American Pastrol

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1

Let's remember the energy.

America had won the war.

The depression was over.

Sacrifice was over.

The upsurge of

life was contagious.

We celebrated a moment

of collective inebriation

that we would never know again.

Nothing like it in all

the years that followed

from our childhood

until tonight,

the 45th reunion of

our high school class.

At 30 or 40, a gathering

of my old classmates

would have been

exactly the kind of thing

I'd have kept my nose out of.

But at 62,

I found myself drawn to it

as if in the crowd

of half-remembered faces

I'd be closer to the mystery

at the heart of things,

a magic trick

that turned time past

into time present.

The Swede.

Swede Levov.

During the war years, this was a

magical name in our neighborhood.

Of the few

fair-complexioned students

in our predominantly

Jewish public school

none possessed the viking mask

of this blue-eyed

hero, the Swede,

big brother of my

best friend, Jerry,

born into our tribe as

Seymour Irving Levov,

the greatest high school athlete

New Jersey had ever seen.

Watching the Swede,

people could forget

the way things actually were.

We could forget the war.

The Swede went off

to the marines in '44

just missing

the end of the fighting

and came home to Dawn Dwyer,

a plumber's daughter

from Elizabeth

who made it all the way

to the miss America pageant

in Atlantic city.

A shiksa.

The Swede had done it.

But before he could marry Dawn,

she had one great test to pass.

She had to meet the old man,

the Swede's father,

Lou Levov, founder and owner

of Newark maid gloves.

He just wants to ask you a

couple of things, that's all.

"That's all"?

Can't you answer for me?

He wants to get to

know you and he's not

an easy guy, but if

you stand your ground...

Oh, Swede.

He'll respect that.

He'll respect you for it.

I'll be right there.

Dawn, let's get

down to brass tacks.

What do you people say

about Jews?

My family doesn't

talk much about Jews.

I don't mean that as an excuse.

We don't talk much

about anything.

But marrying a Jew

isn't a big deal.

Until the issue of

what to raise the kids as.

I would want our child

to be baptized, yes.

Baptized? No.

That's a no.

But...

Baptism, it washes away

original sin.

Without it, if they die,

they go to limbo.

Limbo, I don't know about,

but baptism, I can't allow.

It's important to me,

Mr. Levov.

All of the sacraments

are important.

Like communion, the Eucharist.

What is that?

Well, everybody kneels

and you eat the body of Christ.

I cannot go that far.

I'm sorry.

I have the highest respect, but my

grandchild is not going to eat Jesus.

- I can give you Christmas.

- What about Easter?

Easter?

She wants Easter, Seymour.

What about catechism?

No. Whatever that is.

Now, both of you, we have to

talk about the bar Mitzvah.

Why can't we

just let him decide?

A child cannot decide.

But I don't want a bar Mitzvah.

Then I don't think

we can reach an agreement.

- Dad. -She wants the

child to decide?

A child cannot decide.

Then we won't have a child.

We can marry,

but we won't have children.

Miss Dwyer, you are

as pretty as a picture.

I congratulate you

on how far you've come.

Your parents must be proud.

But I think we should

just shake hands

and everybody go their own way.

I'm not leaving.

I'm not going to go.

And I'm not a picture,

Mr. Levov, I'm myself.

I'm Mary Dawn Dwyer

and I love your son.

I love him.

That's why I'm here.

So, please...

Let's go on.

So, the old man was won over.

In a few years, the Swede took over

the glove factory, built it up.

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