Dad and Me Oct, 1969

I lost my father, suddenly, more than 27 years ago. I miss him every day; his gentle spirit and home-spun wisdom.  At the time of his death I had a 4 year old and an 8 month old child. I realized there was so much I wanted to ask him, to know about him. He was the youngest of eight children, grew up in St. Louis, had a bipolar mother about whom he never spoke. I decided before everyone who knew anything about his upbringing was gone, I would write a family news letter and call his surviving siblings and cousins, and mine, and get family history and stories. First I wrote about my generation of cousins. Then I wrote about our grandparents’ generation. Next, my father’s siblings, the first four, then the next. I only wrote a newsletter every 6-9 months or so, so it took me several years before I got to writing about my father. When I finally wrote his story, I realized that it was his eulogy and I had completed the project.

The story that I share today I wrote in November, 1993, collected from observations from various cousins and my own. The names quoted are first cousins. You will see that I shift point of view in telling the story. That was deliberate as I am sometimes part of the story, sometimes just recounting what others say. Here is the story of my father: Conrad Kenneth Sarason.

The baby was born on November 23, 1913, four days after Grandpa Kahut Sarason died. Though named Conrad, Lizzie and Sam evidently decided to change it to Kenneth in memory of Sam’s father, but didn’t bother to change the birth certificate. Ken only discovered his real name when he entered the service and had to produce a birth certificate. Among his papers, Rick and I found the notarized pronouncement from oldest sister Pauline that she knew Conrad and Kenneth to be one and the same person.

When he was four years old, he fell through the plate glass display case in his father’s store and his nose was severed. It was Ike, then 14, who scooped him up and rushed him to the doctor to have it stitched back on. Dad always spoke fondly of his big brother and, after Ike’s death, wrote to Mimi about how much he had looked up to him. Reports are that he was a happy child and no trouble for Lizzie, who had troubles enough of her own. She started in and out of mental institutions when he was 8 and was permanently institutionalized when he was 12. He used to pray for her at night. I’m sure he didn’t understand why she couldn’t be with him and my mother says he wept in her arms when Lizzie died.

He graduated with a degree in business administration from Washington University in 1935 and made his way to Detroit to work for GM. In 1937 he was living in Flint, MI. His old friend Meyer Weiner tells the story of a hot day at Rosh Hashanah services. Several men came out to get some air and have a cigarette. One approached. “Anyone play golf?” Two responded and the three left for the links. The instigator was my father; Meyer and Bill Finsten were the others. They were soon sharing an apartment and became life-long friends, a friendship that Meyer has lovingly extended to me since Dad’s death. This story seems to be typical of my father: religious, but not devout, devoted more to friendship and golf than anything else.

Writes Marj: “Kenny was born with a sunny personality. Very good looking and irresistible in his Army Air Corps uniform. He came to live with us in Huntington Woods for a short period after the war because he had pneumonia. We had a maid at that time who used to work in a mental hospital and it seemed to have left a mark on her. During the long days he stayed in bed, she sat with him and fell in love with him. When he recovered and moved on to escorting more attractive women around town, she felt betrayed, became furious and left. I was a teenager at the time and happy to see her sullen face gone but not Kenny’s cheerful one.”

Jean’s memories are consistent: the handsome war hero, popular with the women. She remembers one particularly funny evening: “He and Sam Horwitz, my Aunt Jane’s intended, had a contest to see who could eat the most corn-on-the-cob. It was a hilarious dinner and if I remember correctly Kenny was the winner.” From Milli: “Ken was in the Air Force when I first remember him during the Second World War. He was the magical source of unheard of treats during those years – Juicy Fruit gum and Hershey chocolate bars.” Milli remembers that he was a gracious host when they visited him in Laguna Hills, a memory shared by all the cousins, for family meant everything to Ken.  She and Rachel each have a story asking Dad to say grace before a meal (both these cousins are Baptists). With tears streaming down his face, he said the blessing over bread in Hebrew. I have one such occurrence on video, at Rachel’s son John’s graduation from the Air Force Academy. Dad was thrilled to be the Sarason representative at the occasion. Upon witnessing me in tears at Erica Zimmerman’s bat mitzvah, Jean leaned over to me and told me that I had come by it naturally. Brothers Ike, Roy and Ken could all be easily moved to tears.

