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mariatellsstories · 1 year

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Liverwurst

Newark, NJ – 1966

Located on Branford Place in downtown Newark, New Jersey, Finkler's Delicatessen was run by Hal Finkler since 1942. It's now 1966 and Hal still pickles his own legendary corn beef and his potato pancakes are a must.

The deli's interior has always had a sparse appearance because after all, this isn't some foo-foo restaurant. Customers come in for the serious business of pastrami on rye, matzah ball soup, and the best liverwurst in town. There's a poster of Shea Stadium next to an autographed photo of Jerry Lewis:

To Hal

From one nutty Jew to another.

Thanks for the liverwurst.

Jerry Lewis 1954

On the opposite wall, hangs a framed newspaper article with the headline: Father And Son Serve Up Deli-cious Brisket. The photo depicts a much younger, beaming Hal with his arm around a young boy. The resemblance is stunning. Both wearing their stark white aprons.

The photo had not aged well. It was dated March 1, 1951 and had partially turned blue from ten years of afternoon sun.

Today, what hair Hal does have around the sides is winter-white. His head conveniently

has a bald spot where his yarmulke fits perfectly. One can assume that the yarmulke is worn for religious reasons and definitely not to cover a bald spot.

Hal's eyes are kind. His mustache is complicated. His face is wrinkled in all its happy places. It serves as a road map to a happy life.

Hal is surprisingly quick on his feet. He brings a level of urgency to helping those who need him; even if the need is a corned beef on rye.

Two of his fingers are crooked from the arthritis he ignores.

Hal sees his place behind the deli counter as a stage to perform. Being quite animated, he speaks dramatically in loud often melodic tones yet can cut one to the quick if they give him attitude.

Hal is training a new counter girl. She listens intently and smiles at Hal with Santa-like appreciation.

“Don't ever forget” he explains to the girl. The way to judge any deli is by the liverwurst. If they don't have good liverwurst then they don't have bupkis!” declared Hal. “Come with me....Nancy is it?”

The girl nods, “Yes Mr. Finkler.”

Nancy Gold is a smart, talented and shy girl. Secretly, she fantasizes about studying French cuisine at the Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, France. She feels shoe-horned into a pre-ordained life by her father's expectations. Working at Finkler's is her rebellion and right now and she's loving it. Nancy is twenty-four and is pretty in a flawed, accessible way. She doesn’t stop the party when she walks in, but you’d like to get to know her. Her golden eye-color, olive complected skin, and coffee brown hair gives the effect of a warm cinnamon roll. Her vulnerable quality masks a strength even she doesn’t know exists. Once Nancy let someone in, she was impossible to forget. There was something about her that crawled inside a person and built a nice comfy home there.

Hal opens the refrigerator case and scoops out a tiny portion of liverwurst onto a wooden spoon.

“Here. Taste this” Hal said handing Nancy the spooned precious cargo. She spoons herself the portion and clearly savors it in her examination.

Wide-eyed Nancy says, “I didn't think I liked liverwurst but this is delicious!”

Hal puffed his chest and beams. “A girl with good taste!” he laughs.

Nancy hands him an order that had just come in over the phone. Hal leans over the meat slicer to make a corned beef sandwich. As, he talks to Nancy the slices of meat fall from either side of the machine. “Slicing is the most important part of the sandwich” he explains. “The slices have to be thin and tender. The sandwich has to have a certain feel when you bite into it. That's how you can tell it was made by a genuine Jewish deli!”

Hal finishes slicing the meat. He lays it on top of a slice of the dark rye bread. “Then here is where the artistry comes in.” he said as he spreads a thin layer of mustard, a slice of tomato, a sprinkle of salt and pepper and closes the sandwich, not forgetting to pack the sandwich with a small order of fries , two sour dill pickle halves, and a side of coleslaw.

Looking over at Nancy, he twinkles, “This is what I sell to my customers. Quality, authentic Jewish food like Jews have eaten for years.”

Hal's son Jerry enters the deli as the little bells above the door ting-a-lings. “Hey Pop!” he says as he navigates his way behind the counter and peruses bread selections. “I thought you'd be watching your Bonanza about now.”

Jerry has a woolly mustache like his father, bushy hair, and round glasses. He always wears a tye-dye shirt. He thinks they're hip. Growing up with the last name of Finkler, many people feel compelled to share their Finkler's Delicatessen memories with him which helps develop his sense of community. However, on some level, he resents the responsibility that comes with the name. Although Jerry is bright, warm, witty and loves to listen. He also is passionate about his own opinions.

Hal turns on the small black and white television set on top of the refrigerator where the sodas are kept.

“No. It comes on in about twenty minutes but thanks for reminding me. I'd hate to miss it!” said Hal.

Jerry shakes his head as he squirts mayonnaise on a slice of rye bread. “I don't know why you even watch that show, Pop. It idealizes men in our history that weren't always ideal.”

“Well, well, well I guess the money I spent on Berkeley wasn't wasted after all!” said Hal. “I'll tell you what, Son, when you take over the deli you can watch whatever you want!” Hal laughs.

“I have a shop, Pop.” Jerry reminds his father, “I sell posters.”

Hal hands Jerry a small tin bowl of lox. “Here. This is fresh. Eat.”

Jerry takes the bowl. “Thanks Pop.”

“I'll have you know that Hoss was a mensch last week! There was this badly injured Indian that was hurt by a bunch of goyum so he starts a fight with Hoss.” Hal says as he hands Jerry a plate of sliced onions. “But then Hoss tries to help teach the Indian not to be angry at the white man. You should've seen it, Jerold! It was beautiful!”

Jerry stands frozen in indignation.

“Come on, Pop. Do you have any idea how racist that is?” Jerry says as he sits at one of the small tables with his plated sandwich. “I mean Pop, you do know that Indians have plenty right to be angry and mistrustful of the whites, right? These white people came in and stole their land, destroyed their reservations, raped their women and their land for that matter. And where does Hoss get off thinking he can teach anything? Besides, he's as dumb as a bag of rocks, Pop. Everyone knows that.”

Hal rebuked, “No. Hoss is a Men....”.

“And by the way Pop, these goyum still have never been held accountable.” Jerry emphasized as he watched his father wiping down a neighboring table.

“Well, maybe.” Hal relents. “I just thought Hoss was being real nice is all.”

“Okay Pop.” Jerry smiles and looks away.

Nancy enters from a back room wiping her hands on her apron.

“I'm done folding the boxes Mr. Finkler. Is there anything...” She looks up and notices a man with black curly hair, wearing a blue tie-dye shirt sitting at one of the tables.

“Nancy!” Hal shouted. “Have you meet my son Jerold?”

“No Mr. Finkler. I haven't.” Nancy replied sheepishly.

