Growing up and the glory of third grade - Miami Stories - MiamiHerald.com

Growing up and the glory of third grade | Miami Herald Miami Herald

Above you'll find the most up-to-date link to my October 18, 2013 miamiherald.com article--hard copy appeared in the Neighbors section of the Sunday, October 20 edition of The Miami Herald.

No more pictures included (so here they are!):

 Mi Papi, el Doctor Federico Efrain Marrero; residente en neurocirujia en el Jackson Memorial Hospital.  Foto tomada en 1962?

Encima:  En una fiesta, el verano de 1963. Abajo: con mi Mami, Ana Raab Marrero, en una feria escolar en el--en esa epoca!--terreno enorme de Shenandoah Elementary School, Noviembre, 1961.  Todavia no usaba espejuelos :-o!

 El Amsterdam Palace; donde pasamos varias temporadas espectaculares durante varios veranos!   Mami me indico cuando Versace compro a su "Casa Casuarina."  Otra vez es un hotel...de lujo, esta vez ;-).

Con Nicky Perusina, Mayo, 1963:  El Baile Hungaro--los bailarines hungaros :-)!

Doctora Ana Marrero

Happy New Year, Mami!

There's an op-ed piece in The New York Times today about doctors beginning to make house calls again; after a more than fifty-year hiatus.  My mother, Ana Raab Marrero--as was her wont ;-)--was ahead of her time:

I would like you to read the following.  I didn't write it—my mother did.  She was Hungarian: a European-trained doctor who received her medical degree in Paris in 1940.  One of her aunts had become the third woman doctor in Hungary (though she never practiced, as she married a wealthy man).  My father—also a doctor—enabled her escape out of Europe in 1941; they proceeded to live in Cuba (my father's homeland) for the next nineteen years.  I was born in 1954.  In 1960, we arrived in the United States. 

My mother had been a housewife for twenty-five years when she decided to take the foreign medical exam—the ECFMG, as it was called—in 1965.  We were living in Georgia at the time.  She passed the first time; went on-staff at Milledgeville—now, Central—State Hospital; it was there in 1967 that she began her residency in psychiatry.  She was 54 years old.  When she finished her residency three years later, she rejoined my father and me in Florida.  Two years later, at age 59, a fortuitous set of circumstances led to her landing a job as a clinical psychiatrist at South Florida State Hospital, where she practiced until she retired at age seventy. 

My mother was an extraordinary woman:  principled; dauntless; with a privileged and exquisite mind.  She was also extremely practical.  Fascinated with politics, current events, and with progressive ideas—culling them from all of her constant and voracious reading—she kept notebooks filled with news clippings and lists of quotes and sayings.  She was a true product of her generation:  “The Greatest Generation.”

During the 1990’s, she shared the following with me (and I haven't overly-edited: please keep in mind that English was technically her fifth language!): 

"About doctors."  Among the many changes the world experienced through the 20th century, the changes of medical practice are among the most significant.  Physicians used to be involved with the patients personally--they made home deliveries, home calls, they even operated on kitchen tables:  simple things like tonsils and appendix.  They often worked pro bono and in my generation who does not remember the old country doctor who often left a few dollars next to his prescription.  The doctors listened to the patient and their families and they often smiled at each other.  They were generally respected, trusted, and loved.  Nobody ever heard of suing the doctor and the insurance was not a major issue.  Now everybody is covered by insurance (or else!).  The doctor is secluded in his office, surrounded by assistants, submerged in paperwork and technicians, (who are) performing procedures and even "examinations."  The first thing requested from the patient is not a list of his complaints, but to fill out forms concerning the type of their insurance, their SS number, etc.  The P.E. (physical exam) is minimal, technicians and technology replaced the Hippocratic methods.  Errors are more frequent than when the practice was more personalized and Malpractice--the big M--often caused by negligence, and sometimes by ignorance is more prevalent.  Accidents and human error always existed, but we used to remember the saying "Errare humanum est."  Now we think more in terms of suits than philosophical concepts.  A special chapter should be dedicated to the Medical Business proper, directed by the owners of HMO's, Hospitals, etc., limiting the physician's humanistic role and his income, but not his responsibility.  And let's face it, in spite of technicians and technology; in spite of the so-called Medical Business, Doctors are still needed.  Who else could sign your death certificate?

