Features
Lifelong buddies celebrate turning 80 with fishing trip
By GERRY POSNER When you turn 80, you often start to think about items on your bucket list and your diminishing opportunities to complete your list. Thus it was five old Winnipeg friends came together to share time together doing we had never done before – at least together: fishing.
In truth, fishing was never on my bucket list and, in fact, I have reached this stage in life without ever putting a fishing rod anywhere near water. My buddies: Michael Nozick, Larry Booke, Ted Lyons and Sheldon Gilman, all had fishing experience. In fact, Nozick, Booke, and Lyons all had considerable prior exposure to this activity. Only Gilman was limited but, even so, he had at least fished at an earlier age. Three years ago Nozick hatched the plan to have us meet and drive to a lodge in Sioux Narrows for 2 1/2 days of fishing, with professional guides. He had done this with his granddaughters and was so enthralled with this experience, he suggested we ought to try it. Covid interrupted our plans, but this year, cast came to reel. Nozick promised me that even Gerry Posner would catch a fish.
And, so it came to pass that in early August five old Jewish guys who have known each other for over 70 years (in some cases – over 75), hopped into a car with Ted Lyons at the wheel and headed east for over three hours to Sioux Narrows, Ontario. With three in the back, it was a bit crowded and I can vouch for that statement as I was squeezed into the back seat with a hump in the middle of the floor. This I had not bargained for when the plans were drawn. We soon settled in and had our first meal at the lodge on a hot Thursday night in August.
After our breakfast the next morning we split up into two boats with Gilman and I going in one boat with our guide and the others in a different boat with their own guide. We were taken for over 30 minutes to known good fishing spots on Lake of the Woods. And there we were. Initially I had to get our guide to put the minnow on the hook. Yet, as the day wore on, I was actually doing this myself. Better was the fact that on that day, I caught not just one fish, but seven: six Walleye and one Perch (the guide told me that as I was unable to tell the difference). That day, as impressed as I was with my count, Nozick, Booke and Lyons eclipsed me by almost double. Gilman trailed, but I could not include him in the competition since, once he caught a couple fish, he took to suntanning on the boat. Still, I was delighted. We had what is called a shore lunch that day, with two of the fish we caught and two from the other boat. The rest were, as the expression goes, “released.”
There we were – on a remote island, called Small Island (to me they all looked either big or small). It was so peaceful and the view spectacular as we gathered around for the lunch prepared by our guides. With all of that, I was quite surprised when I called my wife in Toronto and had perfect reception. We fished in the afternoon and had a lovely meal followed by a movie which had been personally selected by Nozick. It was a great day, my best ever in fishing ( which I suppose means little, given my previous lack of fishing time).
The next day was a repeat of the first one: sunny skies, warm temps and calm winds. This day brought only five fish onto my list. Once again, I was at the bottom. But, included in the group of five fish I caught that day was a 24” Walleye. That fish it turned out was the biggest catch of the entire trip. My guide even measured it for me. This was the first time I have ever been the biggest in anything. We had still another shore lunch, better than the first day, this time on Big Island. We all gathered around and chatted about every subject, past, present and future. (We are very strong on the past.) That night Nozick gave us yet another movie, our third of the trip, and maybe the best one. We had no problems sleeping, especially since we each had our own room – plus 3 bathrooms. Roughing it we were not.
The last day was a Sunday, with only a half day scheduled for fishing, so we asked our guides not to take us far out, as we did not have much time and did not want to waste it traveling 30 minutes and back, even if the scenery and weather were terrific. Maybe the new location was a weak spot, maybe we were fished out, but the results that morning were zero for all of us. My own conclusion was that the fish were at church.
And then – the ride home with more of the tight space for my feet in the back. But we made it with stories to tell. The picture attached is the five of us, in front of the Nozick home, weary but content after some quality time together reliving our past. That past now has a new entry and the stories likely will get slightly exaggerated( at least by me: 24’’ could well increase).
Features
100-year-old Lil Duboff still taking life one day at a time
By MYRON LOVE Last march, Lil Duboff celebrated her 100th birthday in a low key manner.
“I have always been a laid back kind of person,” says the Shaftesbury retirement home resident. “I just celebrated with my family.”
Lil Duboff’s life journey began in Russia in 1925. “I was six months old when we came to Winnipeg,” she says. “Most of my extended family had come before. We were supposed to leave Russia at the same time, but my mother was pregnant with me and my parents waited until after I was born.”
The former Lil Portnoy, the daughter of Hy and Pessie, grew up the youngest of five siblings in a large and loving family in the old north end Jewish community. Upon his arrival in Winnipeg, her father, Hy, joined his father, Jack, and his brothers, Nathan and Percy, in the family business, Perth’s Cleaners, which was established in 1914.
Following the education path of most Jewish Winnipeggers in the period between the wars and into the 1950s, Duboff started her schooling at Peretz School – although she attended William Whyte School for most of her elementary schooling, supplemented by evening classes at Peretz School – followed by Aberdeen School and St. John’s Tech for high school.
The family, she recalls, belonged to the Beth Jacob Synagogue on Selkirk Avenue.
