Ziggy Zenn &
The Rescue of
Roy Rogers
A True Story
By
Robert A. Chapin
Copyright 2011
Smashwords Edition
I usually write nostalgic stories designed to reflect my childhood. It also allows many of my readers to transport themselves back to a time and place when life was so worry free.
The year was 1954, I was only eight years old and my mother worked two jobs in order that my younger sisters and I could have this new invention called the T.V. It was something she was all excited about especially with Milton Berle Jack Paar and so many of the people she listened to on the radio, and was about to put a face to a voice.
Unfortunately, my father was an alcoholic, and in 1954, in our small town, he was branded “the town drunk”. Today alcoholism has achieved the reputation of an illness. Nevertheless, when your mom had to work 2 jobs and walk a mile to work, or the grocery store in the New England cold and snow - it is something that remains with you.
When sober, my dad was a wonderfully loving man, but when the alcoholic monster awoke in him, he was not a nice person to be around. He was passive, and I never saw him throw a punch - but when provoked by my mother he occasionally struck back. I remember stepping off the school bus only to see him in handcuffs as he was placed into the rear seat of a Massachusetts State Police cruiser.
He arrived home from one of his binges and within minutes a fist fight developed resulting in my mother getting slapped around. She ran to a neighbor who called police. He eventually appeared before a judge and in lieu of jail time, was released with the stipulation he “lay off the alcohol!” That’s how it was handled back then.
However, I want to take myself back to a happier time! My youngest sister was three, and the one just below me was six. Following the incident with my dad’s arrest my parents bought our first TV.
Times were relatively good even though we were on the fast track to becoming a dysfunctional family. My father was on the wagon (it was usually when he could not find work) and therefore didn’t have any money to squander on alcohol. It was a catch 22: without work we had no money, but his behavior took on a much kinder attitude. To this day I don’t know how, with him out of work, they were able to convince a local television dealer they could handle the payments.
* * *
I cannot begin to describe how excited my sisters and I were at the expectation of having our very own TV. I remember the day it was delivered: That oval screen no larger in diameter than a dinner plate when turned on flickered - then a little fiddling with the tuning knob and for all the world to see - actual people you listened to on the radio made their appearance on this magical wooden box.
Even though my father was addicted to alcohol there was some degree of family unity when all five of us gathered around the TV for the first time. Sweeping the nation were shows like Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, Hopalong Cassidy, and The Lone Ranger with Tonto as the faithful assistant. On that first Saturday morning mom plunked my sisters and me in front of the TV following the much advertised episodes with an assortment of penny candy and a plate of cookies - and milk.
It was an ideal way keep us occupied. Once the show began, we were consumed with this fabulous invention. I remember Roy shooting at the bad guy and looking back over his shoulder to see if Nelly Belle (driven by Pat Brady) was following, while Trigger raced at breakneck speed.
Shortly after the TV arrived we were having trouble with reception due to an inadequate set of what were referred to as “rabbit ears” (two separate moveable aluminum rods - similar to a car antenna) connected to a box on top of the set.
Eager to put a TV in every home, the dealer suggested the “option” of an antenna - another aluminum contraption replacing the rabbit ears. This “cure all” was attached to the top of the roof and when the dial on the control box was twisted it hummed and whirred (rotating the antenna atop the roof), causing the reception to turn from snow to - more snow and eventually a recognizable picture.
Mom was finally able to finesse the dial and from that point on we were inducted into the technological era, and it wasn’t long before my sister and I were competent and efficient in the know-how of its operation. Somewhat like today when, as adults and grandparents we are forced to ask our four year old grandchildren how to operate our computers.
At another time the TV simply went dead one Saturday morning just as the adventures of Roy Rogers were about to begin. We contacted the TV repairman who lived in another town which put a wrinkle in our planned shows for that morning. That afternoon a man with a huge case came to the house and pulled out funny looking bulbs (tubes) and as he began to un-plug and plug one after the other, he finally declared the TV fixed. We missed Roy and the adventures of Gabby, Dale, Trigger and Bullet for another week, but we were back in business.