“He's a bit meshuggeneh but he's a Finkler.” Hal gives her a Santa wink. “Come over here Jerold! Where's your manners?”

Jerry gets up and walks over to Nancy.

“Nice to meet you Nancy!” Then he leans in just over her left ear, “Is he treatin' you right?”

“Oh yes Mr. Finkler. Mr. Finkler is a very nice man!”

Jerry smiles. “Just call me Jerry. Welcome to Finkler's. If you need anything let me know.”

“He should be so lucky.” said Hal.” Okay now let's see what we can do about those boxes.”

Hal disappears to the backroom and Nancy follows. She stops and turns around.

“It was nice meeting you Mr....uh Jerry. Goodbye.”

Jerry smiles as he waves, “You say goodbye, I say hello.”

Nancy blushes and returns to the backroom.

Ting-a-ling-a-ling went the brass bell above the door as a man enters and walks up to the counter.

Jerry meets the man from behind the counter.

“Can I help you with anything?” asked Jerry.

“I want a turkey and cheddar on white with every vegetable you got, and mustard.”

“Gladly!”

Jerry quickly makes the sandwich exactly as the man requested. The man pays, finds a table, scarfs down the sandwich in three large bites.

“That was disgusting!” the man bellowed. “I want a refund!”

From behind the counter, Jerry tips his head toward the door.

“Door's to your left.”

“I said I wanted a refund!”

“Door's to your left.”

“I want a refund right now!”

“I want to be a billionaire. Door's to the left.”

“You know....I happen to know the owe...”

Hal returns to the counter, stands aside his son, “No you don't. Door's to the left.”

The man gives a scornful snort and kicks the door on the way out of the deli.

Hal and Jerry look at each other.

Jerry says, “But he loved the hell out of that sandwich!” Jerry puts his hand on his father's shoulder, they both toss their heads back and let go of a big belly laugh.

Jerry and Harry have been friends since the third grade at Lafayette Street Elementary School in Newark and have been roommates for the past five years. About two years previously, Jerry started to complain how his father was putting a lot of pressure on him to be a partner with him at the deli and then ultimately take over.

“That's not my scene, Harry” he complained. “I love my pop but I gotta do my own thing, man.” Then he asks Harry “You can relate, right Harry? I mean you don't want to be an ad man on Madison Avenue like your pop, am I right?”

Harry often didn't answer him. He was listening on some level but because he smoked a lot of pot and was always more interested in drawing and sketching, one might assume he wasn't paying any attention. But Jerry knew all this. This had always been their dynamic. The way it usually goes is that Jerry does all the talking, decision making, and dreaming for the both of them. Harry would smoke pot and be creative for the both of them.

Harry Hendricks has such a typical hippie look that he could blend in and disappear inside a R. Crumb poster. He is extremely tall and has long stringy brown hair. Wrapped around his forehead is a bright red headband. Harry's eyes are hidden behind gold-wired sunglasses shaded with the iridescent colors of an oil slick. Although his multi-colored shirts are hip and groovy, he wears the same one for a week. He comes from wealth but neither embraces it or rebels against it. Instead he takes the road of complacency.

But the funny thing about Harry is that out of nowhere, he'll bring up something Jerry said a week ago which would confirm that he indeed was listening.

It all started one day at their apartment when Harry looked up from his sketch pad at Jerry and said, “So, if you don't dig the idea of working with your old man, why don't you just just go off and do your own thing?” Then Harry returned to his sketching.

The very next day, Jerry bursts through Harry's room and announced, “Harry! I think we should go into business together!”

Silence.

Harry inhales the joint that's pinched between two stained fingers until its embers start to glow.

“Dude,” Harry said. “What would we do? I mean are you making all your nowhere plans for nobody? ” Harry laughs at himself.

“Does it even matter, man?” Jerry asks. Then he stands over Harry, smiles and says, “We don't have a point of view, know not where we're going to – sounds a bit like you and me.”

“Yeah man!” Harry agreed. “But you're trippin' if you think we can just go out and start something. Besides, I'm doing my own thing right here.”

“Well, let's start something, man. Something where you can draw and get high all you want!”

Silence.

“Hey Jerry, I ran out of papers. Do you have any?”

A frustrated Jerry sighs. He burred his hand into his right jean pocket, pulled out a package of Zig Zag rolling papers and had a revelation.

“HARRY! I got it!”

Jerry holds the Zig Zag rolling papers up toward the ceiling.

“LET'S OPEN UP A HEADSHOP!”

Just gimme the papers, man.”

“It's perfect! Just think about it, man. We can sell your artwork and pot paraphernalia, play Beatles music all day and make money while we're doing it!”

Silence.

“Harry, can you maybe talk to your pop about putting up the bread?”

“Yeah maybe. My old man keeps trying to bribe me to do something...you know, outside of this apartment.”

“Well dude? Whaddya say?”

Harry places his sketch pad on the plastic milk crate in front of him.

“Okay man, but not just Beatles, man. Jethro Tull too.”

Now, two years later, they indeed have a headshop on Ferry Street less than a mile from Finkler's Deli. They named it The Glass Onion. The Glass Onion has it's own unique sights and sounds. There is also a pungent, smokey blend of combined odors from ongoing burning incense, cigarettes, and Thai stick. Maybe as a nod to his father, Jerry put a little rope with bells on it on the front door to signal the when customers enter the shop. But because of the headshop music is played so loud, no one has ever heard the bells.

They sell the usual headshop wares such as “tobacco” paraphernalia, glass “art”, comic books, candles, incense, and sketches by “local artists” (Harry). Most of all, The Glass Onion is known for their collection of posters. Most of the shop's square footage is used to display posters. One section is dedicated to rock band posters and t-shirts. Another, is more for bohemian style posters. In the front window,in an elaborate display are the coveted R. Crumb Fritz the Cat and Keep On Truckin' posters.

Jerry's favorite part of the shop is the black-light room within an alcove at the back of the shop where they displayed the psychedelic black-light posters. The psychedelic posters there explode with bright purples, oranges, neon greens and yellows.

Most of the time, Harry can be found behind the glass display cases filled with pipes, bongs, roach-clips, rolling papers drawing with colored pencils. Next to him, the turntable plays Thick As A Brick over and over.

It's morning and no one is at The Glass Onion except for Jerry and Harry. A high Harry is eating an Abba Zaba bar with utter facination. His drawings are spread across the glass casings. He holds up the last remaining bite.

“How come something that has a taste that is perfect to only have the peanut butter inside make you so thirsty?”

“It's probably just cotton mouth.” teases Jerry.

“Hey, ya wanna go to lunch?” asks Harry.

“It's ten-thirty.” cautions Jerry. “You just got here!”

