A Boy Grows in Brownsville, Brooklyn

My dad, Samuel Weiss lost his fight against COVID-19 on December 27, 2020 at age 97. We would have long discussions on the phone about his childhood and this ramped up during the first months of the pandemic. My dad was the only one of his siblings born in America. There was a huge age difference between him, Ella, Jack, and Dottie, due to circumstances surrounding my grandfather’s immigration to America. As a result, little Sammy was doted on by his siblings. Ella was really more of a mom to him than an older sister before she got married. A few years ago, I wrote a blog about the grandma I never knew and my dad filled in some additional blanks during our conversations. When he died, I felt grief of course, but also an overwhelming compulsion to connect to and understand his past and what made him the dad I knew. I think this was amplified by the fact that he was the last immediate family connection to the grandparents I never knew, Abraham and Nettie Weiss.   The Curious Mystery of My Grandfather Abraham While we covered a lot of territory, some of my questions will forever remain unanswered. Looking back, perhaps my dad didn’t even know all the answers because his parents didn’t share much. I did confront my dad with evidence that my grandpa had another family somewhere in the NY area based on DNA results from my daughter. In fact, I believe my Aunt Dottie was aware of this, but my dad was in denial until close to the end of his life. This doesn’t surprise me because my grandfather Abraham emigrated by himself to NYC in 1905 and was separated from Nettie until late 1911. After my Uncle Jack was born in 1912 in…

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Tribute to My Dad: The Way We Were in the Windy City

  My Brooklyn-born dad Samuel Weiss was a New Yorker at heart, but he loved Lincolnwood and the Windy City. My dad marched to his own drummer and was a complex, incredibly interesting man with tastes that ran the gamut from high-brow to humble, intellectually superior to silly. When I was little, my dad owned a red 356 Porsche convertible, followed by a white 356. At age 97, he was mentoring an analyst in training, still treating a handful of longtime patients, and was a guest teacher for a class at the Chicago Psychoanalytic Institute – truly an amazing man! My dad had his nose rebuilt after a particularly bad episode of basal cell cancer in 1981, survived colon cancer in 1988, and more recently lost his eyesight due to age-related macular degeneration. Nevertheless, he was a vital lover of life until the very end when COVID-19 cruelly struck him down, despite taking extra precautions. His indomitable spirit is a lesson I need to heed as I deal with my own health issues. He survived 95% of his friends and his longevity superseded every other member of his family by decades. My dad was unbelievably generous to friends and family and supported countless charitable causes. But he wasn’t a saint – he had a hair-trigger temper that made me fear him when I was a child and was outspoken to the point of being caustic, at times. Thankfully, he mellowed a great deal with age, just like the wine he loved! I’m the family historian and am dedicated to telling his stories through words and photographs. As my 33-year-old daughter and his namesake Samantha said, “It’s unbelievably amazing how many important events my grandma and grandpa lived through and it’s important to tell their story.” During the pandemic when my…

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