In the Jewish Section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery: 5, Irene Silverman

Irene (Goldberg) Silverman, “Nanny,” Labor Day 1909–May 2002

 

Irene (Goldberg) Silverman

Irene Goldberg was born in Rochester, NY, on September 4, 1909. Her parents Morris and Leah Goldberg were immigrants to the US. Her son Sam Silverman recalls, “Mom grew up in the Bronx, with seven siblings, and they all worked, no college and not much money.” Irene dropped out of sixth grade and went right to work. Always comfortable in a group of people, she shared exuberance and love of a funny story. When Bob (born Reuven) Silverman noticed her, he actively pursued her. A carpenter and also the child of immigrant parents, he was considered a “good catch” and a “good provider,” essential in the harsh economic times of the cascading depressions. Although she claimed she married Bob for the security he’d provide, they clearly were deeply attached to each other. A person who “could never sit still,” Irene devoted herself to homemaking and her three children.

Sam and his mother Irene

 

When Irene’s son Sam was 12 years old, his mother began to work outside the home, at “The Sweater Joint.” Sam says, “She was profoundly popular.” His father drove Irene to work each day and collected her at the end of her work day, and then the two of them would cook dinner together. Sam enjoyed being his mother’s helper, and observing the contrast between his parents: His mother shone in family get-togethers, keeping the laughter and the conversation going, while his father was quiet and work-focused, as well as bright and self-taught. As a youth, Bob had been valedictorian of his high school and was offered a full scholarship to college, but opted instead to join his own father’s business, building skills and finally establishing his own carpentry business.

Irene loved gatherings ... (center, Alice with drum)

 

In the 1970s, Bob’s heart disease inspired the couple to move to Hallandale, Florida. Here too, Irene worked, all the way to age 88. Sadly, Bob died 23 years before Irene, so she spent her golden years without him. Sam and his wife Alice welcomed Irene’s visits to their home in Amherst, Massachusetts, then to their home in St. Johnsbury, Vermont. When visiting here, Irene took part with her usual enthusiasm in social events; Sam especially remembers when she took part in a 50th anniversary celebration for local synagogue leaders Rosalie and Ben Harris, held at Lyndon State College. “She joined right in, and danced with her walker!”

 

Sam went to Florida in 2001 when Irene had a mini stroke and seemed saddened and alone, and he brought her back to Vermont. When this visit turned out to be shorter than first envisioned, Sam took her to Florida again, where she almost immediately experienced a mini stroke. Concerned for his mother’s health, Sam arranged for the two of them to go right back to Vermont, where Irene spent the last nine months of her life.

 

Irene’s last big celebration was a bnei mitvah for one of Nancy Frank and Jay Abramson’s children, and Sam noticed that she seemed slow. The next morning he woke with a sense of something wrong, and found that his mother had collapsed. Emergency transport took them to the local hospital, where Sam held Irene’s hand for two hours until she passed.

 

“She was a favorite of my friends,” Sam recalls now. “She was very active her whole life, and she always fit right in.”

 

Her burial stone in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery includes her grandmothering name of “Nanny,” a reminder of how much she enjoyed Sam and Alice’s sons. Sam was able to visit the site almost daily for ten years, before he and Alice moved to Montpelier, and he felt the connection to his mother continue through those years, along with reflections on what an active and joyful person she had been. “She survived on her winning personality,” Sam noted. Irene gave this joy of life as an enduring memory to her family.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[To read more local Jewish personal stories and history, browse the whole blog: https://jewsinvermont.blogspot.com]

In the Jewish Section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery: 4, Burton Zahler

There are only a few stones so far in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery in St. Johnsbury, Vermont. It meant a lot to me to be able to choose this for my husband Dave Kanell's burial location. It seemed to me important to know more and share something about the others there. The following narrative was written with Burt Zahler's wife Sachiko Yoshida. Here is a photo of Burt with Sachiko, courtesy of the Vermont Arts Council.

Burton Ross Zahler, 1931–2016

 

Burt Zahler’s stone in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery in St. Johnsbury, Vermont, includes the name of his wife Sachiko Yoshida, who lives in St. Johnsbury. She kindly allowed me to ask her about her husband and her decision to have his burial location be in this lovely place.

 

Ms. Yoshida grew up in a small city in northwestern Japan, and worked as an art teacher there in junior high school and special education. In 1994 she served as a volunteer in the Japanese Peace Corps, called the Japanese Overseas Cooperation Volunteers (青年海外協力隊, seinen kaigai kyōryokutai), or JOCV. In her thirties at the time, working with the team in Honduras, she was impressed by meeting psychotherapist Burt Zahler, then 62 years old and survivor of two wives, who had tragically died in their youth. Not only was he joyful and giving, but he had the energy and commitment to once again fall in love. Two years later the pair married and settled in Japan, where Ms. Yoshida had a sister.