“Okay then. I'll catch you later dude.” With that, Harry was out he door.

Once again, Jerry finds himself alone. Alone with the work.

Jerry is closing up the Onion. The phone rings. Jerry wonders who would want rolling papers at 10pm. He laughs at obvious.

“May I speak with Jerold Finkler, please?”

“Speaking.” she doesn't sound like a stoner.

“Yes, Mr. Finkler, I am nurse Jenifer Hennessy from Newark Beth Israel Hospital.” Jerry's hand tightens around the receiver. The nurse continues. “Unfortunately, your father was brought into the emergency room. We believe he's had a stroke. He's in room 323. Please stop at the nurse's desk on the way so we can give you a hospital pass.”

Pause.

“Is he gonna be okay?” his voice cracks.

“Your father's doctor, Dr. Segal, will be here until 11:30 this evening if you would like to talk to him. He's with your father now.”

“Thank you.” Jerry hangs up the phone.

He looks at the watch his father gave him for his bar mitzvah. It's 10:30pm. The Waterbury Men's wristwatch has been running for the last thirteen years. Every night before bed, Jerry thinks of father as he winds the watch.

Jerry sees the approaching cab through the rain from under his leather jacket. As he rides to the hospital. He feels completely unprepared. Pop was always there when the world was upside down. Through JFK's assassination, race riots right outside the deli and even Mom's death – Pop was always there for a hug, for a lecture, for a sandwich.

Jerry arrives at Newark Beth Israel Hospital. With a ding, the metal elevator doors split open to a long narrow stark white tiles hallway. There is a slight echo of his shoes walking on the marble floor as he approaches the nurse's station.

“Excuse me, My pop is Hal Finkler....I think he's in room...”

“Mr. Finkler! Over here!”, Nancy waves him over.

Jerry nods to the nurses and approaches Nancy. She still has her deli apron on with the usual mustard and pen marks. A tear-stained face looks up at Jerry. She proceeds to explain to him a rough timeline of what happened. A dreamlike state washes of Jerry. He tries to stay in the moment. His mind falls. He was only able to get a few words: yelled, rushed, dropped, and wouldn't move.

He thanks her and heads to room 323. The room is dimly lit. The glow for beeping machines casts a soft light upon Hal's face. Jerry is struck by how fragile his father looks. This isn't Pop. This looks like a mannequin of Pop. He moves closer to the bed and wraps his hand around his father's. It's not cold but it is not warm. On the side table is his father's spectacles. Suddenly, Jerry is reminded of when Finkler's won the coveted award for being the best delicatessen in New Jersey. He had never seen his father so happy.

“Jerold! The newspaper will be here in an hour to take a picture and I can't find my glasses anywhere!”

Jerry remembers he and his father panicking and looking all over the deli only to find them smack-dab in the middle of a bowl of liverwurst.

“Pop! I found them!” cheered eleven year old Jerry. Hal came over and put his arm around his son. Hal put the liverwurst covered spectacles on his face just to make Jerry laugh. “Thanks son! How do I look?” They laughed. After Hal rinsed of his spectacles he returned them to his face. “Oy! Now you've got schmutz all over you. Go put on a clean apron on for the picture.”

“Me? You mean I get to be in the picture, Pop?”,

“Of course, Jerold. Without you organizing the spices and slicing the rye we'd be have bupkis!”

Hal rubs the top of young Jerry's crew cut.

BEEP

Now, the sight of his unconscious father cuts right through Jerry. Pop was always there.

“I'm so sorry, Pop.”

Later, Nancy joins Jerry in the hospital corridor as he is leaving his father's room. He shares the update the doctor had given him.

“The doctor is in there with Pop. He told me that Pop will survive but that he's not out of the woods. He has a long road to recovery.”

In addition to his fear and sadness came a small measure of hope and relief. They decide to go to the deli to clean up and evaluate whatever next steps should be taken.

It's raining mercilessly as they scurry into the deli. There is ten minutes of quiet. Nancy gets each of them a towl to dry off themselves from the night's rain. They both wonder around trying to find their mental footing. Jerry goes behind the counter. He stands there in his father's hollowed ground. On the back table he recognizes the ingredients to his father's liverwurst. There are scattered spice canisters of black pepper, marjoram, thyme, and mustard seed. Jerry's throat catches as he almost stumbles over the upturned bowls of diced onions and pork livers on the floor. This is where is happened. Jerry kneels down and starts to pick up the bowls. He starts to break down.

Nancy's heart breaks for him. She approaches him from behind. Saving his pride she tells him that she needs a hug. He stands and turns to her. He hugs her tightly. She felt his fear and sadness shutter through him. She cries quiet tears.

He releases her and says that he will be staying upstairs in his father's place until he can igure out what to do with the deli until his father returns.

“That's a good idea, Mr. Finkler,” agrees Nancy. “I'll be here to help if you'd like. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes. I''ll be fine.” He had no idea if he'd be fine. “Can I get a cab for you? It's raining pretty hard out there.”

“I already did, Mr. Finkler. But thank you.”

“Call me Jerry.”

“There's my cab.”

Jerry opens the door for her. The door chimes its ting-a-ling. He takes her hand, looks into her little face. “Thank you, Nancy.” She looks down. “No I mean it. You barley know me but you've helped me through a dramatic and personal situation. Pop will be proud of you.”

She nods and tears start to come, she moves quickly outside and into a waiting cab. Jerry watches the back of the cab become small and distant. The pouring rain expresses Jerry's sorrow, the thunder his anger, and the lightening his guilt. The blurry street lights run down the window like tears. Jerry shuts off the deli lights. He seats himself on one of the plastic chairs, puts his face in his hands.

“I'm so sorry, Pop.”

It's 10am. Jerry wakes up in his father's bed. For a moment he forgets where he is and why. Then the earth falls as he remembers last night's events. Too soon, the phone rings. It rings again. Jerry picks up the phone and says nothing.

“Hello? Mr. Finkler?”

He takes a deep breath, “No. I mean yes I am but I'm his...”

“It's me, Nancy, Mr. Finkler. I'm downstairs at the front door.”

“Oh! I'll be right down.” He almost hangs up but then returns the receiver to his ear, “Nancy?”

“Yes, Mr. Finkler?”

“You have to stop calling me Mr. Finkler. Mr. Finkler is my Pop. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Call me Jerry.”

“Okay, Jerry.” Nancy acquiesces. “Now please come downstairs. I think you will be quite pleased.”

Jerry makes his way down the back stairs. The deli hasn't changed in forty years. But this morning, it was missing it's deli smells; corn beef, fresh baked bagels, matzah balls, and chicken fat. Sunlight floods the front of the deli. Jerry sees Nancy waving from outside the glass front door. He opens the door for her.

