Smalltimore

“You look familiar,” said the woman, about my age but a bit older.

“Sorry. I don’t think I know you. What’s your name?” I replied.

“Linda Smith,” she answered. “What’s yours?”

“Eileen Creeger.”

We were both attending an afternoon entertainment program for Northwest Neighbors Connecting at the Edward A. Myerberg Center. This was her first time coming to our group. Two mutual friends urged her to come.

Our brief introductions ended, and the entertainment began. Afterwards, as we filled our plates with cookies, fruit and chips, she looked at me, and asked, “What did you say your last name is? Creeger?”

“Yes,” I replied, “Creeger but most people think it’s spelled K-R-I-E-G-E-R.” Usually, people are referring to this family, not my husband’s family.

“Hmm, I knew a Creeger growing up—Sylvia. I can’t remember her husband’s name, though.”

“Yes!” Now, I was interested and excited. “Sylvia and Oscar were my husband’s aunt and uncle. My late father-in-law was Oscar’s brother. I’ve forgotten the name of the street they lived on, but Sylvia always complained the house was like a sweat lodge. She hated it; she was always uncomfortably hot in the summer. They lived on the other side of Liberty Heights Avenue than us. In 1965, when I was 11, we all moved to Pickwick. Sylvia was so happy to live in a house with air conditioning. Their house was down the street from us, so that’s when I got to know them.”

I continued. “We lived on West Avenue.” I was sure Linda had never heard of it.

However, she was astonished. “West Avenue?! I lived on West Avenue!”

“No way! I think our address was 5305 West, but I’m not 100% sure,” I responded.

Uncertainly, Linda replied, “There were only two Jewish families on my block. Us and…maybe Cohen?”

I couldn’t believe it! “I’m a Cohen! That was us. What’s your maiden name?” When she said it was Hurwitz, I almost lost it. “I remember that name! Hurwitz. But I don’t remember another Jewish family on the block.”

Linda’s family lived across the street and two doors down. This was amazing stuff! As we began earnestly chatting, I learned that she went to school with my sister, Margo. Both went to the same elementary and junior high schools. Instead of going to Forest Park High School, they attended Western. Both switched to Pikesville Senior High when our families moved to Baltimore County.

Linda didn’t say, but I don’t think they were friends. I don’t remember Margo ever talking about a friend named Linda. Nor do I remember a Linda coming to our house.

She remembered Margo, however. “She was so smart,” Linda said.

“Well, she was smart, but she came home from school and would study. Not me! I came home and watched TV,” I remarked. Linda was not surprised to learn Margo had gone to Brandeis and became a doctor. [I didn’t tell Linda that Margo got a perfect score on her biology SAT test and was also accepted to every medical school she applied to.]

It was fun talking about the old neighborhood, our synagogue, Liberty Jewish Center, and other memories. The subject turned, and Linda asked, “Where do you live?”

Not expecting her to know my street, after all, it’s only four blocks long, I said, “Shelburne Road.” Wouldn’t you know? She knew the neighborhood. She didn’t elaborate, but I thought either relatives or friends lived on Shelburne.

Her response to my “Where do you live?” was “the condominiums behind Beth Tfiloh Synagogue.” Ironically, she came to the program because the singing entertainment was the now-retired Beth Tfiloh cantor, Avi Albrecht.

When I hear Beth Tfiloh, I always manage to sneak in my son’s name. He works in the high school, and everyone and everybody knows him. Therefore, I said to Linda, “My son, Eli, works as the Director of Student Life in the high school.”

Linda replied, “I have two grandsons in the high school. Chaim is in the 12th grade, and Jason is in the 10th.”

“If they play basketball, they probably know Eli. The kids call him ‘Coach.’ ” He’s in Israel now with the senior class. [pause] Wait! You said Chaim is in 12th grade? Is he on the senior trip??”

“Yes! And he is having a wonderful time,” Linda answered.

I told her Eli called me on Mother’s Day, and said they went to the Lebanese border that day. The next stop was close to the Syrian border — just what a mother and a grandmother want to know. However, with a smile, Linda said she was receiving the daily WhatsApp parent/grandparent updates (some written by Eli). Despite being near these borders, the kids were swimming, picking strawberries and having a marvelous experience.

Wow! This was crazy stuff! By the time I got home, it was too late in Israel to send Eli a WhatsApp about my encounter. When I contacted him the next day, he was thrilled I met Chaim’s grandmother.

Upon coming home, I did, however, immediately email my sister. She quickly replied that, of course, she remembered Linda. Then, I emailed Sylvia’s daughter, Beth, my former playmate, from up the street. When I wrote her, I mentioned I forgot to ask Linda for her mother’s name.

Beth wrote back shortly. “Shirley.”

“Yes!” I typed back. “I remember Aunt Sylvia talking all the time about her friend Shirley.”

Beth explained that Sylvia and Shirley worked for a government office downtown. They were both Baltimore-born and bred, married to Baltimore guys. They loved to shop and spent lunch hours at Discount Jewelers on Howard Street. The shop was owned by Sylvia’s brother-in-law. They loved getting the “family discount” for their purchases. Store owner Uncle Peter used to joke that Sylvia and Shirley were his best customers.

This encounter was typical Baltimore. I hesitated going to the program, but as it turned out, I met Linda! Reconnecting and reminiscing with her was a lot of fun.

What can I say? “Smalltimore, Hon.”

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Read more by Eileen Creeger.