Can We Come in and Laugh, Too?

By Morgan St. James and Rosetta Schwartz

This is not a book of jokes. It is Rosetta Schwartz's story of how humor shaped her long life and does include several funny experiences. It also demonstrates how humor got her and her family through some very rough patches. Born in 1909, Rosetta was the youngest of a family of ten children. They didn't have much money, but the riches of their zany antics and laughter overflowed into the neighborhood. That love of laughter continued throughout her long life. One of her fondest childhood memories was when neighbors knocked at their door, saying, "Can we come in and laugh with you?" Rosetta Schwartz (later Rosetta Shifrin and finally Rosetta Lachman) wrote this memoir in 1989 when she was 80 years old. Her daughter, author Morgan St. James, uncovered it and edited it in 2012, adding her own comments and those from some family members as Part II, along with a reprint of "Shopping For Dancing Shoes," Morgan's short story about Rosetta that is the first story in "Chicken Soup for the Shopper's Soul." She was a shining light—an inspiration to all. Her smile never dimmed, as seen on the cover photo taken by her grandson Jason Pransky when Rosetta was 95 years old. She passed away in 2006, just before her 97th birthday. We invite you to come on in and laugh with her. FROM THE BOOK: Edna was only four years older than me, but she took care of me like a little mother. Her wonderful sense of humor added to the feeling that living in our family was like being in a full time vaudeville show. There was something going on all the time, and quite often she was the instigator. We were the only family members to go to high school. The others were lucky if they got to stay in school till the eighth grade. Most of my brothers only made it to the sixth grade. As we grew older, she changed roles from little mother to best friend. Edna and I were as close as two peas in a pod our entire lives. She was a very smart, independent person and her personality sparkled. I loved being with her because she made me feel more confident about what I could do. My brother Charlie's biggest ambition was to be a drummer. He had begun to take lessons and would practice on his board or anything else that had a hard surface and was handy—walls, floors, sinks—you name it and Charlie drummed on it. He usually started his drumming in the living room, but it was very noisy. My mother chased him from the living room to the dining room and from the dining room to the kitchen. Finally he wound up on the back porch. Poor Charlie just couldn't win. As he drummed on the porch, the neighbors complained about the noise, and from the porch he went to the basement. But Charlie never gave up, kept practicing and finally did become a drummer. From the time my brother Meyer was in his late teens all the way to his early twenties, his only desire was to be was an actor. We were living on Ogden Avenue at that time and there was a huge mirror built into the living room wall that went all the way from the floor to the ceiling. Meyer bought a makeup kit and every day he stood in front of that big mirror trying out a different kind of makeup and practicing lines. One of my vivid childhood memories is that I never knew what my brother would look like, because he tried so many different faces.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marina Publishing Group
• Release date: Apr 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386564324

Morgan St. James

Morgan St. James is an award-winning author with fifteen published books to her credit.  In addition to books she has written on her own, Morgan’s funny crime capers in the comical Silver Sisters Mysteries series are co-authored with her real-life sister, Phyllice Bradner. More information about Morgan and all of her books, can be found on the My Books page on her website. St. James has written over 600 published articles related to writing and frequently presents workshops, appears on author’s panels and radio or TV shows. The columns inspired her book Writers Tricks of the Trade as well as a quarterly online magazine of the same name. She lives in Las Vegas NV with her husband and dog Dylan.

Book preview

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the power of laughter. It brings magic into lives and eases seemingly impossible burdens.

Rosetta shall forever be pictured laughing just as she is in the cover photo on this book. Her sense of humor and brilliant smile were second to none.

Photo: Rosetta 20 years old - 1929

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Introduction

Rose Schwartz came into this world on November 18, 1909, the youngest of ten children born to a poor, fun-loving Latvian immigrant family.

She was married twice. When she married my father in the early 1930s, she became Rosetta Shifrin. Many years after my father’s death she married again in the 1970s and lived the rest of her life as Rosetta Lachman until she passed away in 2006, shy of her ninety-seventh birthday by only three-and-a-half months. Most of her brothers and sisters lived into their nineties as did our grandmother. I encouraged her to write what is now Part I of this book in 1989, when she was eighty years old.

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For as long as I can remember, Mom and our aunts and uncles regaled us with hilarious anecdotes about their close-knit family unit and life in the last century. They were a zany family, which meant anything could happen and usually did.

Before we moved from Chicago to California in 1953, a simple family dinner could turn into a slapstick comedy featuring as many as forty players. My sister Phyllice and I grew up thinking that every family was like ours. These goofy family get-togethers didn’t stop after we moved to California, either.

Her brother Sol, the zaniest of the bunch, had moved to Los Angeles several years before. A few years later her sister Edna, who was also her lifelong best friend, moved to L.A. with her husband. A few more years passed and her oldest sister Jean, who had helped raise Rosetta, joined the westward movement. The only thing that changed for this new generation of family gatherings was there were fewer comedians at the dinner table.

My sister Phyllice and I discovered two things when we ventured into the world as adults. First, not every family was like ours which led to our second discovery. We were unbelievably fortunate to have grown up in a family constantly overflowing with laughter and cheer.

By 1988 Mom was getting old and I was so afraid all of her wonderful stories would be lost for future generations. I urged her to write a short memoir. She protested that she wasn’t a writer, but when I read what she had written, I knew where my sister and I got our flair for writing.