“Wait!” she takes his hand and guides him out onto the rain-washed sidewalk. “Look!”

Jerry lifts his head for the first time that morning and is overcome with what he sees.

Half of the block in front of him and half of the block behind him are covered with rows and rows of flowers, get well cards, and balloons. Various photos of Hal's smiling mustache face with each of his regulars are peppered throughout this colorful garden of love for his father.

More and more people come to put more flowers. These are people Jerry has known all his life. They were all there; old ladies that babysat him and shop owners that his father would fight, laugh and play checkers with. There were people there that Jerry went to school with, and all their children.

One by one they would come and hug Jerry.

“Your Pop is going to be just fine.”said Mrs. Feingold.

“Your Pop is such a mensch! God is watching over him, Jerry.” consoles Mr. Greenblatt.

“Miss Nancy? Will you be having Finkler Friday this week?” asked Mrs. McDaniels.

“Maybe next week, Mrs. McDaniels.” assures Nancy.

Jerry steps out from the sidewalk so everyone could see him., I want to thank each and everyone of you. Your love and prayers will have him back in no time. I will have the deli back open for you in a couple of days. I'm not my Pop, but it'll have to do. Again, thank you all for all of this.”

Jerry feels a tug on his pant leg. He looks down and it's Mrs. Solomon's little girl, Hannah.

“I made this for Mr. Finkler. He's real nice. Can you give it to him? My mom said it will make him feel better.” She skips back to her mother.

Jerry took the large paper and sees two stick figures: one very small and the other with a large mustache.

“What about this, Jerry?” Nancy whispers. This community loves your father.

Jerry shakes his head. “I knew, but I didn't know. I wish I would have spent more time here with Pop.”

“It's okay Jerry. You're here now...when he needs you.” They go inside.

Jerry smiles at Nancy, “Did you arrange all that?” he asks suspiciously.

“Mr. ….uh...Jerry, I just got here. Don't you realize that these people feel very connected to you and your father?”

Jerry shakes his head, “I just don't know what I should do. I don't even know what to do first.”

“Why don't we start by sitting down. I'll make us some coffee.” Nancy goes behind the counter.

Jerry takes a seat at one of the tables.

“In the last few years, I've only been here ever month or so. I don't know what his routine is.”

“Don't worry about all that right now.” assures Nancy. “I know your father's routine backwards and forwards. Cream? Sugar?”

“No. Just black thanks.”

Nancy brings over two steaming Styrofoam cups and hands one to Jerry. He holds the cup with both hands as the aroma comforts him. Nancy takes a seat next to him.

“I know everything is happening so fast and all at once. But if it's okay, I'd like to help in any way I can.”

Jerry is quiet.

Still looking down into his coffee, “I'd really appreciate that. Thanks Nancy.”

There is a rat-tat-tat on the front window of the deli. A tiny white haired woman with a walker waves at Jerry. It's Mrs.Rosen. She blows him a kiss and goes on her way.

Jerry worries aloud. “What if Pop doesn't get well enough to be able to run the deli? Do I sell the place? What if he doesn't come back at all?” his voice cracking.

Nancy puts her arm around him. “Whoa! Let's just take this one bagel at a time, eh?”

It's been a week since Jerry woke up at his own apartment. He stayed overnight just to reset himself. But now morning has broken and he feels he needs to figure out how he can help his father and what he's going to do with the deli. He called the hospital and his father is not any worse. He has been in and out of consciousness for the last couple of days. They say it is still too soon for him to have visitors. Jerry finishes up cooking his eggs when Harry comes home.

“Dude! I can't do it anymore.”, Harry protests. “You just left the place and I can't do everything.”

“Harry, you just need to hang on. Call if you have any questions. We just got to hang on. I next a couple of weeks or so to sort everything out for Pop.”

“A couple of weeks! No way!”

“Harry, you have to understand. I know you like my Pop.”

“Yeah, he's a better dad than the one I have. Maybe I should sell the Onion, Dude.”

“Whoa! Wait a minute, Harry! Hold on. Let's talk about this. Come on, let's sit down.”

Harry flops down on the couch. Jerry moves Harry's laundry of the chair and onto the dining table and sits down.

What is it exactly that bothers you about the Onion?'

Harry squirms a bit. “Well, it's not the store. I mean it's a cool place. The people come in and dig my art.”

“Harry, if it's all the accounting and ordering I can still do that. Is it selling things to the customers?”

“Truth is, I just want to do my art, Dude.”

I know. I know. Tell you what, Why don't you close up the Onion for one week so you can think about it. At that time, we'll talk and see what happens. Okay?

“Okay. That sounds good.”

Harry, just promise me that you won't do anything until then, okay?”

Harry smiles at Jerry. “You know that I already don't do anything” He offers Jerry the glass bong.

Jerry waves off the offer and pours ketchup on his eggs.

“I got to get back to the deli.”

“Okay man, I really do think it's cool how you're coming through for your dad.”

“Thanks Harry. I needed that.”

It's noon by the time Jerry gets back to the deli and Nancy is finishing up wrapping up a loaf of rye bread for a customer. She's anxious.

“Oh, I'm so glad you're here. I need your help. They're all going to be here at about 3:30”

“Who?” asks Jerry.

“Jerry, it's Finkler Friday!” Nancy is putting colorful plastic tablecloths onto the tables.

“So, what is this Finkler Friday all about?”

“You mean you don't know? Mr. Finkler never told you?”

He feels a little sad at the idea of his father not telling him something.

“Listen, “ explains Nancy. “It all started a couple of years ago. Your father would offer samples of different bagels, or a taste of lox or liverwurst. So he started to add a little bit more to his inventory. Then, Mr. Stanton came in with his little boy Raymond. You know them, right?”

Jerry nods his head no.

Nancy continues, “Well, anyway, Mr. Stanton was laid off from the steel mill and times were tough. Especially since his wife died. That day, Mr. Stanton came in like always and ordered a cinnamon bagel for his boy. As he was paying Mr. Finkler for it, your father noticed that poor Mr. Stanton had lost a lot of weight and had sunken eyes. He asked Mr. Stanton when was the last time he had eaten. Mr. Stanton said that they would be eating a big breakfast that next day at a local mission. So, your father told Mr. Stanton to wait where he stood for two minutes. Your father went to the back and came back two small paper bags. Each packed with pastrami sandwiches, pickles, bagels, and cream cheese. He gave them to Mr. Stanton and his little boy and wouldn't accept any payment for the cinnamon bagel. He told them to come back next Friday and he may have a little more for them.

“So, is that how Finkler Friday happened?” asks Jerry.