                                                            --Ana R. Marrero, M.D., 1913-1999

Entering my own fifty-ninth year--when your own (albeit, interrupted) years of medical training bore fruit--I am looking forward to my--possibly--third wind.  What a wonderful thought, in light of Diana Nyad's thirty-five-year-old dream to swim across the Florida Straits having finally come true on Labor Day!  A Happy New Year, indeed...

You Were My Sunshine

A classic Burdine's store facade, from at least the 1950's on (until March 6, 2005, when Federated Department stores, Burdine's and Macy's parent company, officially changed the store's name to Macy's).  The Miami Herald published a story on the end of a glorious era in South Florida retail history that same day--on Sunday, March 6, 2005.  The next day I could not help contributing my two bits:

YOU WERE MY SUNSHINE

BY GEORGINA MARRERO (3/7/05)

            Burdines Department Store, as we know it, officially closed its doors on Sunday.  I am sad.  For there are very few remnants left of the older, kinder, gentler Miami I remember from my childhood in this town.

            I am so glad my mother was such a pack rat.  Through the years, she’d kept a sturdy cardboard box with the “Burdine’s” logo block-printed on top, and “Sunshine Fashions” cleanly, yet gracefully, looped through the company name.  To complete the advertising, solid colored orange, raspberry pink, and two-toned suns sporting the same hues flank opposite sides of the box.

            For many years, this box contained some of my childhood treasures:  small knickknacks; handkerchiefs; whatnot.  When the time came, however, I emptied it, consolidated its previous holdings somewhere else, and used it as a moving box.

            To this day, it holds several of my prized adult possessions.  The kind you’re glad you have stored away somewhere, even if it’s only to catch a glimpse of them from time to time.

            Just as I – or, rather – my mother had done with my little girl things.

            I took the box out a short while ago.  Funny, I’m such a perfectionist about so many things, that I’d probably dump a box if it had so much as a dented corner.

            Not this box, however.  Several corners are slightly bent; one’s torn; and one whole corner is Scotch-taped together.  I must really like this box.

            Not to mention the squiggly line some ink pen or the other made on the top.  I see it, but I don’t see it.  What I see is a sturdy, useful box, perfectly proportioned to hold my mementos.

            I am sad about Burdines.  Don’t get me wrong:  I have nothing against Macy’s.

            But Burdine’s was my sunshine.  My we can now afford a better store sunshine when I was a child, somewhere in between Jackson Byron’s and Jordan Marsh.  They’re gone, too.

            At least I’ll always have your sturdy cardboard box of yore.

            The historian Paul George was quoted in Elaine Walker’s Herald piece on Saturday as saying that “there’s very little left.”  Almost two years ago, Robert Trigaux of the St. Petersburg Times said roughly the same thing:  “there’s not much of that left.”

            I wonder if they have sturdy cardboard boxes from Burdine’s, too?       373 words

I sent my little piece to The Miami Herald but, sadly, never heard from them :-(.

Fast forward six years:  the noted South Florida historian, Seth Bramson, had his book on the history of Burdine's Department Store published 11/1/11.  Titled, Burdine's:  Sunshine Fashions & the Florida Store, it is described on Amazon's website as:

"The story of the Sunshine State's most famous store actually began in Bartow, Florida, where William Burdine and a partner founded a small dry goods store. When his partner left the business in 1897, Burdine made the decision to move his store to a dynamic frontier town on the far southeast coast of Florida--Miami. By the early twentieth century, many Floridians were familiar with Burdine's famous Sunshine Fashions that reflected the relaxed, subtropical locale and helped define the region's identity. Join Miami historian Seth Bramson as he relates Burdine's storied history, when the likes of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor perused elegant displays and customers frequented the tearooms for a slice of the famous--and decadent--pecan pie. There will never be another store quite like Burdine's."

On November 17, 2011, The Herald's Luisa Yanez wrote an article on Bramson's book; which, not surprisingly, was prominently being featured at that year's Miami Book Fair International.  I could not help piping in, again (my letter to The Miami Herald, 11/17/11):

Dear Sir/Madam:

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Luisa Yanez' story--"'The Florida Store' memorialized in book" in Tuesday's Local & State section.  I cannot wait to get a copy of Seth Bramson's book on the history of Burdines Department Store.

