Saturday Night Non Sequiturs

Men don't normally call me on Saturday nights. They don't normally call me period. That's why this past weekend was such a treat.

"Hello?"

"Catherine Robinson please."

Heart skipped a beat. Dude sounded like Walter Matthau. Do I owe someone money?

"Speaking."

"The same Robinson who wrote about Jews and immigrants for The Tampa Tribune?"

This can't be good. I mentally located weapons, set the house alarm and took a deep breath.

"Yes..."

"Good evening, young lady! I'm seventy-nine year old Fred Babus of the Eastern Parkway Babuses. How are you tonight?"

After resuming normal breathing patterns, I had one hell of an all-over-the-map conversation with Mr. Fred Babus. He started off talking about his hometown, Brooklyn, and how vividly he remembers the day Israel became a country.

"I looked out my bedroom window and people were everywhere - laughing, singing, drinking, and celebrating. Men and women dancing together with the Orthodox and rest of us. Everyone was happy. So proud."

Mr. Babus was what my Aunt Irene called a marathon talker. My favorite. And he pegged me right away.

"You born Jewish?" he asked.

I admitted to being a convert. Fred said when he heard about Elizabeth Taylor and Sammy Davis, Jr. joining Judaism, he thought, "We don't have enough problems?" But he said I sounded okay.

Fred Babus didn't think his upbringing was so unusual. He figured everyone was Jewish until high school when a red-haired Irish boy called him "Christ-killer". He went home and asked his Mom because he'd never heard the term before. Then he went back to school the next day and punched the kid in the face. No one ever called him that again.

After high school, Fred would cruise Ocean Parkway looking for rich girls. He'd take them to Coney Island for a frankfurter, fries and soda. ("The whole meal cost twenty-five cents. Went back last year and it's over five dollars!") When I told him I'd never been to Nathan's, he made me promise to go there the next time I was in town. I didn't have the heart to tell him about my vegetarian issues.

Fred had more stories and I encouraged him to talk. My boys were watching The Neverending Story and I could avoid the lame fairy tale by talking to a grown-up. Heaven! Mr. Babus told me about seeing Jackie Robinson hit his first homerun. A favorite Uncle had leaned over and whispered, "He's gonna be great."

"Nothing beats New York in the 50s," Mr. Babus continued. "Broadway was Broadway back then. My favorite was Guys and Dolls. Ever see the movie with Frank Sinatra? Horribly miscast. Bob Alda was the man to see. Best show ever."

Fred even talked about The Grand Street Boys and how he learned politics from relatives just off the boat.

"Most Jews are socialists," he said. "That's okay and let me tell you why - it's a great philosophy. Uncle Wolfie used to say: Why should that guy have 5 billion when that other guy doesn't even own a home?"

Eventually Fred left Brooklyn for Long Island and raised his family there. Later, he and his second (or was it third?) wife moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee where he joined a Reform synagogue and the area "wasn't as scary as you might think". He even knew people involved in the Paperclips project.

"I met a lot of nice folks down there," he said.

Three years ago, Mr. Babus moved to Florida and when he opened the paper and saw my article, he just had to look me up in the phone book.

"Thought you might appreciate some old stories from an old man," he said.

When my children made noise in the background, he asked about them.

"Two boys!" he said. "Good for you. Can I please tell you something, sweetheart, and then I'll let you enjoy the rest of your evening? Raising sons, I know a thing or two about that, and what I'm going to tell you is very important. Are you listening?"

"I am."

"Let them get their faces dirty. That's all I'm gonna say. Turn off the television, computer, make them go outside and let them get their faces dirty. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," I said, smiling.

"And thank you for calling me sir. Now run along and have a good night."

Beat that.