After completing high school, Duboff took a business course and joined the workforce. She first worked at Perth’s, then Stall’s, and lastly, Silpit Industries – which was owned by Harry Silverberg. (Harry Silverberg was one of the wealthier individuals in our community and a community leader who contributed generously to our communal institutions.)
It was while working at Silpit Industries that Lil Portnoy met Nathan Duboff. “Nathan worked in the shipping department,” she recalls. “We dated for three or four years before getting married.”
They wed in 1953 at the Hebrew Sick Hall on Selkirk Avenue. The bride was pregnant soon after and quit work to look after her family. The couple had three children: Chuck, Neil and Cynthia.
The family lived in the Garden City area. While Nathan continued to work for Harry Silverberg for a time – at his Brown and Rutherford lumber business, he later moved to Portage Lumber as sales manager, and then Dominion Lumber, finally retiring as sales manager for McDermot Lumber in 1995.
During those years Lil did what many married Jewish women did and put her time in as a volunteer with different Jewish organizations. She served as president of the Chevra Mishnayes Congregation sisterhood and the ORT chapter to which she belonged. She also volunteered with B’nai B’rith Women and Jewish Child and Family Service.
Her leisure activities included playing mahjong with friends and enjoying – with Nathan – the ballet and the symphony. There were also all the holiday gatherings with the extended family and summers spent at the family cottage in Gimli.
In the mid-1980s, Lil and Nathan sold their Garden City home and moved to a condo on Cambridge in the south end. After Nathan’s sudden passing in 2003, Lil continued living at Cambridge Towers until three years ago when her declining physical health required her to move into assisted living at the Shaftesbury.
While Lil Duboff suffers from many of the complaints of old age, such as limited eyesight and hearing, and other health issues, she retains a clear and positive frame of mind. She appreciates that her children all still live in Winnipeg and visit frequently. She happily reports that she also has five grandchildren and three great-grandchildren.
“It’s different living here (at the Shaftesbury),” she observes. “I don’t see as many people as I used to. But I am accepting my limitations and take life one day at a time. You never know what tomorrow might bring.”
Features
The First Time: A Memoir
By DAVID R. TOPPER Nearly every life has a series of “first times,” no matter how long or short one lives. The first day of school, or the first bicycle – these quickly come to mind. Probably because of the deep and wide reading I’ve been doing for a story I wrote, I recalled another “first” in my life. It came to me with the same chill up my spine as on the day it happened. And that was long ago.
I’m now into my early 80s and this event is from the late 1960s when I was finishing my PhD, which required that I pass a second language test. It was the last essential test, since I was finishing up my dissertation. In the early 1960s, as an undergraduate, I had taken German for the language requirement and naturally I opted for German for the graduate requirement too. Relevant here is the fact that of all the undergraduate courses I took, the only subject for which I had poor grades was – you guessed it? – German, where I got less than As and Bs.
On the day appointed, I walked across campus to the German department and took the test. The task was to translate a page of text. I can’t recall the content or anything about it. But the result was sent to me and – I suppose not surprisingly – I didn’t pass. I was informed that I could make an appointment with a member of the department to go over the test and to get some tutoring to help me prepare for another try.
But where is the “first in my life” that this memoir is all about? As said above, I only recently recalled this “first.” The trigger was a newscast that Yale University professor Timothy Snyder was moving to the University of Toronto because of the recent presidential elections in the USA. This caught my attention because his monumental book, Black Earth, on the Holocaust in the shtetls of Eastern Europe during World War II, was so crucial to that story I wrote. Thus, my subconscious kicked in and that newscast led me back to when I met the tutor.
Frankly, I don’t remember much about that day. Not the time of year, or the weather. Except that I again walked across campus, this time to meet my German tutor. Even so, I only remember three things about the tutor – beyond the fact that it was woman. She was much older than me and she spoke with a thick accent.
We sat at a table, she to my left, and in front of us on the table was my translation sheet covered with corrections in red; the original German text was beside it, to the right. Slowly she went over my translation, pointing out my mistakes. I sat, focusing on what I did wrong and listening to her suggestions for what I should have done – when, for a brief moment, she reached across my sheet to point to a German word in the original text. With her left hand and her bare arm right in front of me – I saw something on the underside of that arm.
At the time, I knew about this. I had read about it. But back in the late 1960s I had never seen it for real – in the flesh. Really. Yes, “in the flesh” isn’t a metaphor. Indeed, I’m getting the same chill now just thinking about it, as I did when I saw it – for the first time.
On the inside of that arm, she had a tattoo – a very simple tattoo – just a five-digit number. Nothing else.
I was so rattled by this that I couldn’t focus on what she was saying anymore. The tattoo blurred out much of everything else for the rest of the day.
Fortunately, this happened near the end of our meeting, and I apparently absorbed enough of her help so that when I did take the test the second time – I passed. And here I am: a retired professor after many years of teaching.
Even today, that first tattoo is still seared in my mind. Oh, and that’s the third thing I’ll always remember about the tutor who helped me pass that key test on the road to my PhD.
Features
Japanese Straightening/Hair Rebonding at SETS on Corydon
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