious the situation was. We will work it out.
When I was offered a job in Washington DC, I thought it would be wonderful. Sylvia seemed to think so too. We made the move. It seemed to go well. We found a wonderful neighborhood, then a wonderful house. I eventually got a wonderful job, and we made wonderful friends. We had wonderful vacations, alternating West Virginia Parks and ocean beaches. Then, things started to come apart. Life was not as wonderful as I thought. More arguments. More differences. Sylvia wanted out. She did not love me. Did she ever? I hope so. I still loved her. In 1972, we separated. I felt as if my world had fallen apart. Eventually, I put my world back together.
I still had my kids, and my old friends. I found new friends, my job brought me to Boston in 1979, where, (was it “bashert”?) I found a new wife, and a new child, and a new set of memories.
8-13-16
Original Format
application/pdf
Collection
Citation
Jacob Schlitt, “Memories,” Autobiographical stories & other writing by Jacob Schlitt, accessed June 8, 2026, https://tsirlson.omeka.net/items/show/405.