Although we were unable to watch Roy Rogers, there was another show that my sister and I didn’t want to miss: - The Lone Ranger, with his constant companion (Tonto). We eagerly awaited the exploits to end so we could hear the announcer shout: “Who was that masked man” and: “Hi Yo Silver Away!” Then the wonderful orchestration of The William Tell Overture.
Just when we mastered the art of becoming comfortable with our new “baby sitting device”, a dose of reality came crashing down on my sisters and me! I knew something was amiss when my mother was meeting a man from the TV company at the door never inviting him in to our home, an obvious attempt at shielding us from the conversation.
We purchased the TV in September and it was now Christmas week - and this was the bill collector’s third visit! At a time like that although I should have been playing and not eavesdropping, I recall him telling my mom he would inform his boss “my mother wasn’t home”, but she had to come up with a payment the day after Christmas or he would have to take possession of the TV.
With my father out of work and the constant bickering about money, my mother finally told us that we would have to give up our prized possession in a few days. I learned later in life the meaning of the word repossession! However, at the time it was certain Roy, The Lone Ranger, and Hoppy would be no more.
In November my dad was offered logging work in Maine (we lived in Massachusetts), and as part payment for his labor he would bring home a Christmas tree of his choice. The logging camp was an ideal environment for my father to squander his daily wage on booze. It was a few days before Christmas and dad had not returned from his trip with the much anticipated tree.
* * *
Aaron “Ziggy” Zenn was a survivor of Auschwitz . When the Russians liberated the prison camp in January 1945, Ziggy was 18 years old. A seamstress at the time of his family’s deportation, he was for that reason given treatment somewhat better than other Jews. In spite of this, he lived in fear of the threat that he was expendable and with an instant snap of fingers could be off to the gas chambers. For the present however, he was spared execution as long as he toiled at the sewing machines making uniforms for the officer staff.
He was approximately 30 years old in 1954 and only 18 only years old when liberated. He and his parents were gathered up by the Gestapo, separated and shipped off to Auschwitz. He never saw them again!
Ziggy had a six digit crudely tattooed number on his forearm. It was a means of identifying Jews marked for extermination. I was shocked to learn he was in a prison camp. My youth and innocence had not yet caught up with the cruelty of life. When I heard him refer to Auschwitz as a prison, I wondered what type of crime this gentle man could have committed to have served in prison At my age I should have been frightened of him, but just couldn’t bring myself to do so.
At Auschwitz he worked with a young lady by the name of Adina and together, they prayed for the day when they would be liberated. Any attempt at escape would be met with certain death. The best course of action was to do as you were ordered, and not make any sign of solidarity. That kind of action would certainly be met with the firing squad.
Hitler’s grand plan was to execute the remaining Jews as it became apparent Germany was losing the war. There were many occasions when camp guards walked into the sewing building, randomly removed a worker sending him or her to their death. It was a method of Nazi control. Time was short and all they could hope for was a miracle from God!
That day arrived, and none too soon when in January 1945 Auschwitz was liberated by the Russians. The entire camp was now under the control of the allies. Ziggy tells the story of how the German troops and guards were handed over to a crowd of Jews. Those who were healthy enough, like Ziggy and Adina to extract revenge like were not the only persons treated with some degree of humanism. There were engravers who were so good at counterfeiting and the Germans had them produce printing plates used to produce hundreds of millions of dollars in counterfeit German currency.
It was these survivors who were allowed to cast the first stone - in an attempt to kill their captors, but Ziggy made an important decision: He and Adina were of the Orthodox Jewish faith and believed that only God has the right to punish - or take a life. They did not partake in any reprisal - and in the end The Nuremburg Trials exacted the proper punishment for crimes against humanity. They were just so thankful to be alive - and free!
