Labor Day
Of all the “holidays” on the calendar, Labor Day –
the first Monday in September, certainly seems the most elusive, almost perfunctory. A three day weekend - reason to hit the road or gather for the
last burgers on the grill for the season. Labor Day - just a breath between
summer and the return to school or the routine of the work-a-day world we
take for granted.
Gone are the days – my grandfather’s days - where worker’s rights were new, hard won and worthy of true celebration.
Gone are the days – my grandfather’s days - where worker’s rights were new, hard won and worthy of true celebration.
Labor Day. On this day, I think of my grandfather, Alexander (Cop) Kaplan, a labor leader from Cleveland. Regrettably, his story I’ll never know. Can’t know, as I never knew him, have no personal memories of him. How carelessly, wrecklessly we cast away our family stories -- or the opportunities for hearing, never thinking to pursue them – or better yet, to record more of the details of the life and times of our fathers and mothers before us.
I can’t Google Alexander Kaplan. Other than the fine photos
I still have of him, the handsome smiling face in a vintage frame on the wall
in my dining room, Alexander Kaplan is nowhere to be found unless I really
delve beneath the surface of the 1940 U.S. Census, a citizen of a country at war, where he’s listed at 51 as head
of the household, with my grandmother, Sarah, (40) my parents, Edward (23) and
Clare (22) Goldman, living with them - and my mother’s younger brother, my uncle Arthur Kaplan
(20) – noting that Art’s twin brother, Wilbur
(Wil) Kaplan in all likelihood had already enlisted and was stationed somewhere
in the South Pacific . . .
Our families, our stories, our life’s labors. . . so many
are to be lost. What do we know? What do we miss?
My parents, Edward and Clare, gone now for a decade, would
be amazed today to see their progeny, their grandchildren, grown to adulthood,
and their great-grandchildren: Zachary
and Lauren – my sister’s grandchildren now heading to their senior year in high
school . . . and a new set of children . . . ours: and here they are:
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