Back in 2005, Elaine Walker wrote a piece on the imminent name change.  I was inspired to write the following:

(The text of "You Are My Sunshine".)

My question still stands.  I wonder if Bramson has his own box?

Thank you for making sure that Burdines is one of the standouts at this week's Miami Book Fair International!

Sincerely,

Georgina Marrero

This time someone at The Herald took note (I don't have PDF converter to MS Word, but I can assure you that the blurb below was published in The Miami Herald on 11/21/11 on page 14A, in the Letters to the Editor section):

CHILDHOOD TREAT

Thank you so much for writing about Seth Bramson's new book on Burdines.  From the time I was a child in the early '60s through its closing in March 2005 I looked forward to all my visits to the store.  It was a treat.  I was sad when it all came to an end.

Georgina Marrero

HOORAY!!!

It pays to think outside the box (as well as to take a peek inside) ;-)!

On a partly cloudy, breezy—yet, sunshine-filled—Miami Sunday, I hope this finds you in the midst of an eventful Passover season/joyful Easter!

 

Feliz Cumpleanos, Papi!

Federico Efrain Marrero: 

1) As a resident in neurosurgery at the Jackson Memorial Hospital, Miami, FL; circa 1962.  After two foreign medical degrees (in France and in Cuba)--under eminent professors--he had to prove himself, yet again, when we arrived in the States in 1960.
2) Papi and I at a party in the summer of 1963.  Oh, the shifts we wore in those days--
3) As an extern (intern)  at the University of Paris School of Medicine; in a respiratory diseases rotation at the Hopital Laennec.  "Epi" (as he was known) is just left of center in the top row--wearing a black sweater (and a big smile :-)!  My mother--Ana "Panni" Raab--is standing in the third row--to the left of the black-caped nurse (and almost right behind the great professor ;-).  This picture was definitely taken between Nov. 1, 1936 and Dec. 31, 1936 (for that was when my father served his rotation).  Unless I can find evidence to the contrary, this must have been when they met.

My collection of digitized pictures is small (so I always have to recycle).  Nonetheless, I always aim to say something new.

Writing-wise, this year?  Ummm...how about, Cirujia?  I have to switch to Spanish, now.  In any language, though:  Papi always took care of me...and he always will.  Feliz Cumpleanos, Papi!

LA LOQUITA DEL ZIG-ZAG: CIRUJIA!

POR NININA MAMEYEZ

            “Ven aquí, Ninina”  Rosita Torre De Viento me estaba extendiendo un dedito gordo, tratando de que yo la acompañe en el solar cerca de mi casa en La Nueva Ventana.  Acababa de escampar; el terreno estaba muy mojado.  “VEN”! casi chillo.

            Pensé.  “No quiero hacerlo, Rosita.”

            “Y por que NO?” me pregunto, haciendo pucheros. 

            “Por—porque…”  Me estaba poniendo más y más nerviosa.

            “Cobarde!  COBARDE!” empezó a chillar Rosita.  Echo una carcajada atrás de la otra: “Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha HA!”

            La miré de reojos.  Me estaba poniendo más y más brava.  “Quien tu crees que tu eres?”  Salté de la acera; tropecé con una piedra; me caí, boca arriba, en el fango.  Y empecé a llorar: “Waaaaah!  Waaaaah!  Waaaaah!”

            Rosita estaba casi doblada, carcajeando, mas y mas alto: “HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAA…”  Casi se cayó, estaba chillando tan alto. 

            La miré a través de mis lágrimas; sollocé: “Rosita, no me puedes ayudar?  NO ME PUEDES AYUDAR?”

            “No hay nada que puedo hacer,” gruño casi como un buey.  De repente, se apareció su hermano, Adalberto.

            “Qué paso aquí?  Por qué esta Ninina en el fango?” nos preguntó.

            “No supo saltar de la acera, Adalberto.”  Y se empezó a reír, otra vez.

            Adalberto me miro.  Estaba al punto de ayudarme, cuando Rosita dijo: “No te embarres, Adalberto.  Sabes como se pone mami…; de todos modos, porque estas aquí?”

            “Mami me mando a recogerte.  Tenemos que ir de compras.”

