Sunday Memories - A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words (and one or two captions)

On Saturday, December 20, 2008 at Henry Street Settlement over 60 people braved bitter cold and ice to celebrate Florence Deutsch Moed's life. My sister and I are forever grateful for all the incredible stories shared and the love so freely given.

Photos by Morgan Gwenwald and Marianne Barcellona, captions from my memory so forgive the inaccurate quotes.







Melody from Orpheus and Eurydice by Gluck

"...cousin Florence...four-hand piano duets..."


"

...the most generous person..."




"... and one morning she left a dozen eggs left at my doorstep....

...the next day an egg beater."



"...because of that I started performing again... the world's greatest piano teacher but I didn't say that in front of her..."

"...taught me confidence..."

"Interlude #1 (1993), by Hugh Sams, dedicated to Florence"





"...she enjoyed her whiskey and one night..."






"...I realized she never left a message but was using the phone answering machine as an form to create..."



"...we were not the demographics the new yuppie places on Avenue C catered to and they let us know it...her intrepid spirit about aging..."




"...learned that making mistakes were opportunities..."



"...visit our five-story walk up on 6th Street..."



"...could play anything from 16th century to 20th century..."


"...she was a sexy woman..."



...somehow she convinced Medicaid that she didn't need help...so I had to go back and make a miracle happen..."

"...even with the dementia I really loved visiting her..."




"...she liked the foxtrot...I liked Strauss waltzes..."


...my first piano teacher... and she looked at me and I realized this was serious business..."

"Florence's pride that she, unlike Godowsky and Mannes (sic), could teach her children music...the failure of Otto Klemperer's son who became an actor on TV - 'See what happens when you don't practice your violin!'"











"...BUTTON UP YOUR OVERCOAT WHEN THE WIND IS FREE TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOURSELF YOU BELONG TO ME..."

"...Florence's refusal to feel fear...where I get my courage..."

"...my time of day is the dark time of day...And the streetlamp light...fills the gutter with gold...that's my time of day...and you're the only doll I've ever wanted to share it with me."

Sancho incantation




"...and then we had lunch..." (punch line to an old Yiddishkeit joke)


















**********************

On Florence's 65th Birthday in November, 1982, Louise and Joshua took Florence to Conesy Island where Florence went swimming. We ask you to on some birthday do something equally daring.



*****

The day would not have happened without the ferocious efforts of:

Rose Ortiz and her incredible staff at the Henry Street Abrons Arts Center
Henrystreet.org

Marianne Barcellona


Adrian Garcia


Morgan Gwenwald


Jennifer Romine



Elizabeth Smith




*****

To make donations in Florence's name:

WNYC RADIO, PO BOX 1550, NY, NY 10116-1550

SAGE (Senior Action in a Gay Environment), 305 7th Avenue, 6th Floor, NY, NY 10001

LHEF (Lesbian herstory Archives), Inc., P.O. Box 1258, NY, NY 10116


*****

For the on-line memorials for Florence, including IN LIEU OF FLOWERS, go to the sidebar of this blog listing the months on the right and click October:

TONIGHT I CAN WRITE THE SADDEST LINE
IN LIEU OF FLOWERS
LOUISE IS THE SMART AND GOOD ONE

****

The definitions of FEAR.

False Evidence Appearing Real
Face Everything And Recover
F*#&ck Everything And Run

Sunday Memories - The Program of the Memorial Service

FLORENCE DEUTSCH MOED
1923-2008


Henry Street Settlement House
Abrons Arts Center
December 20, 2008

Melody from Orpheus and Eurydice by Gluck
Louise Moed and Bruce Potterton

The Life and Times of Florence Deutsch Moed
Louise Moed

Memories
Ernie Levenstein
Joshua Nelson
Dana Schetcher
Bruce Potterton
Sheila Rabin



Florence’s Favorite Movie
Claire and Louise Moed

Florence’s Musical Life
Louise and Archibishop Weakland statement (read by Louise)

Interlude #1(1993) dedicated to Florence
Interlude #2(1993) dedicated to Bruce
Hugh Sams, composer - piano



Memories
Stephen Talasnik
Carola Dibbell
Naomi Allen
Giselaine Carrington (read by Claire)
Torsten Buck (read by Claire)