Ziggy and Adina married shortly after their liberation, emigrated to the United States and settled in Central Massachusetts. They purchased a small convenience store where they sold, tobacco products, milk, bread and one corner of the store was devoted to the most elaborate penny candy sections. One of those “true” penny candy stores where you actually got a piece of candy for a penny. There was every imaginable candy available: Chuckles, Sugar Babies, Sugar Daddy pops, Necco wafers, Good and Plenty, Bit O’ Honey, Chunky, Jujy Fruit, Bonomo’s Turkish Taffey and the list goes on and on.
Ziggy was also a coin collector so in love with the hobby that he offered double the candy for each 1943 Steel penny brought in. As if that wasn’t enough, he would always add an extra piece or two of candy usually when Adina was not looking - and he loved kids. Mrs. Zenn was unable to have children and they held a soft spot in their heart for any of us who walked into their store.
Whenever I had an extra nickel or several pennies - especially the 1943 Steel penny, I would walk the short distance from our home to their store. It was December 19, I remember it well because it was my birthday. There was a very large perfectly shaped Colorado Blue Spruce Christmas tree leaning next to Ziggy’s garage. I marveled at the tree which gave off a distinctive Christmas “aroma”. With no plans for the tree due to their Jewish heritage, he and Mrs. Zenn were not accustomed to observing Christmas. The tree was given to the them by one of their suppliers.
* * *
My father finally returned home from the logging job and when my mother asked about the tree, his excuse was that “the guy changed his mind!” She was furious with his broken promise to provide a Christmas tree! A product of hard working immigrant Italian’s mom was resourceful when it came to survival. She was a barracuda when it came to the welfare and happiness of her kids. Once again they argued and he left the house.
It had to have been difficult on my mother, with no place to go, no means of “escape”, or support and with three mouths to feed. She made a gallant decision to stay in the marriage for “the sake of the kids” which proved to be a mistake, but she was slowly showing inner strength.
* * *
My dad was an exceptionally gifted person. He was a master machinist, a gifted brick layer and carpenter, a tractor trailer driver, and with any employment he was a perfectionist. It was a different story on payday when he squandered his paycheck on booze buying drinks for his legion of drinking buddies. Earlier in the year, one of those rare times when he was working and showed signs of sobriety he somehow convinced a dealership to sell him a car. How we got it I don’t know.
We would congregate at my mother’s parents home every weekend. It didn’t matter whether it was winter or summer. Gramma’s place was the place to be. They were immigrants from Naples, Italy lived on a small piece of land where they grew most of her own vegetables, raised chickens, eggs, a hog or two, and just an all around resourceful hard working couple. Homemade pasta dried over a broom handle resting on the wringer washer on to a wash tub at the other end. Minutes after being sliced into thin strips, it was in the pot.
She had a chopping block with an axe stuck in its top and whenever she grabbed the axe - and an unlucky chicken, we knew that within twenty minutes “pollo (chicken) with pasta” was the meal. How she fed 15 people every week was a mystery. She was the matriarch who could do anything - an incredible woman!
It was in mid summer and everyone in the family was enjoying the weekly festivities of food and drink. My grandfather worked as a night watchman for a wool processing plant in their town and true to the stories that employers provided a piece of land for their employees - it was the case with my grandfather. As part of his retirement he was deeded the land, barn - and the proverbial - gold watch!
On this day, one of my aunts noticed a small bruise on my mom’s face and confronted her as to how it appeared. When she confided in her sister that my father smacked her, she brought it to the attention of my grandfather and uncles. All I remember is the men taking my father out behind the barn and when they returned, he was a bit ruffled as though he had been pushed around - and I also recall hearing something like: ”If you ever…”
On this Christmas we were once again going to spend the day at my grandmother’s. The solidarity of family life back then and how we came to depend on each other is something today’s generation has lost sight of. When my grandmother died, the closeness of the family disappeared.
* * *
One of my mother’s annual token acts each year was to place 10 or 15 cents worth of Ziggy’s penny candy in the bottom of our stockings. On this particular visit she also admired the tree and asked if it was available. Somewhat acquainted with my mother’s marital troubles, Ziggy asked her to check back the next day (which would have been December 24), and if the tree was still there she could have it He had already promised it to another needy family.