“Nope. Not yet. The next day, he asked me if there were any other people coming in that were suffering from the steel mill lay off, I told him that there were a few. But some of them stopped coming in because they could afford to buy anything. Your father twisted up his face and pulled on his mustache, you know, like he does when he's thinking.”

Jerry nods.

“Oh yes. I know it well.

“Well he told me to give him a list by the end of the week of anyone I noticed that was really hurting. Fast forward a month later and Mr. Finkler had a dozen families come in to which he would distribute that week's leftovers between them.”

“And then it was called Finkler Fridays?”\

“Yes.”

“So, how many are we expecting today?”

Nancy looks at her list, “Twenty-two. Mostly children.”

“How do you have enough food?

Nancy brings Jerry a big blue box with his father's face on it. Written on the box was:

Taking Donations!

To Provide Food For Families On Finkler Fridays!

The is a slit on the top for donation.

“Mr. Finkler also made a deal with Jim, the grocer on Mulberry St. to provide each Finkler Friday family with on bag of groceries that can be used to cook and clean at home.

In exchange, Finkler's Delicatessen would feed them every Friday afternoon.

“I can't believe I never knew about any of this.” Jerry mutters.

Promptly at 3:30 five families are seated at tables with paper plates, paper cups, paper napkins, and filled paper bags. For the children Nancy had scattered dreidels, ring whistles, yo-yos, and rattles for the babies.

Nancy steps into the middle of the deli floor,

“Thank you all for coming. I hope you all enjoy the food. We a are missing Mr. Finkler and wish him a complete and speedy recovery.” There is a smattering of clapping and sympathetic nods.

Nancy continues, “Today, marks the one year anniversary of the first Finkler Friday. We started out just wanting to feed a few hungry friends and their families. But now, thanks to a lot of generous customers, we were able to add care packages for those that cannot come to Finklers but are hungry at home. I'm sure most of you know Mr... uh Mr. Finkler's son Jerry.” she waves Jerry over. He comes and takes a bow. Nancy whispers something in his ear.

“I've known Jerry from second grade through high school!”, said Mr. Preston.

“He use play tiddlywinks with me when I was little,”, brags nine years old Sylvia.

“Yes. He's a good boy.” responds Mrs. Goldberg. “But he still needs a haircut!”

Nancy is passing out colored construction paper, little bowls of paste, raw noodles, pipe cleaners, scissors and colored markers.

“Nancy and I thought all of you would all enjoy making some get well cards for my Pop...Mr. Finkler. I'm sure when he is ready, he will read all of them and will surely lift his spirits!”

“Jerry, can you please turn on the record play behind the counter?” asks Nancy. Jerry gently puts the needle down on the record and suddenly they all feel the joyful punch Sinatra with Come Fly With Me.

“Your idea?” Jerry asks.

“Nope. Your father's because...of course..” then they both say. “Hoboken!” They laugh. It is a joyful day, Finkler Friday. Jerry feels proud of what his father had started. The night had sneaked up on them. Nancy Takes off her apron and sets it in the deli 's hamper.

“Jerry, you should be proud of yourself. You did good. You really did.”

Jerry closes the deli front door and turns its sign from

COME IN WE'RE OPEN to SORRY WE'RE CLOSED

“Nancy, if you weren't here helping me, saving me, I'd just be walking around bumping into things.”

Nancy laughs. “You'll be fine Jerry.”

The deli's mounted television set floats out the theme from Bonanza. When it hits Jerry's ear, he clearly get anxious yet he laughs.

“Pop sure loves this show. God knows why.”

“Because Hoss is a mensch, Jerry! Hoss is a mensch!” Nancy teases as she puts her coat on.

“Oh you heard!” Jerry acknowledges.

“Don't forget to put the roast beef back in the case before you leave.”

“I'll tell you what, I'll run and do that right now.”

“Okay. I have your father's keys. So, I'll be here early tomorrow.”

“You taking a cab tonight?”

“No. I only do that when the weather is bad.”

“I'd like to walk you home, if that's okay.”Jerry asks nervously.

“Are you sure? Aren't you too tired? Is it out of your way?” Nancy responds just as nervously.

Jerry tips his head to one side and smiles. “Yes, no and yes.” He puts the roast beef into the chilled case, grabs his coat and opens the front door for Nancy. Ting-a-ling-ling went the bells on the door.

“You know, every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings!” Jerry says with a wink.

Nancy smirks, “Whadya talkin'? You're Jewish!” They both laugh as the door closes behind them.

Once they start out their walk on Branford Place, their conversation was easy, warm, comfortable. Nancy stops.

“Here I am.”

Jerry looks up at he two story Tudor style home at which they have arrived.

“I'm very impressed.” Jerry comments. “I don't have any friends who could afford to live here in South Ironbound. It's the nicest part of Newark.”

Nancy smirks. “That's why my father bought it. So people can be impressed.”

“Wow!” remarked Jerry.

Nancy looks down and giggles.

“Are you blushing?” He gently lifts her chin with his finger.

“Jerry?” Nancy asks while Jerry is still holding her face.

“Yes Nancy?

“Are you going to kiss me right now?”

“I was hoping to, yes. Is that okay?”

“Yes. That would be fine.” she closes her eyes and prepares herself.

Nancy's awkward nature whether calculated or organic endears Jerry even closer to her.

So, right thereThere, on Mulberry St. under the streetlight, he kissed her.

The next few days, Jerry along with Nancy try to get the deli on its feet, he would spend many late nights trying to figure out his father's unique bookkeeping practices. Jerry had approached his accounting for the Glass Onion very clearly and very simply; with a ledger, pencil and paper. Very slowly , and with time. Not Hal. First of all, it took two days for Jerry to even find that Hal kept all his paperwork in the trunk of his car.

There was something called a general journal where all transactions were recorded. Then there were account ledgers where the transactions were supposed to be entered into the appropriate accounts. Jerry notices that nothing had been added in eight months. There is a lot of lose paperwork as well as many empty folders. The folders that are filled were mostly mislabeled. The bakery invoices are mixed with the plumbing invoices and his Money Owed folder had nothing in it but Finkler special sale fliers.

Last week, Jerry took solace in making an improvement on his own. There was hope. After getting tangled and untangled in all of Hal's numbers, he realized that Hal hadn't raised his prices in ten years. Yet, the cost of doing business had, of course gone up. The answer? He has to create a whole new menu. He leaves some pricing the same but raised prices on what sold the best.

Jerry raises the over prices 10%. Just that alone gave the deli some breathing room. That, and the fact that in spite of Hal's accounting not being current, he was evidently paying his bills. He owed nothing.

