Tag Archives: Charles Polizer

#1 Polly: Our Parents, Ida Boshan and Charles Politzer

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There was an enclave of new Boschan and Politzer immigrants in New York City in the early 1900’s where relatives congregated as they emigrated from their birthplaces for a variety of reasons.  My father; to escape the inevitable draft in the army, my mother; to escape an arranged marriage.  The emigres supported one another during the process of adjusting to their new way of life in the United States.  Eventually, they moved on to other parts of the country when opportunities arose.

My mother, Ida Boshan, did not know my father, Charles Politzer, before arriving in New York.  However, each had gravitated to that area where their relatives had already settled and they found that they had relatives in common.  I have learned that Boschans and Politzers had married before them.

A cousin of mine, Lilian Politzer Rubin, told me that our fathers (who were brothers) came from Siefer, Hungary.  My father had done his apprenticeship as a butcher in Vienna, Austria, and, rather than face mandatory conscription into the Austro-Hungarian army, he immigrated to New York around 1906.

My mother also arrived in New York in 1906.  She left home rather than become party to an arranged marriage to a local farmer, perpetrated by her parents.  She grew up in Trnava, Austro-Hungary, which is now Slovakia, the eldest of ten children; two brothers and seven other sisters

Ida Boshan is the lady in the middle, Charles Politzer is the gentleman in the middle
The Boschan family before Ida, on the far right, left for America.

It was the custom then that the oldest girl in the family must marry before the younger daughters could marry, and her younger sisters were already engaged and applying pressure.  Their father had been in Kaiser Franz Joseph’s army in Herzegovina and, later, became an overseer of the Kaiser’s fields, so the family resided on a large plot of land and were farmers.












Though I have been resentful of my father’s attitude that girls were less valued than boys, it also provided me with the impetus to prove him wrong, and to strive to do my best whenever possible.

Between the two of them, I feel that I have inherited healthy and quality genes, a respect and admiration for family, and regard for citizenship.  Hopefully, I have passed some of these qualities on to my own children.

Ida Boschan and Charles Politzer were married in New York city on 3 March, 1907, in a Jewish ceremony and here are their Katubas in English and Hebrew.

#2 Polly: The Politzer Daughters

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My parents met at that Boschan / Politzer enclave in New York City. I do not know the story of how they decided to marry.

But, they were married in New York City on March 3,1907.  After they were married, they produced a daughter every year for four years.  My four older sisters were born in New York City. 


Josephine was born in 1907, Frieda in 1908, Bertha in 1909, and Gertrude in 1910.They lived in a walk-up New York City flat.  My dad, having completed an apprenticeship as a butcher in Vienna, worked in a meat packing plant, going to work early in the morning and putting in a long day.  This was also not an easy life for Mother managing four babies, with the laundry four flights down.

The Girl’s first language was German (Hungarian being the private language between the parents).  English was “picked up” from the environment by the parents until the children started school.  Then, I am told, the children began to insist that English be spoken.  By the time I came along, 9 years after Gertrude, I heard German spoken when adult relatives got together, but English was the prevalent language.


Having grown up on a large farm my mother was not happy with “city life”.…..The family moved from New York City first to Flint, Michigan, and later, to Detroit, where I was born when Gertrude, their youngest was nine years old.  (I learned much later that a birth control devise, a gold ball, had to be removed because it was creating a health problem for my mother.)  Maxine was born three years after me.  Viola was born fifteen months after that.

and still not all Seven Daughters
Polly is in the picture they are holding…..

#4 Polly: Our Mother

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Mother’s role was MOTHER.  She always did what needed to be done.  For the most part she was living the life she expected to live. My mother was very much a loving, generous, caring person who was limited by her lack of education, but, strong in meeting human challenges.

My mother’s schooling stopped at the third grade.  She was deft with her hands, experienced in sewing, crocheting, and knitting, and loved gardening.  She was a husky, healthy woman who responded happily to Hungarian and Austrian music.  We had a victrola and player piano in our house, and she often couldn’t stop her feet from keeping time when the “Old Country” music was played.  She was also skilled in the art of making strudel.  She could stretch that fragile dough across our entire three leaf dining room table and create the flakiest strudel I have ever eaten.

Our “country place” was a magnet for the other relatives, of which there were many in the Detroit area, to arrive either late on Saturday night or early Sunday morning, to spend the weekend.  In the summer, the porch was used by relatives who would arrive with additional mattresses and sleeping gear on Saturday night, after they closed their shops, in order to spend Sunday in the country.

The Aunts would busy themselves cooking and baking for the Sunday Dinner, while the husbands played cards.  We children played ball, climbed trees, went for walks in the woods, picked berries, and, occasionally, raided the trunk in the basement to create costumes, and put on skits to entertain the grownups.

Mother looked forward to these social times because she had no social life other than these.  She never learned to drive.  We had very few neighbors out in the country.  My mother always felt inadequate, but she always kept herself busy with household and family chores, did a little reading, and a lot of canning of the produce from her big garden.

It was while I was in high school that Mother seemed to go into a deep depression: I would come home from school and she appeared to have done nothing all day.  The breakfast dishes would still be on the table.  I tried my best to clean the house and put things in order.  Some days I would find her weeping, but she would make no explanation.  Dad seemed as mystified as anyone.  Mother finally came out of it. (Menopause?)

