Old Poopie Drawers

         Old Poopie Drawers

Suzanne Marsh

Brooklyn, New York 1958

Grandma’s neighborhood had a multi international flavor about it. Brooklyn in 1958 was a great place for a curious child such as myself. I remember one neighbor of Grandma’s the children called old poopie drawers. Most parents in the neighborhood used to pull their children in the house when she walked by. I asked my Mom and Grandma why; Grandma replied:

“We don’t know her; she moved in during the night two weeks ago. She lives down near the

Brooklyn Navy Yard.” She only comes out after midnight. I watched one night simply

because all the neighbors were talking about her. Most of them call her an old poop.”

or old poopie drawers. They say she has a strange odor about her; her clothes are all black

whenever she goes out. It is best to just stay away from her.”

I have never been able to leave well enough alone and this is another example of how curiosity can always get the better of anyone; me in particular. I wanted to know if this person was a relative of Dracula, I mean after all, she never came out in daylight; that qualified her as a vampire, at least I thought so in my nine year old mind. It was then I decided I would follow her one night to see

where and what she did. Sneaking out of Grandma’s was simple. She lived on the ground floor, all I had to do was open a window and climb out. The more I thought about old poopie pants the more my curiosity took over.

I kept watch by Grandma’s front window, standing behind the curtain so old poopie drawers would not notice me. I was being as patient as I could. Nine years of age does not give one the gift of patience at least it did not me. I thought; ‘awe come on old poopie drawers hurry up so I can follow you. I want to understand why you are always dressed in black and go out at night...perhaps you are

vampire. What secrets are you hiding? I thought those were good questions; how was I going to go about getting the answers was a completely different story. Finally I could hear Mom and Grandma snoring, the only problem was no old poopie drawers. Three in the morning and I was almost asleep on my feet...it was then that I saw her walking down the street with a suitcase in her hand wearing what looked like a wedding gown. That was enough for me I wanted to follow her but Mom must have rolled over to discover I was not in bed. We shared a bed at Grandma’s since she only had one spare bed.

“What are you doing up ole monkeyshine doodle?”

“Just watching Mom.”

“Well come on back to bed; we are going to Coney Island tomorrow.”

Coney Island seemed weak after what I saw. Old Poopie Pants with a wedding gown on. I really wanted to find out about her since the entire neighborhood was just as curious as I was. I could not understand why this crazy lady was walking around in a wedding dress, her black hair all done up like a picture I had seen of my Mom in the early 1940’s. I decided that she must be close to Mom in age. Then again I was nine years old and anyone that lived in the 1940’s was old as far as I was concerned.

I crawled back into bed with Mom:

“You and I have to be up and ready by eight in the morning so get some sleep.”

I knew that sentence all to well; in other words we are leaving at eight in the morning so be ready to go. I hated that sentence but Mom always used it. I decided not to tell anyone what I had seen the night before; the crazy lady in a wedding gown walking down the street with a suitcase in her hand. Sure made me wonder what poopie drawers was thinking.

The following morning Mom got me up at six; she made sure I had shorts and a top then went off to help Grandma cook breakfast. Eight o’clock right on the button Tante May arrived. I was puzzled since we were going to Coney Island and Tante May was a Sister of Saint Joseph. Why would she want to go to Coney Island. I knew if I asked Mom I would get:

“She is my sister and she is going.”

The three of us set off; we had to get to the subway on 48^th Street, then we had to take the BMT finally we had to take a bus. We arrived there in time for lunch, we walked along the boardwalk until Mom found a hamburger stand. Things were looking up. We ate then headed for the rides that I could go on myself. Somehow I just could not picture Mom and Tante May on a roller coaster; large or small. Mom never did like any sort of ride although Tante May did enjoy adventure.

Later that night after we left Coney Island; Mom decided we needed to go for a walk. That was never a good sign. I rapidly tried to think if I had done something wrong; a walk meant a talk. Mom took my hand as we headed for the seventy nineth street ferry. We boarded, found seats and enjoyed the cool breath of fresh air. When we returned I was ready for bed, we had walked a great deal today. I almost forgot about the crazy lady. Once again I waited for Mom to fall asleep, I decided that if I really wanted to be sure she was asleep I would snore. That would give her the idea that I was asleep.

Finally Mom was snoring which meant she was sound asleep. I crept out of bed; over to the window. I pulled the drape aside just in time to see the crazy lady going down the street, her long black hair tucked under her wedding vail. This was to good to pass up. I climbed out the window; like an selfrespecting nine year old. I began to follow her. She stopped just before reaching the dock. She then threw her suitcase into the water. She then began to weep. I was completely dumbfounded. I cleared my throat:

“Hello, why are you crying?”

She blanched as she replied:

“I am going to join my lover. He was in Buchenwald Concentration Camp where he died.”

I had no idea what to say however she continued:

“We were going to be married when we were both called up. We both went to Buchenwald.

It was a horrible place. He was a KAPO until his group went to the ovens.”

I thought about Mom and Grandma when they had spoken about these camps. I did not understand but she continued in a shakey voice:

“I promised him I would live. I don’t think I can live without him. New York City is a

wonderful place but it is not Poland where we came from.”

She asked me if I would please go home and leave her in peace. I went back to Grandma’s. I was about fifty feet from where we had spoke. I heard a cry, then a loud splash...I did not understand what happened but thought I should tell Mom. I snuck back in, shook Mom until she was half way awake:

“Mom, remember that lady we all called poopie drawers. I spoke to her tonight. Mom, she was

in a Concentration Camp, Buckenwald. I think she jumped into the East River.”

Mom jumped out of bed; woke Grandma on her way to the diningroom where the phone sat on a huge old buffet. Mom told the police everything I had told her.

Two days before our visit with Grandma was ending a police officer and a very dejected Rabbi arrived to speak with me. I told the Rabbi everything she had said; the police officer wrote it down. When I was finished the Rabbi was crying:

“That vas my daughter, I have been seeking her for months. Thank you young lady for telling

me. Vell at least she is with Hiram now. May God bless you for your kindness child.”