How I Met My Wife


We lived next to the gas station owned and operated (6:30 a.m. to 10:30 p.m.) by my father. The one-man business, helped out some nights when I got home from college early, by dad’s younger son (me) paid the expenses. Thank the good lord.

Occasionally, with no scheduled class, I even took over in mid-afternoon and let my dad rest, relax, take a walk or go for a rare afternoon nap.

This particular afternoon, I was “helping.” Mom was in the house entertaining an old friend, Dora Neidel and her neighbor Mary. I was changing the oil and grease on my jalopy and stopped in the house, grease-covered face, for water. I dutifully was introduced to the guests and then returned to my outside chores.

At dinner that night, mom handed me a phone number. “Dora’s friend has a daughter at Queens College,” she said. “If you have an interest, her name is Sylvia.”

Very soon it will be our 63rd wedding anniversary. Talk about the luck of the Irish… I’m ecstatic with the luck of the Jewish!