Poppy Jack

Posted by Scott Rozzman in HandPrints Stories & Videos | 0 comments

“W-A-S-S-E-R-M-A-N.” Spelling my grandfather’s family name had earned me a dollar yet again. But the buck was worthless, compared to the pride emanating from his wide smile.

“240” he bid, winking and laughing to assure that I remembered “240” meant he had aces. If he could have chosen how he’d die, I think he would have picked playing pinochle with his boys: my dad, my brother and me, until his head hit the oak kitchen table.

Ever since my grandparents moved into our Colonial, at least once a week we’d share our bids, play our game, and trump the outside world. Margate, Florida had its share of clubhouse card games, but our kitchen table in River Edge, New Jersey was home to my dad, to me, and especially to my Poppy Jack.

Known to drop his pants as he walked out of the room, or to jump into a pool with his clothes on just for a laugh, he also had a reputation for his temper: the class clown with a short fuse. He would become angry if one of his seven brothers spoke to him disrespectfully, or if his son (my uncle) “wronged” him by not calling. He earned respect through hard work, by respecting others, and from the tough life he had lived as a Russian immigrant.

Poppy Jack was embarrassed by his lack of education, and rarely wrote or scribbled, except to pick horses or to sign a grandchild’s birthday card. With neither time nor money for school, he had worked in the courthouses, the streets, and eventually as a family grocer. He worked hard. He was embarrassed that he had not been born in the United States, a fact he avoided sharing.

My Poppy

While others knew Poppy Jack for his ability to make people laugh, I knew him for his ability to make me smile from my heart. His eyes were a mirror that said, “You can do anything.” The way he looked at me communicated his thoughts: “I am so proud of you.” Hugs came from his toes, laughter from his heart.

I loved him, despite his gambling and lack of education, in spite of his tomfoolery and his temper. I loved him for the passion in his eyes, the support in his hugs, and the message that I can do anything. He spelled unconditional love. Whatever I’ve chosen to do, I know my Poppy Jack would be proud of me.

Photo Playing Cards By DRoddy8103