This is my Mother, Irma, circa 1945. A demure Austrian teen whose parents migrated to the U.S., landing in New York City, settling in the Bronx. Her Mother, a seamstress, worked in the garment district of New York. Her Father, a talented carpenter and wall paper hanger (two arms) was stoic and proud, and used to pay me with silver dollars if I'd give him a kiss hello and/or goodbye. Ahh America, the land of opportunity! Said and done, their lives in America turned out to be pretty good overall. Irma was shy and completely naive. Like most girls her age back then, she mingled with young GI's at the USO and ultimately met the man of her dreams at Roseland Ballroom (still standing), an American soldier from not quite the heart of Texas. (Let's see, if Austin is in the heart of Texas, then El Paso has to be somewhere around the kidneys). An unlikely match, but a match just the same, and over the 18 years they stayed married, their relationship ran the proverbial gamut, with cookies crumbling the way they tend to when you have a beautiful wife, three healthy children and a philandering Texan in the mix. Irma came into her own, raised her girls (me included), found her way, lived her life, loved again, and earned her place in Heaven. She will never be forgotten and will always be remembered. I'm sure that before Irma, there was never one like her, and it's for sure there will never be another to come along. A one of a kind, class act, that's my Mom.
P.S. That's us (above) on the beach in Hermosa around 1955. I'm the youngest of the three girls with Irma. Thanks for listening.