In the 1950’s she bore the throes of two bouts of colon cancer, but, coupled with diabetes, it was too much and she died at the age of 75, in 1959.

#10 Polly: The Fire

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One October evening Dad came home and announced that we would be going to Temple after supper.  It was Succoth, a Jewish harvest festival, and there would be a special ceremony and treats for the children.  The synagogue was about 15 miles from our house, which resulted in our not going there very often.  But when Dad decided to go, we went.

On the way home, we noticed a bright light as we neared eight mile road.  By the time we reached our driveway, we already realized the glare was our house, engulfed in flames!  Dad dropped us off across the street and raced back to eight mile road where the Wayne county fire station was located.  He said that he plunked down a hundred dollar bill and asked them to come with their equipment and save our house.  He was told that he lived in Oakland County and would have to be serviced from Birmingham which was fifteen miles away.  They would make the call.  He returned, and we all watched the flames devour the inside of our brick house. 

After what seemed to be a long time, we heard the sirens approaching from the north.  As the fire truck made the approach to our driveway, it got stuck too far away from the house for the hoses to reach.  The firemen piled out of the truck and began breaking the windows and smashing the glass front door – helping the flames burn even hotter.  We soon saw that their efforts were worse than hopeless and watched the two upper floors collapse into the basement.  I think I was sent to a neighbor’s to phone Aunt Regina to ask them to come and get us and to bring some blankets because Dad said he would not leave the premises and Mother was determined to stay with him.  The firemen poked around the exterior for a while and then had to tend to the problem of their truck and left the smoldering remains.  Aunt Regina and her husband took we three children to their house.

Dad was concerned about the safe which, undoubtedly, had fallen into the basement along with the contents of the house.  Somehow, Mother and Dad hunkered down somewhere where they could keep warm and also keep watch.  Dad’s premonitions proved to be correct; some time during the night they heard noises.  Dad had armed himself and before long several of the “firemen” appeared, presumably to loot.  Dad threatened them with his weapon and they took off.

With nothing but the clothes on our backs, Dad found a house for us to rent near the butcher shop and Maxine, Viola, and I could walk to school while our house on Southfield rd. was being rebuilt.

The Rebuilt Southfield house

This story is rather interesting.
In the years before “the Depression of 1929” there was a great deal of Anti-immigration 
sentiment which had increased after World War I (1918) and continued to increase. Economic concerns combined with ethnic prejudice ended America’s “open door” immigration policy in the 1920s.
I wonder if the fire at my grandparent’s house was part of this Anti-immigration sentiment of that period, even though they had already been in this country for a decade.

# 11 Polly: The Butcher Shop & Advancing a woman’s education

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…..after leaving Flint for Detroit, MI, Dad bought a Meat Packing Plant, hoping a son would arrive to take over the business, but when that didn’t happen, he opted for a retail butcher shop as a means of livelihood, which was located near where we lived.

I (Polly) worked at our father’s butcher shop from the age of 8 years old, probably in 1927 or 28, both inside and outside running errands, and continued through high school. I worked there all day Saturday and was in charge of the financial issues during my high school years.

College?

In the summer of 1937, I was accepted at Antioch College and gleefully showed the notification to Mother and Dad.  It required a financial statement and a signature confirming that financial obligations would be covered, which amounted to about $400 per year, at that time.  Dad’s unbelievable reply was, “What do you want to go to College for?  You’ll just get married.”  I tried to explain how important it was to me to further my education.  I had graduated Magna Cum Laude from high school, a member of the Honor Society.  I was determined to do something more with my life than marry a Jewish boy and become a “hausfrau”.  Here was an opportunity to broaden my horizons and meet a variety of people and have a number of job experiences (through the special Antioch college work-study program), which would allow me to earn some of the needed money.  Anyway, I felt that I had already earned part of the cost by working at the butcher shop all those years and I had spoken to Dad before about my expectations of going to college.  But Dad concluded the discussion by saying he couldn’t afford it!

I just blew apart!  I attacked him with my fists and pummeled as hard as I could, screaming that “It isn’t fair!  You know that I have been working for this for a long time.”  Mother stepped in and pulled me off, to stop the hitting.  I was beside myself!  I threw myself on the ground and just sobbed.  I was devastated.

When we all cooled off and could talk; probably the next day or so, Dad came up with a compromise.  I was to go to work for a year; put away some savings, and apply again the next year.  Meantime, Dad would also put money away for my college expenses.  I agreed.  I got a job as a stock clerk at Himmelhoch’s Department Store and enrolled in a required English class at Wayne State University night school.  My pay on the job was $14 a week which did not allow for much savings.  Actually, it paid off in the long run, because when I applied again at Antioch for the following year, they offered me a scholarship and gave me advanced academic and work-study credit for my year of work.

My older sister Bertha had a similar experience.  She graduated from high school and wanted to go to college, but Dad said he couldn’t afford it.  According to Bertha, Dad had contributed money to his brother Morris, so that Morris’s sons (Edward and Rudolf Politzer) could go to the University of Michigan.

It was clear, Dad thought that higher education was wasted on girls.

Polly