These bittersweet and humorous stories describe Myron’s world, a world shared by first generation Americans who lived in the poor neighborhoods of New York during the Depression. Myron, a timid but bright 12-year old Jewish boy, is caught between his father wanting him to be "100% American" and his mother wanting him to hold fast to his tradition.
A frightened Myron encounters a crippled neighbor who beats his wife with his crutch. They both gain as a surprising friendship grows between the two of them.
Uncle Solly, Myron’s hero, shows him the world of bookmaking, wrestling and violence. Myron becomes enlightened when he realizes his traditional values are more solid than his Uncle’s.
Myron matures quickly as he witnesses a reconciliation between an unemployed fabric cutter and his daughter who has turned to prostitution to provide money for the family.
Included are sketches of Jewish waiters and salesmen, storekeepers, a city detective and some Sicilian immigrants who in some magical way are able to grow orange trees in their back yards.
After many humorous and heartwarming adventures, Myron makes a surprising discovery. His simple and traditional values have provided him with the strength of character he needs to deal with the world.
Dr. Rettek has been writing fictionalized accounts of his adventures seemingly forever. He identifies with Marco Polo who also wanted to tell about the wonders of his many rich and varied experiences.
His book, The Calling, recalls the tribulations of a medical student wrestling with both life and the challenges of studying medicine in a foreign land in both a humorous and heartwarming way.
For over twenty years Dr. Rettek was involved with people at their most open and vulnerable moments as a family practitioner, psychiatrist and psychoanalyst.
His experiences led him to write articles for Private Practice, a publication for doctors, including How I Found An Old Cure For New Problems.
When the Air Force was recruiting physicians he joined as a Reservist and was trained in Aerospace Medicine. His trouble shooting assignments included bases in the United States and Europe. When he retired as Colonel in the Air Force Reserve, he was the oldest crewmember on flying status with prior WW II service.
More recently, his longstanding involvement with art evolved into a screenplay, Molly and the Wine Dark Sea, about love, loyalty and the entrapments of art dealership.
Out of his interest in photography he wrote a three-act play, Valentine, a supposal about Eugene Atget who, for many, was the greatest photographer that ever lived.
He has also written a small volume of poetry and a ‘how to’ manual, Bring God Into Your Life, meant for people with a limited religious background.
Pending publication is a book dealing with the concept of the Kingdom of Heaven as it changed throughout the ages. It includes the time of separation of Christianity from Judaism.
He and his wife, Susan, a jewelry designer, live in New York by the sea where they enjoy their children and grandchildren and continue to celebrate the ordinary in their lives.
" Yes. If Adam had courage to tell God how come he knew he was naked, you can tell Papa what happened at school."
"O.K. I’ll tell. After I got registered and Mama left, Mrs. Schwartz, the Assistant Principal, took me to Mrs. Connelly’s room. She’s my new teacher. I’m in class 4A. That’s room 203 on the second floor with the five red turkeys on the door. Mrs. Connelly gave me a reading test from My Weekly Reader. I read it good ‘cause it was easy. Then, she gave me a grown-up magazine called, Saturday Evening Post. She asked me to read it and I did. She said I was a very good reader and she made me sit in the front with all the girls."
"Not that part. Tell the part where that shikse teacher, Mrs. Connelly, said that if you’re Jewish, you’re a nothing. Go ahead, tell that part and don’t think I’m not going to report her to the Assistant Principal the first thing in the morning."
"With so many Jewish children in this neighborhood going to the public school, I don’t believe it."
"Tell Papa, you didn’t make it up."
"I didn’t make it up and I don’t tell lies anymore, Papa. I promised God. I told God on Tuesday, I’m also going to stop biting my nails, but I haven’t started yet, except that’s not what she said."
"Just tell the story, Myron and don’t make it one of your long megillas, just the main parts. We haven’t got all day."
"O.K. After I got my desk assignment Mrs. Connelly asked me to tell the class about myself. So, I got up and told everybody, ‘my name is Myron Goldstein. I’m twelve years old and I like spaghetti with a lot of ketchup. We just moved to Coney Island, by Sea Gate. We used to live on the East Side on Avenue D by the docks. My mother and father come from the old country and they speak English very good. They also speak Yiddish, but only to themselves when they don’t want me to understand what they’re talking about. They don’t want me to learn how to talk Yiddish ‘cause I have to be an American. They don’t need to ask my opinion ‘cause I’m twelve years old. When I’m thirteen, that’s when I’m a bar mitzvah, I can have an opinion, but right now it makes no difference ‘cause I have to listen to my parents anyway. I like the movies, except I can’t go on Saturdays ‘cause it’s Shabbos. I listen to Uncle Don on the radio and I listen to The Shadow. I don’t like The Shadow. I mean, I do like The Shadow but sometimes it’s scary and I can’t sleep at night, but I never wet my bed, ever. My mother is a good cook and I’m Jewish." Then, I sat down.
"Did you tell them your great grandfather was the biggest doctor in Vilna? He had a dacha on the Black Sea. He took his family there every summer for almost three months. The other doctors had to take care of his patients when he was gone. That’s how big he was."
" No, I didn’t know and I forgot."
" Tell them next time and don’t forget. Then, what?"
"Then, Mrs. Connelly said that what I said was very interesting and I talked very good, but it wasn’t so important that I was Jewish."
"You hear that, Hershel? One day in public school and already they have something to say about his being Jewish. Who knows what’s going to be in a month? You wait, when Chanukah comes, he’ll be looking for Santa Claus."
"I will not!" I said indignantly. "I’ll never look for Santa Claus and that’s not what she meant."
"I’m not finished, Myron. Be quiet," my mother said.
"Hold your horses, Sophie. I want to hear what he has to say."
My father turned to me.
"So, what did she mean?" he asked.
"She meant that everyone is the same. If you’re a Jew, or an Italian, or a colored person, or a goy, or even a Chinese kid who lives in Chinatown, in America everyone is the same. That’s what she meant."
"Is that what she said, or is that what you think she meant?" my mother asked.
"That’s what she meant ‘cause when she was teaching us about the United States she said America was a big pot like a Mulligan stew and everyone has to get thrown into it."
"You know what a Mulligan stew is, Myron?" my mother asked me, looking a little annoyed.
"No, but it sounds like the cholent you make that we eat on Shabos when we come home from shul, but I never heard of it. I don’t think it’s kosher."
"I’ll say, it’s not kosher!" my mother explained.