However it worked out my mother was going to give us a Christmas with gifts and she was determined that we were going to have a tree. She from purchasing the candy (my father still awol), grabbed an old hand saw, my two sisters and me and trekked to a neighboring farmer to ask if we could enter his pasture and pick out something resembling a tree. With his permission we found one, hacked it, and my sisters and I dragged it back home. Once the tree was trimmed I remember that bubbly thing on the top magically keeping us in awe as it produced different colors boiling inside the glass tube.
We were picked up for a visit by one of mom’s sisters “Aunt Angie”, whose family seemed like The Cleaver’s. They appeared to be functional as opposed to our dysfunctional state of chaos. My uncle Bill reminded me of Ward Cleaver. There were three boys: Donny, Billy and David. I really envied their life style and the calmness it presented.
She always sent us home with baked goods, canned homemade spaghetti sauce, jams, and an occasional hand me down shirt or pair of pants. She was a firm but filled with love. She constantly complained to my mother about being in a dead end marriage..
I can only imagine my mother sitting at home on Christmas Eve alone with her three kids in bed and God only knows where her husband was. Years later, I talked with my mother when the subject of her plight with my dad came up, which was not very often. She confided that she would rather have him away from her at a time like that then to have a drunken slobbering husband sitting next to her in complete silence - or asleep!
When my sisters and I awoke the next morning and excitedly ran down the stairs, to our surprise was a tree unlike the one we chopped the day before. It was perfectly shaped and trimmed with the string of lights and silver tinsel - and adorned with that bubbly thing on the top, and that fresh tree aroma filled the house.
Mr. and Mrs. Zenn always promised that if they ever got out of the camp, they would make certain someone would be the recipient of their kindness. All they ever wanted when so close to death was to have a simple Christmas tree - toys and all. It was years later when I realized God had not only blessed them, but our family as well.
Were we dreaming at the sight of this magnificent tree with gifts? Once we were asleep Ziggy and Adina quietly delivered the tree to our home and together the Zenn’s and my mom replaced the old scrub tree with the beautiful Blue Spruce into a winter wonderland. As with the gift of the Magi, somehow in the middle of the night our living room was converted into a “true Christmas miracle.”
It appears the people who originally asked Ziggy for the tree were given one by a kind neighbor. Mr. and Mrs. Zenn quietly arrived at our home and although unaccustomed with the ceremonial Catholic Christmas were only too pleased to put a smile on our faces temporarily taking the burden of a missing father on Christmas morning from my mother’s shoulders.
Aunt Angie bought me a Radio Flyer red wagon, my mom bought me my very own Red Ryder BB gun. The crowning moment came when I tore open a package with not only one, but two Roy Rogers cap guns complete with leather holster. They were a gift from Ziggy and his wife. I was in my glory, and my sisters each received a doll complete with doll house.
I know she was burdened with the thought of surrendering the TV the next day, but Mr. and Mrs. Zenn assured my mother it was their gift to her. It had already been paid for. Mother would never again have to fend off the bill collector - at least for the TV. I previously disclosed to Ziggy “The man was going to take our TV because we couldn’t pay for it” .
To show her appreciation mother invited the Zenn’s to my grandmother’s home for a genuine Italian Christmas that day. They did not have family and were in the minority in our town. They totally enjoyed the Italian festivities at my grandmother’s on that day.
My mother divorced my dad and married a wonderful man who became a amazing step-dad to my sisters and me.
Our dad was absent that Christmas morning…
Sadly, Aaron and Adina Zenn died when fire destroyed their home in 1973. They lived in an apartment above their convenience store and the preliminary finding was that they died from carbon monoxide poisoning. They were both 46 years old. If ever there were two people who deserved to be walking with God, it was Aaron “Ziggy”, and Adina Zenn.
*Later in life, as an adult, I had the opportunity to talk with Ziggy about Auschwitz. I am not, nor do I profess to be an expert in the history or accuracy of their time in the concentration camp, and what I remember is from memory