Florence (Now Jean) Ager

SKYLINE CHILI, UDF AND JEWISH HOSPITAL

       I traveled to Cincinnati last weekend to begin to clear my late mother's house. My first stop was the Skyline drive-through, The aroma brought back memories-- almost making me tearful! It seemed that the sauce was a bit spicier than I recall. Yet, it still hit the spot and the cheddar cheese was just as mountainous as I remember. Only now that I know about cholesterol I considered reducing it, but rationalized that this was a one-of until next visit, 
        I converted my daily rewards to include United Dairy Cream sundaes. I think UDF  ice cream has only gotten better,
       I began reading some of my mother's letters including  reference to Jewish Hospital where she once worked. I learned that this hospital was founded in the 1850s and was the first Jewish Hospital in the United States. Not only was it set up to offer appropriate diets but was also intended to protect patients from missionaries that attempted conversions. 

Philip Spiess

Jean, in case you didn't see it, I had a piece on the origins (and sequel history) of United Dairy Farmers at Post #5972 (3-16-2022) on this "Forum."

As you probably are aware, I am (among other things) an historian of Cincinnati history, so I'm going to be filing your information on Jewish Hospital in my files (duly attributing it to both you and your mother).  Thank you!  It is information I did not know.

Dale Gieringer

  I was born at Jewish Hospital on the day before Easter.  My mother also roomed there for a while when she was single (I have no idea how that worked; she wasn't a nurse).  I've never been there since, but regard if fondly as my personal Bethlehem.  Speaking of which, Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to all.

Gail Weintraub (Stern)

I, too, was born at Jewish Hospital. After my mother and I were discharged, we returned to Kentucky where I lived until the summer before 9th Grade. 

Happy Holidays to one and all! May 2023 bring you good health and contentment.

Hoping to see many of you at our 75+2 Birthday Reunion in Cincinnati, June 9-10, 2023.

Ann Shepard (Rueve)

I was born at Jewish Hospital too.  Laurie Alberts' father was my mother's ob/gyn. The old hospital building on Harvey Ave, over the years, expanded to a campus that occupied an area south to Melish Ave (renamed Martin Luther King Dr.), west to Burnet Ave, north past the old Union St., and east, to include a surface parking lot when the former Columbian Elementary School was demolished.

My mother, father, and I always had doctors on staff at Jewish Hospital. I still do. We often joked among ourselves that with all the hospitalizations and procedures we had among us at the facility, we should have owned stock.

By the 80s, TJH, opened a second hospital in Kenwood, in the former Epp Memorial Hospital at the corner of Galbraith and Kenwood Rds as part of a hospital merger, dubbed The Health Alliance, formed with The Christ Hospital and University Hospital. Eventually, I believe, 30-35 years ago, the alliance dissolved.  Most of the Avondale campus was used for administrative offices after TJH located all of its hospitalizations to Kenwood. Today, the Avondale campus is owned by University of Cincinnati. 

Jewish hospital and its physicians joined  Cincinnati's Catholic Health System, which became part of Mercy Health Partners, in the early "aughts".  Mercy Health  was bought out a couple of years ago by Bon Secours. It retains its name but the distinctive "shofar" logo in blue and white, was replaced by a not too subtle blue, white and green stylized symbol that looks like a cross. 

My doctor of over twenty years, who was my parents' doctor when she first began her internal medicine practice, Mindy Fine Hastie, WHHS class of 73, just retired in June. My new doctor is Abbie Gutenberg Youkilis with Amberly Village Primary Care, is staff physician at Jewish Hospital.  Both my parents took their last breaths at Jewish Hospital.  I probably will too.

Barbara Kahn (Tepper)

I was also born in the old Jewish Hospital. I was a candy striper there for a couple of summers too. I and several members of my family had surgeries and illnesses there long ago.  I had spinal surgery there in 1965 or 1966.  I cannot remember the date. 

Anne, I was interested in your doctor's names I think Mindy Fine Hastie must be related to Sally and the late Andy Hastie? They lived on Ridge Rd in Amberly if my memory is correct.  Your new doctor Abbie Gutenberg Youkilis is the aunt of Jamie Gutenberg who lost her life in the Parkland shooting?  Youkilis is a very familiar name to me. My friend Sandy Youkilis passed away but he had a brother.  Maybe she is related to those Youkilis' I don't know.  

Ann Shepard (Rueve)

Yes, Barb, Mindy's late husband, Robin, was Sally's brother. I knew of Abbie Youkilis before Mindy referred me to her in June, as my stepdaughter, Elizabeth, and she became acquainted when Elizabeth was heading up an initiative that was fighting Duke Energy's plan to build a high pressure natural gas transmission line through the Blue Ash, Amberly, and other communities. It was through their association that I learned that Abbie is Fred Gutenberg's sister. 