My oldest son Scott had one of the early Macintosh computers and transferred her handwritten pages to a digital file. She was thrilled to read it in printed form and so was he. He asked for some further details so she wrote a few more pages. Those bits were never added to the computer notes but are in this memoir.

I became the keeper of the story. For years I intended to print copies for family members, but like many good intentions never got around to it. By the time Mom passed away in mid-2006 I had become a full-fledged published author. I decided to edit her memoir, add to it and turn it into a book.

Much to my horror, I couldn’t find the file with her handwritten pages or my son Scott’s computerized version. I was devastated because I was sure everything was lost and it was my fault. I prayed my son might still have a copy, but when I checked, he told me that like most early computers, the Mac became obsolete and ultimately went to that computer haven in the sky, taking Mom’s manuscript with it. I’d had an old-fashioned floppy diskette at one time, but that was missing, too. I was devastated. I had failed to keep her stories safe.

Through the years I have written several stories about her, most notably It’s Just Old Age...Or Is It?, an article for Inside Magazine back in the nineties and more recently Shopping for Dancing Shoes, the first story in Chicken Soup for the Shopper’s Soul.

Mom was our shining light. Throughout her long life she was an inspiration to all and that is what is inscribed on her grave marker. Right after ordering the stone, I was sorting through papers that related to her affairs and was overcome with joy when I discovered the long missing file complete with the diskette and Mom’s handwritten notes.

It was almost as though she was telling me, I’m at rest now, honey. It’s time to tell my story.

I had a portable diskette reader, but my laptop didn’t understand some of the Mac formatting. That resulted in many extremely strange barely legible words. I embarked upon the task of painstakingly going through everything letter by letter and at long last it was a readable draft.

What could be a more appropriate memorial to the wisest woman I ever knew than to share her own writing with you in Part I of this book? She often said that when she was growing up, neighbors would knock at their door and ask Can we come in and laugh with you? So, she even gave me the title.

It is with pride and lots of nostalgia I present Can We Come In and Laugh, Too? I know you will share our family’s delight in these stories. May your lives be filled with laughter. That’s what Rosetta would have wanted for you.

~Morgan St. James

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to all of those who knew and loved Rosetta, to those who were inspired by her and knew it, to the family members who contributed their memories of her and loved Rosetta unconditionally. Although they are not mentioned in the book, our expressions of extreme appreciation for those at Country Villas and later Santa Monica Convalescent whose staff lovingly cared for her after mini-strokes and dementia robbed her of her short term memory in her late eighties. To the caretakers who loved to dance with her right up until she was ninety-four and broke a hip. They made her last years such happy ones.

Most of all to Rosetta herself for writing this wonderful account of what it was like to grow up in the early 1900s in a zany family of ten and how laughter got her through challenges later in her life.

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PART I

My Story

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ONE

The Schwartz Family

Before I share my stories, I want to tell you a little about me and my family. When I came into the world in 1909, I was named Rose Schwartz. I was the youngest of a family of ten and never had a middle name. I guess my mother and father had so many kids by then, they got tired of naming them. I had seven older brothers and two sisters. From the oldest to the youngest they were: Jean, Joe, Meyer, Sam, Sol, Al, Charlie, Edna, Philip, and me, Rose. My name became Rosetta after I started kindergarten and I was never Rose again. but that’s another story and I’ll get to it later. I have a lot of things to tell you first.

My mother and father were born in the sthetl (town) of Friedrichstadt, Latvia and immigrated to the United States after they got married. As I understand it, my mother came from a rabbinical family, and she kept a strictly Kosher home. They set up housekeeping in Chicago, Illinois where all of their children were born.

My father, Eli Milton. was a tall man—over six feet tall, which was unusual in those days because people were smaller for the most part. My mother, Mathilda. was under five feet tall, so when they stood next to each other they were sort of like a Mutt and Jeff team— if you don’t know about those comic characters, one was short and plump, the other tall and slim, just like my parents.

Our household was strictly Orthodox Jewish, which included several traditions. I learned to read Hebrew at a very young age and my father would settle back in his favorite chair while I read the Hebrew newspaper to him. Now that I’m old, I can’t read a word of Hebrew. I can’t explain why that is, but as an adult I definitely didn’t get involved in religion much. Maybe that’s why I’ve forgotten Hebrew, but I can still speak Yiddish. When I do go to temple, it is either Conservative or Reform and I usually only go on the Jewish High Holidays. After my sister Jean and my brothers got married, my sister Edna and I were the only ones still at home and we knew we wanted to be part of the modern world.

My father was a very kind, gentle person and had a great sense of humor. Mama loved to laugh, but not like my father. She was much quieter. He did all the grocery shopping because my mother never had a chance to get out of the kitchen. Cooking for at least twelve people every day was a full-time job.

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From the time I was about eight years old, I remember many beggars coming to our kitchen door looking for a meal or a little money. We didn’t have a lot, but my mother never turned anyone away and always made sure they had something to eat. I remember my brothers saying, Ma, they all know you. I’ll bet they put a big X on our door so the beggars know where to come to eat.

We lived on a business street called Ogden Avenue. Most of the buildings were three stories high, with a business on the ground floor and two apartments above the store. We lived in a third floor walk-up. There were no elevators in apartment buildings in our neighborhood. The mix of people on our block was pretty evenly divided between Jewish and Irish Catholic with a mix of names like Kelly and Cohen, but we respected each other and we all got along very well.

Our apartment had six rooms but we only had one bathroom. Can you imagine twelve people in one apartment with one bathroom? Well let me tell you, it was tough.

I’m going to get