In addition to Grandpa’s Jewish roots, another topic that Grandma “didn’t want to rehash again” was great-grandmother Bloomfield. And Grandpa never talked about his past. When other kids’ grandparents told stories that began with, “Back in my day…,” they thought: oh, no! I – or we – would have been delighted to hear such stories.

Until I was twelve, I had four grandmothers – two “just” grandmothers and two great-grandmothers. But I only knew three of the four. Why couldn’t we go to New York and visit the unknown great-grandmother Regina Wolff Bloomfield? We knew that she lived on Featherbed Lane in the Bronx.

Once Grandma told me that she had first met her mother-in-law after being married for 25 years. She seemed to be saying, “If she isn’t more interested in me, then I am not interested in her, either.” Other family sources told a different story. They said that my great-grandmother Bloomfield had disapproved of her son’s marriage to a Christian woman and had tried to prevent the marriage or to break it up.

Grandma also told me that Grandpa had had a twin brother who had died at birth. This was true. Grandma then added that their mother somehow “liked the child who died better.” That was the reason that she never came to visit. Grandma was good at telling stories – and this was a good one. Grandpa also had a living brother, Leonard, and a sister, Frances, whom, of course, we never met either.

Before great-grandmother Bloomfield died in 1963 my uncle Joel Bloomfield visited her. I was envious. But Joel wasn’t too generous with information about his visit. Looking back, I certainly could have written her a letter. But didn’t want to provoke anyone, so I didn’t.