Jerry feels more hopeful about his father's deli with each obstacle he overcomes. But he is overwhelmed. Everything is contingent on what happens with his father. Jerry is constantly fighting off feelings of anger and frustration. This is his father's life, not his. But he is increasingly realizing what his father means to the community and more important, to himself.

Nancy has the day off. This gives Jerry a chance to think about her from a distance. Where does she fit into his life? Is she interested in him being a bigger role in her life? He decides, at least for now, to enjoy the sweetness that comes from a budding romance. Besides, Jerry really needs her help in the deli. She seems to be in step with how his father ran things.

Jerry leans over and kisses Nancy gently and sweetly. They spend the next moments in the quiet except for the sounds of slurping as they smile and watch each other eat their matzoh ball soup.

It's the third week Jerry has spent in his father's bed. He lays there thinking of good times with father as well as the times they would butt heads. Lately, the most frequent thoughts of him took the form of a question Jerry would ask himself over and over again. What would Pop do?

This was about to be put to the test.

Jerry gets up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain. In his father's bedroom just over the bed is a skylight from which the moon glows; no rain. He gets up and looks out the window on to Branford Place. The street is dry and quiet accept for two cats chasing on another. But it sounds like rain. He goes to the bathroom down the hall and everything is the way it should be.

Then he hears a splash! It was coming from the deli! Jerry ran downstairs and slipped on the way down. Everything was wet and the floor of the deli was three feet underwater

What would Pop do?

As Jerry waits for the plumber to show up, he sits at the only place he can sit; a high stool. The deli chairs are floating around in the water, passing each other like cargo ships in the Atlantic ocean.

Jerry tries to go around to assess the damage the best he can so he can at least establish some dialogue with the plumber.

1. A clog in the sink had backed up

2. The dishwasher is still shooting water out of itself

3. Had a clog that backed up

4. Woke up to a flood. Dishwasher flooded.

5. Toilet evidently had flooded

“Nancy?” Jerry holds the phone receiver in his dry hand. “You wouldn't happen to know where the shut off valve is to the water, would ya?”

Jerry waits in front of the deli for Harry to pick him up. The sign he had put in the front window mocked him as a failure.

SORRY WE WILL BE

CLOSED FOR ONE

WEEK FOR REPAIRS

He can already see Harry a couple of blocks down at a red light. Jerry really liked Harry. With all his father's money, he could drive any car he wanted. So, of course, Harry prefers not a mustang, not a Corvette, not even a VW bus but a brown 1962 Chevrolet Corvair Monza Spyder.

“Get in!” orders Harry after reaching over to open the passenger door. “Hey what's going on with the deli, man?”

“The place flooded.” Jerry sighs. “Last night I woke up and the downstairs was under water.”

“Oh wow. That's a bummer, man. You gonna tell you dad?”

“No way, man.” I think I got it taken care of. It'll cost and the deli has to be shut down for a week but after that, I think we'll be fine. How's the Onion doing?”

“Yeah man, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I might have to sell the place.”

“Oh no, Harry! You just gotta hang on until I work all this out with my Pop.”

Harry parks the car.

“I know you're going through a lot right now. I won't do it right away but it ain't working out so well right now.

“Harry, I think I have and idea. I can't tell you yet but I think it will solve everything for you and maybe even for Dorrie. But you gotta keep the place. Give me one month.”

“Sure Dude. Okay.”

“Now let's go up and see my Pop.”

Jerry enters Hal's hospital room. He is surrounded by cream colored tiles and white walls. He is hit by the typical hospital smell of disinfectant, urine, and bleach. The curtains are closed and the air is dense and depressing. The television mounted on the wall is murmuring out the news. Hal lays in the bed in the middle of the room. Jerry slowly approaches the bed. Hal's eyes are closed. He has oxygen traveling up his nostrils through a thin hose. Jerry stares at his face. This man seems so small and frail. His father is a fraction of the man in Jerry's childhood memories. He remembers when the Newark Chronicle came to do a piece on the deli. Jerry had no idea. The back story was of a neighborhood delicatessen owner and his nine year old son winning the title of 1951 Best Newark Delicatessen. Before they arrived, his father had made him comb his hair and get on a clean apron. All at once flash bulbs were bursting in his eyes. They were asking his father a lot of questions. But most of all, he recalls the look on Hal's face. He was beaming with pride. Jerry tries to imagine that face on the face before him but fails. Jerry notices the hospital chart at the foot of the bed.

He picks up the clipboard and is trying to decipher it's chicken scratch and typewritten hieroglyphics when Jerry hears, “Is that my obituary? I hope it says that died after finding me underneath an avalanche of naked ladies.”

“Pop!” Jerry rushes to his father's side and gives him a gentle but long hug. It brought a tear to Hal's cheek that he didn't even try to hide.

“Is the deli out of business yet?” Hal teases.

“Of course not, Pop.” Technically true. Jerry notices Hal's speech pattern has been slightly affected by the stroke. It has left his father with a very slight paralysis on his left sides.

“How are you son? I hope I didn't worry you.”

“I'm just glad you're here, Pop. You look good!”

“Just so you know Jerold, that when my time does come, I'm not afraid to die and be with your mother again.”

“I wish Mom was here.”

“She is. She is.” comforted Hall. “By the way, is Nancy helping you at the deli? She's a nice girl, Jerold. You should be so lucky.” Hal said with a wink.

“I'd be lost without her. She knows everything about how you run the place. You taught her well, Pop.”

“Well, if you do run into any obstacles with the deli, you know what I always say....the only way out is through.”

“I know. I remember. Oh and by the way, Pop...Santa? Really? You're Jewish. Knowing you, you left your yarmulke under that Santa cap.”

Hal winks. Then his face falls.“I let them down this year.”

“You didn't Pop. But I may have cuz I couldn't be you.”

Hall slowly reaches out a shaky fragile hand up to his son's cheek.

“You're a good boy, Jerold. Your mother would be so proud.”

The television plays the theme from Bonanza. Hal perks up.

“My show! It's Bonanza! Help me sit up, son.”

Jerry adjusts the pillows for his father. The nurse comes by and moves Hal's IV and oxygen hose aside so he can better sit up.

“I see you're feeling better Mr. Finkler.”says the nurse as she looks at her watch and takes Hal's pulse.”

“This is my son Jerold. He's single.”

“Nice to meet you Mr' Finkler. I'm married.” she gives a little laugh. “You may want to step out. I have to check your father's catheter.”

“Jerold, you go back to the deli. I got my Bonanza and the nice nurse here. Try not to burn the place down okay?” teased Hal with a shimmer of a grin under his mustache.

Jerry approaches Harry in the waiting room who looks like a fish out of water.

“With his vitals stabilizing they said that Pop can come home in about six weeks. But he'll have to keep getting physical therapy.”

“Oh man, that's great Jerry!”