Ken enlisted in the Army Air Corps just before his 26th birthday. He had found a home. He loved the camaraderie and the responsibility. He was a navigator and then an instructor at a flight school at Edwards Air Force Base in Sacramento. It was then that he fell in love with California and vowed to return someday. He remained in close touch with his “buddies” and was still in touch with his commanding officer when he died. Col. John Egan and I are now pen-pals as well.

When Dad came back to Detroit, he decided it was time to marry. He was now 32 years old. Pauline introduced him to the younger sister of one of her friends and he married Cornelia Stein after a brief courtship. They were married on June 16, 1946. He had kept his promise to his father to marry a Jewish woman. His used car lot prospered enough that he was able to buy a Chrysler dealership with a partner. Rick came along on Feb. 12, 1948, and I came at long last on Dec. 10, 1952, finishing out the generation of first cousins. Dad worked long hours and golfed or bowled on Sundays. My memories of him from those years are formed mostly by viewing those precious old pictures and movies, for which he was famous.

Louise remembers: “Ken, the brother that Sara brought up, had a special place in our hearts. He was perhaps 18 when I was born. The dashing navigator in his Air Force khakis, who brought Sara opals from Australia; the young man looking for a job; the young husband grinning as he introduced his bride to Worcester and who got to sleep in my brand new twin beds which promptly collapsed when he sat on the edge to take his shoes off. I was so embarrassed about that, but he made it an adventure to laugh about as he and Dad put things to rights. He was friendly and kind when we met in Detroit, but it wasn’t until I was grown that he shared with me some of his personal problems and how he handled them. I think it was unusual for a man of his generation to discuss such things, but then, I considered him almost a contemporary and a friend. He delighted in playing host; was especially cordial to Mendy and me in California and he embraced and welcomed Arnold as my new husband. In a way he was a family link, because he was free enough to travel and visited frequently in Worcester and Baltimore. Oh yes, the movies and the pictures – we came to depend on him to be the family photographer and he always came through – at weddings ( especially mine) and family visits and special occasions. I’ve always regretted sticking my tongue out at him when I was younger. Truth be told, I wanted to have my picture taken and generally liked the idea of being in a picture, but was very self-conscious about how I looked and embarrassed about my feeling that I wanted to be in a picture.”

Bad business dealings and a union strike at Chrysler forced Dad to sell his dealership at a loss in 1967. He went to work for cousin Lester Morris selling Buicks, then to a competitor, but he had lost his appetite for the business world. Uncle Meyer died in the summer of 1970. Rick had already left for Israel and I was out of town, visiting maternal cousins. When I returned home, Dad took me to Aunt Anna’s house to pay my respects. The evening remains vivid for me 23 years later. It is the only time I ever remember being in the Prentis home and I was aware that Dad wanted his respected relatives to see his almost-grown daughter, about to leave for college. He was proud of me and I basked in that knowledge. I was admitted in to see Aunt Anna, who had taken to her bed with grief. She was supported by her four daughters, who were all so kind to me. I met Nelson that evening, a wonderful new cousin who was doing his graduate work at Brandeis, happy coincidence! Most of all, I remember the ride home, during which Dad confided to me that he was interviewing for a job at the Jewish Welfare Federation as their Director of Endowments. He was excited about the possibility of “doing good while making good” and was so happy to get the job. It was a satisfying way for him to finish his professional career, and that evening established an intimacy between the two of us that I always cherished. I came to rely on my father and learned that nothing was too intimate or painful for him to hear. He never disappointed me and was my support throughout the years. At one low point, he told me that his shoulders were broad enough for the both of us and I suspect that I was not alone in finding that he always had a sympathetic ear.

Ken and Connie went through a bitter divorce which was finalized in 1981 and resulted in Ken finally living full-time at his beloved Leisure World in Laguna Hills, CA. He was truly happy in his California idyll with many friends and lots of golf, bridge and poker. He missed his family and wished that they would have visited more often. He continued to date needy women, never quite understanding why they sought him out, or why he put up with them. He died of a heart attack on January 3, 1990. As Milli said, “He had unusual warmth and joy.”

Betsy Pfau
Retired from software sales long ago, two grown children. Theater major in college. Singer still, arts lover, involved in art museums locally (Greater Boston area). Originally from Detroit area.