Memories – Please feel free to share with us your own memories and impressions of our mother, Florence


Florence’s Teaching Life
Arabian Chant by Leopold Godowsky



Button Up Your Overcoat: a sing-along


In Lieu of Flowers
Claire

My Time of Day by Frank Loesser
Louise

Sancho


Florence’s one and only personal ad




************************************************
If you wish to make donations in Florence’s name:

WNYC RADIO, PO Box 1550, NY, NY 10116-1550

SAGE, 305 7th Avenue, 6th Floor, NY, NY 10001
(Senior Action in a Gay Environment)

LHEF, Inc., P.O. Box 1258, NY, NY 10116
(Lesbian Herstory Archives)

************************************************

Some of her favorite New Yorker Cartoons:

I'll have a nice day when I get damn good and ready.



No, Thursday's out. How about never - is never good for you?



with Florence comments included.

Remember, Kimberly. I'm more than your agent. I'm your mother.

*****************************************

the SING-ALONG!

BUTTON UP YOUR OVERCOAT
BY HENDERSON, DESYLVA, AND BROWN

BUTTON UP YOUR OVERCOAT,

WHEN THE WIND IS FREE,

TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOURSELF,

YOU BELONG TO ME!

EAT AN APPLE EVERY DAY,

GET TO BED BY THREE,

TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOURSELF,

YOU BELONG TO ME!

BE CAREFUL CROSSING STREETS, OOH-OOH,

LAY OFF MEATS, OOH-OOH,

CUT OUT SWEETS, OOH-OOH,

YOU'LL GET A PAIN AND RUIN YOUR TUM-TUM!

KEEP AWAY FROM BOOTLEG HOOCH

WHEN YOU'RE ON A SPREE,

TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOURSELF,

YOU BELONG TO ME!

RAIN DELAY: SUNDAY MEMORIES WILL BE LATE

Due to the most profound memorial for Florence Deutsch Moed, the Sunday Memories installment will be late.

Warm thanks to the incredible people who braved ice, cold, wind and weekend schedules of the MTA to be there at Henry. Your loving, warm and joyous presence truly celebrated our mother.

Preparing for the Finale

The lists of things to bring, the pictures to pick, the rooms reserved, the weather report followed, the 5 billion emails exchanged, the program struggled over, and the one or two things she loved and that we wanted to include at Florence Deutsch Moed's memorial, but that we had to leave out.

The Long Walk to Ho Ho Ho

Sunday Memories - I Swear He Wrote This Song For My Bedroom Windows

The first thing I remember
I was lying in my bed
I couldn't of been no more
Than one or two
I remember there's a radio
Comin' from the room next door
And my mother laughed
The way some ladies do
When it's late in the evening
And the music's seeping through

The next thing I remember
I am walking down the street
I'm feeling all right
I'm with my boys
I'm with my troops, yeah
And down along the avenue
Some guys were shooting pool
And I heard the sound
Of a cappella groups, yeah
Singing late in the evening
And all the girls out on the stoops, yeah

--LATE IN THE EVENING, Paul Simon

SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT:Wheelchair accessibility/Getting to Florence Moed's memorial service

The rear row of the Recital Hall at the Henry Street Abrons Arts Center is wheelchair accessible from the Willet Street/Bialystoker Place entrance.

However, one must use a staircase to reach the stage area where people will be speaking and playing and where the food tables will be located.

Let us know if you need assistance getting down the stairs
or
if you are available to provide such assistance.


MEMORIAL FOR FLORENCE DEUTSCH MOED

Please join the family of Florence Deutsch Moed at the Henry Street Settlement Abrons Arts Center in commemorating her life on Saturday, December 20th, at 11:00 a.m. Light refreshments will follow. We hope that you will consider sharing memories or stories about Florence. Please contact us and let us know if you wish to speak so that we can plan out the event. There will also be an opportunity to speak if you feel like doing so on the spur of the moment.

RSVP to Claire at
(212) 228-7769 or (646) 246 1199,

Louise at
(212) 788-0768 or (718) 826-1119.