Jerry is so relieved about all that. Pop is going to be okay. But at the same time, the reality of his return drops like a bomb. With his father’s physical and possible mental challenges that his father's home and deli are not ready for, at least yet. How am I going to take care of him at home? Who is going to monitor him 24/7? What if something happens at home? All these questions flooded his brain.

As Harry turns down Branford Place, they see police cars and bits of the neighborhood in front of the deli.

“Oh shit! What now?” exclaims Jerry.

“Oh wow man, You got the pigs at your place! You holdin'?”

Jerry looks annoyed. “Come on Harry, park the car somewhere and let's see what the hell is going on.”

The next two weeks of newspapers read:

Finkler's Delicatessen in Newark was vandalized Sunday with a spray-painted message intended to be anti-Semitic, deli owner Jerold Finkler said Monday. “This is the first time in the deli's twenty-seven years that anything like this has occurred.” Finkler said. “Finkler's is one of the only Jewish delicatessens in the area, and we are proud to support the local Jewish community and all members of our community."

“It’s not about what they painted, it really is about the fact that somebody targeted an American Jewish business in Newark, New Jersey, and it was purely intended to be anti-Semitic,” Mayor Leo Carlin told Newark Community Television.

A Jewish deli in Newark, NJ was vandalized on Sunday – its walls spray-painted with anti-Semitic remarks, a window shattered to pieces. Police discovered the words "Jewish pig" could be seen on one of the supermarket's walls as law enforcement searched for the perpetrators.

Jerry looks up at the stars above his father's bedroom skylight feeling naive. He had never experienced anti-antisemitism before. He lied. Jerry thought, Pop lied. He said I that it would never rear it's ugly head in my lifetime. It's so ugly. He sighs deeply. A tiny feminine hand threads itself through the hair on Jerry's chest.

“You okay?” whispered Nancy. She's a bit groggy and snuggles her nose between Jerry's neck and shoulder.

“Yeah Babe. We're gonna be okay.”

Nancy wakes Jerry up with a kiss. He smiles.

“You are the only thing that makes sense in all this chaos.”

“Jerry, you have got to see what is going on downstairs.”

He sighs. “I don't think I can take anymore. I'm going back to sleep.” Comically, he pulls the sheet over his head.

“No, seriously Jerry,” she pulls down the sheet to expose his face. “you're going to love this.”

They arrive at the bottom of the stairs into the deli.

“Look at all this Jerry.”

There is a crowd of people, sweeping, wiping things down, hammering, and such; some he recognizes, some he doesn't. Through the front window, he sees two men carrying a large sheet of glass coming over from across the street. Mrs.Feingold and Mrs Greenblatt are replanting the geraniums that were out front. Nancy and Jerry stand in the doorway.

Nancy puts her arm around his waist. “You are not alone in all this, Jerry.”

Mr. Jones steps up to Jerry with a broad smile.

“My daughter and I are sweeping up glass. Mr. Haskell is puttting up boards to stop people from going inside. Is there anything ele we can do for you, Mr. Finkler?"

“No. I mean you guys are amazing! Thank you. How can I ever re-pay you?” Jerry responds humbly.

“No need, Mr. Finkler. What these punks did was wrong. We take care of each other around here.”

“Wow.” Nancy whispers to herself.

Randal Lewet, Jerry's childhood friend from the boy scouts, puts his hand on Jerry's shoulder. "Jer', I don't know what to expect next if anything but we'll back here tomorrow morning.

You're Pop has been to all of us since we were kids, Jer'.”

“I know. Believe me, I have a new appreciation for my Pop. And thank you, Randy.”

The next day, three days after news of the vandalism broke, more than two dozen residents meet at the deli to continue the recovery process. Jerry and Nancy are handing out sandwiches, Cokes, and cream sodas to everyone that wanted them. Jerry shakes his head in continuing disbelief at the outpouring of generosity, kindness, and decency in his community.

Jerry reports to Nancy, “Mr. Pyle owns the M & M Glass Company, he came all the way from Philly! He actually asked me if he could donate the windows in an attempt to 'make a wrong a right.'” Harry comes to offer his help by painting over the graffiti and A middle aged woman wearing black cat-eye glasses under her tight shiny black bun approached Jerry from behind and taps him on the shoulder.

“Hello, Mr. Finkler?”

Jerry spins around, “Yes, that's me.”

“My name is Mrs. Winter. You probably don't remember me.”

Jerry squints and tips his head trying to jog the memory loose. “I'm sorry...”

“I'm from the community center. You played Santa for us. That was such a great thing you did for Hal...your father.”

“Oh yes! I do remember. I have to confess, I didn't think that was your real name considering the context at the time.”

“Completely understandable.” she offers her gloved hand.

Jerry shakes he hand. “It's so nice to see you...again.”

“Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Well, there are still a few unbroken tables and chairs inside.”

Stepping over the vandal's debris, they go inside the deli.

It's two weeks later and the anticipation of Hal's return is palatable. Jerry and Nancy along with parts of the community have done everything possible to make the senior Finkler feel as welcome, loved, and taken care of as best they can. Jerry spent a week blocking off the back third of the deli floor space to basically recreate everything Hal had upstairs. It was almost as if they were preparing to receive a newborn child. Everyone was buying gifts, blankets, and flowers Jerry knows there is no way his father wanted to be stuck up stairs away from the action, more important, away from his people.

Jerry and Nancy are having dinner at The Leviathan Grill on Springfield Avenue in Newark. Jerry reaches across the table and puts his hand atop hers.

“Thank you so much for getting me through this. I'd truly be lost without you. I can see why my Pop adores you.”

“Jerry, the truth is, you're father was the father I never had. It's the least I can do.

They're treating themselves to a lobster dinner. They have a lot to talk about. Mainly, they are excited about their plan to open up a community center with the grant they received. Mrs. Winters give Jerry the idea that day she came in the middle of chaos. Jerry and Nancy had learned do much in the last few months. Something about constantly putting pieces back together again ignited benevolence from both of them. They want to create a place where families can feel safe and valued – a place where kids can come to learn, laugh and play, and a place where parents can connect to jobs and food if they need it. Nancy and Jerry independently had always wanted to do something like but never expressed it to each other until now. Now they are making their plans. They are realizing that things will fall into place quite nicely. A lot of hard work but gratifying. They will call their community center: LIKE MINDS

All of Hal's neighbors got together and bought Hal a La-Z-Boy rocking recliner upholstered with mustard colored burlap. Jerry rented Ford Country Squire in the form of a 1964 four door station wagon that can accommodate his father's wheelchair.