 

However, Burt missed his children and America, and Ms. Yoshida agreed to move to the United States with him, to Vermont, where he had lived with his second wife. Here are some of the details of Burt’s earlier life:

 

Burt was born on December 12, 1931, the younger of two sons of the late Irving and Clara Zahler in New York City. Shortly after his birth, the family moved to the Lower East Side (Avenue A and 4th Street) where he learned about the hard scrabble life of the streets. Due to Irving's ill health, they moved to St. Petersburg, Florida, where, during high school, he became involved in trying to integrate the football team, earning him (and his friends) praise from Eleanor Roosevelt. At the University of Chicago, where he studied linguistics, he met Suzanne Dana Troy. After college, Burt and Suzanne married and moved to Houston, TX where their two children, Erika Robin and Adam Troy, were born. In 1959, Burt was accepted at Boston University for graduate studies in psychology and the family moved to Brookline, MA. Tragically, soon after arriving, Suzanne passed away, leaving Burt a single parent. Two years later, he met and married Michal Frank, another grad student. During his graduate school years Burt worked on a study of the psychotherapeutic uses of psychotropic drugs, including LSD. The study was led by Richard Alpert (known later in the 60's as Baba Ram Das) and Timothy Leary, who gained fame for his LSD advocacy. In 1963, the family moved to Vergennes, Vermont, where Burt took a position at the Weeks School, the state reform facility for juvenile offenders. There, Gideon Jacob, Burt and Michal's first child was born.

Burt conceived of an intensive therapeutic treatment center for young offenders aged 16-20. In 1966, Burt's second daughter, Rachel, was born and Lakeside Center was established in Burlington, Vermont. In 1968, Burt's youngest, Reuben Chaim, was born and one year later the family settled in Charlotte, Vermont. In 1970, Burt and Michal set up a private practice as the first non-psychiatric psychotherapists in private practice in the state. They established a clinic, The Center for Change, in South Burlington. Sadly, in 1981, Michal, too, passed away. Thirteen years later with his children grown and on their own, he sold most of his possessions and moved to Honduras where he met Sachiko Yoshida.

 

Burt opened a psychotherapy practice on Eastern Avenue in St. Johnsbury, and his wife reports that he also “had a lifelong passion for playing poker, playing at casinos and in tournaments until very recently, and in reading books of all kinds.” He did not affiliate with the local synagogue.

 

Although he had been raised in a culturally Jewish home, Burt was not at all religious. However, he told his wife he’d like his burial place to be the Jewish section of the cemetery in St. Johnsbury. His death took place on October 5, 2016, and Ms. Yoshida worked with Nelson Baker of Beth El Synagogue to set up the burial, along with a graveside farewell.

 

Ms. Yoshida treasures her Japanese culture and heritage, and is an artist working in both paint and sculpture. She honors her own Buddhist religion through meditation in her thoughtfully tended gardens. The burial stone also reserves a place for her with her husband, in the Green Mountains that she has adopted as her home.

 

 [To read more local Jewish personal stories and history, browse the whole blog: https://jewsinvermont.blogspot.com]

In the Jewish Section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery: 3, Bill Hovey

William Lee Hovey (1932-2008): A Reflection

 

by Beth Kanell

 

Each of the five stones in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery has an intriguing story behind it. But the one for William L. (Lee) Hovey may have left us with the most questions—or at least, it’s left me wondering.

 

I met Bill Hovey in the last years of his life. I began attending services at Beth El Synagogue with my (future) husband Dave in 2002. Bill used to come for Rosh Hashanah, when seating in the synagogue would overflow all the way into the hallway. It was a season of return, and we treasured it.

 

But I didn’t know what to think about Bill. Mostly I was scared of his appearance: His face and ears were heavily pierced with what looked like stainless steel studs, and his shaven head was heavily tattooed in dark navy blue or black in swirls that reminded me of Polynesian tattoos, especially because they were inked onto his face as well. His expression was solemn, and his clothing formal, like many of the other men attending services. I took my cue from Dave, who greeted Bill with some warmth and much respect, but I wondered what I was supposed to understand from his fierce appearance.

 

I never had the chutzpah to ask, and Dave preferred not to inquire, although he’d known Bill for years. Clearly Bill was intentionally present as a Jew. But what else was in his story?

 

The next time I learned a bit more about Bill was in autumn 2008, when he knew he was dying of COPD, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. He called Dave—many people in Congregation Beth El phoned Dave when they needed something “Jewish”—and said that the Dartmouth Medical Center doctors had told him he had very little time left. “I want you to come get my books,” he said.