We look forward to seeing you there.
Best, Claire and Louise Moed

Abrons Arts Center of the Henry Street Settlement
466 Grand Street at the corner of Pitt Street
New York, New York 10002

Directions:

SUBWAY - contact us if you need walking directions from the subway

* the F train to East Broadway
* the J train to Essex Street
* the D train to Grand Street

BUS - contact us if you need walking directions from the bus stop

* M15 to the corner of Allen and Grand Streets
* M22 to the corner of Madison and Montgomery Streets
* M9 to the corner of Grand and Clinton Streets
* M14A to the corner of Grand and Pitt Streets
* M14D to the corner of Delancey and Columbia Streets
* B39 to the first stop on Delancey Street after the bus comes off the bridge

CAR OR CAB

Take the FDR Drive southbound and exit at Grand Street. The Northbound FDR does not have an exit at Grand Street. Use the Houston Street exit to circle around and return toward the Grand Street exit on the FDR Drive southbound.

PARKING

Parking lots are available on Suffolk Street between Broome and Delancey, and East Broadway and Clinton Streets.

The Journey Not The Destination at Penn South Senior Center

The room florescent filled with folding chairs and apple juice and saltine crackers and bodies aging and the empty chair in her heart for the husband who had died and the continuing on and the step still taken and the thoughts still shared and the day still faced.

This is Love

The camera was plastic and a sale special at Walgreens. If you bought it, you would get free rolls of film for life. Well, not your life. The life of the camera.

I was walking up 8th Avenue. The prostitute was talking to them. Still too shy to stop while I took a picture, I just clicked as I kept walking.

But like love, I didn't know what was there until I stopped and looked.

Sunday Memories - Living in the Closet

Cousin Ernie described two traits of the family that he and Florence came from: rage and secrecy.

The rage I recognized. It was loud and either I fought back or hid deep within myself. The secrecy was another matter. Like oxygen, it was untouchable, invisible, scentless, but saturating and essential to keep our family life going. I couldn't stand it. I needed to understand what I kept hearing in silent thought and unexpressed desire.

So, I went hunting for the proof of what wasn't being said. By the time I was 6, I was an expert at going through the nooks and crannies of our ancestral seat on Broome and Columbia. And one of the first place I started with was Florence's closet.

The flooring was the same as the kitchen I think or it was the same flooring in Gramma's house. Whatever it was, it was the flooring of home. It was beautiful.

This closet held the beautiful dresses and skirts and blouses Florence wore to perform in until she stopped performing and stopped wearing dresses. It also held all her spectacular heels from Red Cross Shoes, whispering glamour and other places besides the Lower East Side. Sitting on the floor and watching her get dress I could feel yearnings pour out of her. Maybe stepping out of the house she'd be stepping into her wildest dreams which clearly wasn't raising us kids.

I am not sure why, but birthdays were huge in our house. Sort of like what Christmas was to the Christians. Weeks before the big day, the corners of this closet would suddenly fill with odd boxes and bags. And I knew this because, during afternoons where I was left to my own devices while she practiced or when both parents went to the supermarket, I investigated each and every box and bag.

Only once did I get almost caught. The minute I heard my parents lock the front door, I dove into the closet and opened for the 3rd time the box with a tin rolling fish toy and the other box with my new training bra. Suddenly they were back in the apartment, seeking something they forgot. Thrusting everything back, I sat on the floor and leaned against the closet door, hoping that what they forgot wasn't in that closet or that they didn't notice the bra strap caught in the door and sticking out.

Also in this closet was a mysterious blue box with odd white paper covered cylinders. I had asked what they were but oh that family trait of secrecy was a tough one to crack. It was nothing I was told. But nothing didn't come in a box of its own. So again, one day, the minute the door locked behind me, I dragged a chair to the closet and pulled down that blue box to find out what was what. It was mesmerizing, the paper so easily pulling off, the odd cardboard, the string, the cushy thing inside that with one yank of the string came out of the cardboard... I must have gone into a trance because the next thing I knew I was surrounded by the many pieces of the mysterious box. And standing over me was a very angry, very upset and very silent Florence, back from her walk with my father. I had completely dismantled her only box of Tampax.

And even then, she never told me what they were for.

Ode to the Office