Jerry parks the car and after filling a few release forms, seats himself in the waiting room waiting for the the orderly to bring out his father. His mind wonders to when Hal taught him how to drive. Jerry found himself in the coveted driver's seat behind the huge white steering wheel of his father's 1949 Pontiac Chieftain. At first, Hal drove them to a large supermarket parking lot about a mile away from home. He parked the Pontiac between two parked cars. “Okay, let's switch seats!” he ordered Jerry. After they switched, his father is slowly had Jerry go through all of the checks (seat belt, mirrors, etc). As soon as Jerry turned the key, it just so happened that both cars on either side of him began pulling out, giving him the sensation that he was rolling backwards. Jerry begin frantically stomping the brake and screaming “Pop! I can't stop!” Hal just threw back his head and had a big belly laugh.

Jerry smiles at the memory just as they roll out Hal. “Pop! You look good!” He had much better color and more spark in his eye. Hal reaches out, in requesting a hug. They embrace.

“I missed you, son.”

“Me too, Pop.”

Jerry and the orderly puts the folded up wheelchair and walker into the back of the station wagon. The orderly hands Hal a cane and helps him into the passenger seat. Hall waves at him through the window. With the window rolled up, the orderly can see Hal miming, “You're a good boy!”.

On the drive home, it was quiet at first. Jerry anticipates his father being worried about the deli.

But instead, “Did I ever tell you how I met your mother?”

“No...I don't think so. Ma may have told me when I was young but I don't recall.”

“I first saw her sitting in the window of her sister Tillie’s grocery store in Brooklyn and was quite taken by her beauty.” Hal looks younger as he relives those moments. “I pursued your mother whenever I saw her in town but she was dating someone else; Murray the Hook. One day I saw her with her sister and I asked her for her phone number.

Jerry's father stops, grins and stares straight ahead.

“Well Pop? Did she give it to you?”

“You're sitting here aren't you?” Hal gives a laugh.

It's quiet for another moment. Jerry's father looks out at the Hudson River. He starts to laugh hardily.

“She gave me a fake phone number and a fake last name!” They both laugh. “But...” Hal puts one victorious, arthritic finger in the air.“I figured it out and tracked her down. Your mother was so impressed with me that she agreed to let me take her out.”

“You're somethin' else, Pop.”

“Yes. Yes, I am something else.”

A large crowd of cheering friends, neighbors, and fellow store owners obscure the deli from view.

“What's this? Such mishigas!”

“Pop, This is all for you. Just be patient a little longer.” Hal is caught off guard at the people rushing to the car as Jerry parks in front of the deli. As the Country Squire wagon approaches the parking space left open for them, Jerry tells his father to close his eyes.

“Why? Is the place on fire? Or maybe you turned it into a Hippie house?”, Hal teases.

“Okay, Pop. I'm getting out now and coming around to get you. Keep your eyes closed! You promise me you'll keep your eyes closed?”

“Okay, okay already.”

Jerry gets the walker out of the trunk of the wagon brings it to the passenger side door. He slowly opens the door and instructs his father that he can open his eye but can only look at his feet.

“My feet? Oy!”

Jerry carefully takes hold of Hal's knees and rotated them toward the open door. He brings the walker a little closer as Nancy comes running over from the crowd.

“Okay Pop. Let's stand you up now.”

Nancy and Jerry slowly and gently pull Hal up to his feet.

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“In a minute, Pop. In a minute.” Jerry winks at Nancy. She giggles.

“Who's that? I know who that is!” Hal, with closed eyes and a large grin., grins and tips his head.

“Okay Pop, open your eyes.”

Hal looks up to see new lettering on the front of the building. “Finkler’s Delicatessen” Everyone applauds. He turns to Jerry and say with a mustache smile,”You've got Chutzpah, my boy. I love it!”

The Finklers head to the front door when Jerry's father sees the caricature of himself painted on the front window. Clearly touched, he stops.

“Harry did that for you, Pop.”

Hal is getting choked up. He carefully turns to the crowd. “Where is he?”

“I'm here Mr. Finkler. You like it?”

“Harry! You're telling me that there's an artist under all that hair! Who knew? I should be so lucky to look this good!” says Hal, playing to the crowd.

“Pop, let's go inside.” Jerry guides his father closer to the door. “I have things to show you and things to tell you.”

The front door is flanked by produce stands with wooden bins full of fruit on one side and vegetables on the other.

“This is a really good idea, son!”

Inside, Hal is shown all the new changes such as the wooded booths with tan colored upholstery, the ice machine, the custard machine, the condiment holders, and drinking glasses with “Finkler's in printed in white. He is happy by what he sees but even more, by what he feels; the essence of what he had built all these years not only still exists but is somehow enhanced by loving hands.

Jerry's father sits in his new Lay-Z Boy recliner as he sees the new menu with his own face caricatured on the front. On a large chalkboard on the wall is written the deli's menu, specials, Bar Mitzvahs, and catering information.

Jerry once again sees the beaming face of his father as he explains how these things came to be.

“Pop, I couldn't have done any of this if it not for Nancy. Nancy? Where are you?”

The crowd of about fifty or so murmurs. Nancy steps from the crowd next to Jerry. She has happy tears in her eyes and kisses both Finklers on the cheek. The crowd is surrounding Hal in his recliner.

Jerry turns to Nancy , “Oh no! We forgot to write something on the board!”

Nancy is worried and can't imagine what she forgot. She had went over everything over and over so this moment would be perfect for Hal.

Everyone watches as Jerry gets up on a milk crate and with chalk in hand writes:

Nancy Gold, will you marry me?

The room fills with gasps, squeals, and whispers. Nancy is stunned as Jerry kneels down before her and offers her an open gray velvet box. In it is a modest but tasteful engagement ring.

A hush spreads through the crowd.

Nancy reaches out and holds Jerry's face in her hands.

“Yes, Jerold Finkler. Of course I'll marry you!

The crowd cheers! Friends, neighbors, fellow shop keepers jumping

Jim the grocer and Harry pass out glasses and fill them with Manischewitz.

Hal calls Jerry over. He whispers, “Your mother would love her. I'm so proud of you son. Help me stand up, will you?”

Hal gets to his feet. He raises his wine as high as he can reach, “To love, to good friends and neighbors. This community has been good to me. I want to thank you all. And most of all, I want to thank my son, Jerold. MAZEL TOV!”

“MAZEL TOV!” the crowd roars back glasses high in the air.

“L'chaim! Says Mrs. Hong.

The people applaud, cheer, laugh and cry. Jerry has one arm around his father and the other around Nancy. He pulls her close and whispers in her ear, “Thank you for bringing my Pop back to me. They all celebrate until Bonanza comes on at 6pm; the moment when Hal Finkler truly is at home.

#delicatessen #father #son #love #fiction #short story #loving

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