 

So Dave and I, by then married, drove to Bill’s home in the Colonial Apartments in St. Johnsbury a few days later. It was good that we arrived pretty early in the day, because the walls of the apartment were lined with bookshelves to the ceiling, jammed full, and Bill wanted us to take them all. Using “banana boxes” that we’d brought in our van, we began to take the books off the shelves and pack them. They ranged from very beautiful leather-bound volumes to ordinary paperback versions of Jewish fiction. And they were all filmed with ash from Bill’s years of cigarette smoking; his habit was so ingrained that even as we packed, and he sucked at a tank of supplemental oxygen, he still kept smoking.

 

We made multiple trips that day, filling the van several times. The boxed books occupied a large part of our garage by the time we finished. To my sorrow, Bill insisted that we also take with us two tallit and several kippot. He kept one for his final days. Even without the books, the apartment spoke of Jewish culture and history, with beautiful art and artifacts. Bill said he had plenty of support to help him manage, and we left him on his own there. We were sad, but determined to do our best to find good homes for the wonderful library he’d donated.

 

I don’t know when Bill became a Jew. I only know a few details about his life, the public details: His parents lived in Waterford, Vermont, when he was born. His father Leland Clovis Hovey was a Waterford-born surveyor, and his mother Dorothy T. (Russ) Hovey, born in Groveton NH, had worked at an art school. Leland was a descendant of Abiel Richardson, one of Waterford's significant early settlers.

 

Bill was probably born at the St. Johnsbury hospital, on September 13, 1932. In April 1955, when he was not yet 23 years old, he enlisted in the Navy and served a 3-year term there. He then served another 13 years in the Navy, although I can’t find any record of what he did  there. After that, he worked at the Library of Congress for a career as a linguistics specialist, with a master’s degree, and lived in and near Washington, DC. At his retirement from the Library of Congress, his position was “Romance language translator and cataloguer.” Clearly, he was a highly educated man.

 

Bill never married, and I have wondered whether in part his tattoos represented a declaration of who and how he had loved in his life. Even though the overall effect of the tattoos and piercings frightened me, he didn’t seem like an angry person, and on the few occasions when I saw him in downtown St. Johnsbury he was courteous, although he said little.

 

The local paper, the Caledonian-Record, said that Bill was survived by “a few cousins” and that the family observed a brief committal service at the Mt. Pleasant Cemetery. Dave and I weren’t aware of it at the time, so I doubt that there was any Jewish leadership present. On the other hand, the Washington Post also noted Bill’s passing, saying the service was “attended by many relatives from Hawaii, Vermont, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island.” That makes me think he may have been better known and understood by people from his long-time home area of Washington, DC.

 

Perhaps you know a little more about Bill or can share a photo of him. I’d like to know there are others thinking of him. Whatever the mysteries were in his life, it’s certain that he concluded with deeply Jewish connections, and his burial in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery reflects that aspect of his life. The stone is a military one, provided in his honor by the US government.

[To read more local Jewish personal stories and history, browse the whole blog: https://jewsinvermont.blogspot.com]

In the Jewish Section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery: 2, Marc Schein

Craig (left) and Marc Schein, brothers.

There are only a few stones so far in the Jewish section of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery in St. Johnsbury, Vermont. It meant a lot to me to be able to choose this for my husband Dave Kanell's burial location. It seemed to me important to know more and share something about the others there. The following narrative was written with Marc Schein's brother Craig, who provided this photo.

Marc David Schein, 1958-2017

 

Marc Schein was born in Brooklyn, New York, on August 13, 1958, and grew up on Long Island. His parents David Schein and Geraldine Lou Braunstein Schein had also grown up in New York. He attended Hauppage High School and was very athletic, enjoying in what was then a rural area many opportunities for riding motorcycles and dirt bikes. His brother Craig recalled, “He would be doing jumps and spins, he just loved that!” In 1975, while Marc and Craig were teens, the family (which also had a daughter) moved to Florida.

 

A cheerful “jack of all trades,” Marc found a niche in the time-share real estate market. Although he was not religious, he carried his Jewish cultural heritage and thoroughly enjoyed bagels and lox.

 

Marc never visited Vermont, but his brother Craig, a doctor who lives in Peacham, Vermont, visited Marc once a year. On March 2, 2017, Craig took Marc out to lunch. Tragically, the next day, Marc suffered a fatal heart attack.

 

Faced with an immediate decision to make, Craig chose the Jewish segment of Mt. Pleasant Cemetery for his brother’s burial. It is a meaningful location for the Schein family here, active members of Congregation Beth El for many years, with three daughters called to the Torah at the local shul.

 

[To read more local Jewish personal stories and history, browse the whole blog: https://jewsinvermont.blogspot.com]