            “Bueno...”  Me hizo una mueca, y dijo, “Vamonos,” halando a su hermano de la mano.  “Oow,” pude oír al pobre Adalberto.  Rosita se viro una última vez, y se empezó a reír otra vez: “Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha HA!”

            Yo me estaba levantando del fango; había parado de llorar; y casi ni sollozaba más, tampoco.  Pero sentí detrás de mi muslo derecho: estaba rojo.  Sangre.  Empecé a llorar otra vez: “WAAAAAH!”

            Esta vez me oyó El Chino.  Vino corriendo.  Mami y La Linda habían salido de compras; La Golondrina estaba visitando a su sobrino.  El estaba en cargo de supervisarme, pero había estado lavando al Olsmobil, y no me había oído.

            “NININA!  QUE TE PASO?”  Me encontró sentada en el medio del fango; llorando; aguantando a mi pierna derecha; tocando a la sangre con mis deditos.

            “NINA!  Que es eso?”  Cuando se dio cuenta, me recogió en sus brazos, y se lanzó para la casa.  “Doctol?  Doctol?  La niña se hirió!”

            Papi nos oyó desde la biblioteca, y vino corriendo.

            “NININA!  QUE TE PASO?”  El Chino me había entregado a Papi.

            “AY, PAPI!  Rosita…Rosita…”  Estaba sollozando.

“Que te hizo?  (Se puso bravo.)  Cuantas veces no te he dicho que no debes de jugar con esa (pensó antes de decir nada mas) chica?”

Empecé a llorar otra vez, hasta mas fuerte: “WAAAAAAAH!”

            “Shh!  Shh” acaricio a mi cara.  (Me vio mirando a mi pierna.)  Pero que es esto?  SANGRE?  Déjame examinarte!  Chino, tráeme el alcol y algodón, por favor.”

            “Oh, NOO!” Ahora si que empecé a llorar.

            Papi y El Chino me acostaron boca arriba encima de la mesa de examen en la esquina de la biblioteca.  Papi me limpio a la herida con mucho cuidado.  Horrorizada, al principio, me estaba calmando mas y mas, porque Papi es un muy buen doctor.

            “Hmm,” me examino cuando la herida estaba limpia.  “Ninina, parece que tienes a un poco de fango debajo de la piel.  Tendremos que ir al Doctor Seso.”

            “OH, NOOOO!”

            “Pero a ti te gusta el Doctor Seso.”

            “Qu-que me va a hacer?”

            Papi guiño.  “Tu veras; no te va a doler nada.”

            Nos metimos en la maquina, y El Chino nos llevo a la oficina del Doctor Seso.  La secretaria del doctor nos dejo entrar a Papi y a mí.

            “Ninina!  Como estas?  Hmm, que paso?”  Examino a la herida.  El y papi se miraron; estuvieron de acuerdo.  “Si.”  (Mirándome a mí.)  “Ninina, vas a dormir por un ratico.”

            “QUE?  No tengo sueno!”

            “Pues, si.”  El y papi me acostaron en su mesa de examen.  “Te voy a (me miro de reojos, porque sabe que a mi no me gustan las inyecciones) dar una pequeña…”

            “OH, NOOOOO!”

            Papi me miro; me imploro.  “Aguántate, niña.  No va a doler.”  Se sonrió.

            Mirándolo a el todo el tiempo, deje que el Doctor Seso me inyecte.  No se que paso después, porque me quede rendida.  Cuando me desperté, lo único que vi fue a un pequeño vendaje detrás de mi rodilla derecha.  Como papi me había dicho, nada me dolió.

            Sonriéndome, salté de la mesa de examen.  Bese a papi, y le di un abrazo al Doctor Seso.  Todos nos sonreímos una vez más antes de que El Chino nos devolvió a la casa en el Olsmobil.  El se estaba sonriendo, también.

            “Ten cuidado con chicas como Rosita en el futuro, me entiendes, m’ija?” me dijo papi cuando estábamos sentados en su biblioteca.

            “AY, PAPI!  Me acabo de dar cuenta…”

            “…de que, Ninina?”

            “De que hoy tuve a una cirugía!”  Me sonreí, y me reí.  Pero no a carcajadas.

            Y la próxima vez que vi a Rosita, chillando como siempre, y a Adalberto corriendo detrás de ella, los huí.

Es propiedad de Georgina Marrero, 2008                          861 palabras