Laura Reid (Pease)

Ann and Barb, to follow up on Mindy Hastie (married to Robin who died at age 51)....she is now married to Tim Goldsmith who is owner of Goldsmith Cardel, a gift shop in Hyde Park.  They have been married for about 15 years.  If I remember correctly, Robin had a tragic death....falling from a roof I think.  He was the father of two.  He was predeceased by Andy Hastie who was a couple of years ahead of us at Walnut Hills and married to Robin Korchmar; Robin is alive and well and I run into her occasionally.

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to all my wonderful classmates!

Hopefully, we will see many of you at our reunion in June!!  (June 9-11)  Details to follow after the first of the year!!

Jon Singer

Mom and dad left the donkey and camel in the pen, then walked the two blocks from our house on Hale Avenue to birth me at Jewish Hospital. I was told they were in full attire and makeup in concert with the play they were participating in with the yet new to Cincy, undiscovered  Rod Serling.  Dad went back to Jewish Hosp. L and D later that night to congratulate their friends, the Katona's on Eugene's birth.

My parents hired Ben Dunbar, a diciple of Frank Lloyd Wright to build what certified Cincinnati historians of repute described as the first ranch style home in Cincinnati. (Somehow I lost the Cincinnati Enquirer article and photo of the structure) We moved in to the Glencross Ave. abode before the home was completed some time in 1950 or 51. The projected cost was 5K, the final almost reached7K after cost overruns.  The southwest corner of the flat roof that faced the woods seperating us from Bortz, Brower, Handler, Mayerson, Kuby leaked rain by '52. While on a bicycle ride in 2000, I spoke to the then current owner, who confirmed that constellation of the roof still leaked.

Brother and I from mid fifties thru the early 60s frequently walked the two blocks down to E.Mitchell Ave. to play unending Monopoly games with one of his contemporaries, Sandy Youkilis. I suspect this Sandy is the one referenced by you all above.  I lost contact with him after a circa 1958 Halloween.  By habit, we trick-or-treated with him. In the presence of his mother, brother and I caught her wrath when she uncovered cherry bombs in his yet to be filled candy sack. We could no longer seasonally associate with such delinquincy. I switched to Eugene as a Halloween partner. On my yearly way to his house at1 Burton Woods Lane, I cleaned out the entire candy basket from the front porch of the English Tudor accross from North Avondale Elem. As a self-taught delinquent, I ignored the "Please Take One" sign.

Barbara Kahn (Tepper)

Thank you Ann and Laura for that information.  I haven't been back to the Cincinnati area since my Mom died many years ago but my sister still lives in Waynesville. 

Paul Simons

Does anyone remember Deaconess Hospital in Clifton? I worked there one year as part of paying my way through the University of Cincinnati. I could go into the details of what a hospital orderly does - it was the only time I was ever called orderly - but rather than that let me just say that the human body has a lot of tricks up its metaphorical sleeve and hospital orderlies confront them but before that came breakfast at the hospital lunchroom where as most can attest the food is no frills, good, and inexpensive. But there was considerable weirdness among other orderlies. Two of those gentlemen were interested in something called metaphysics which I saw as a cover for total hogwash, malarkey and baloney. But wait - Peace On Earth - Good Will - Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas!

Florence (Now Jean) Ager

JEWISH HOSPITAL IN THE 1930s 

        My mother spent half-days in high school studying at the Art Academy as she aspired to be a medical illustrator. The exigency of supporting her large family during the depression led to her accepting a job at Jewish Hospital immediately after high school. A doctor chose her to be his assistant with responsibilities such as administering basal metabolism tests which were a fairly new development. . She put her artistic talents to work by designing 5 private patient rooms. Patients often reserved these months in advance, specifying one of the pastel colors. 

Philip Spiess

Paul:  Because I lived in Clifton and had occasion to go many times up and down Clifton Avenue, I knew Deaconess Hospital from the outside well.  Later my grandfather was in that hospital with kidney stones, as was my father at a slightly later date (I had my kidney stones here in Washington and in England), and my grandmother died at Deaconess Hospital.  My Aunt Louise Frank (originally Louisa Franek, father's side) was for many years the dietitian at Deaconess Hospital, while across the street my Aunt Dorothy Goepp (mother's side) was chief dietitian for food services at the University of Cincinnati, later being in charge of the Faculty Club there.  (So I guess we've been "foodies" in our family for a long while.) 

Ann Shepard (Rueve)

The Deaconess Hospital is another on "Pill Hill" that is no more. It managed to remain until the 90's. They had a pretty good geriatrics program there. They also incorporated substance use treatment into their mission. During the 80s, I was fortunate to be a board member of Eden House, a free standing residential center for women. It bacame part of Deaconess in the early 90s.

The hospital was replaced by apartments called The Deacon. My grandson, who happened to graduate from high school in the midst of a pandemic, was housed at The Deacon, parts of which were still under construction, when he started his freshman year at the University of Cincinnati. All classes were remote, so he was stuck in his room for the most part, but could occasionally go play a round of miniature golf outside in the courtyard. Some students housed at The Deacon weren't as fortunate. The building was rushed to house one of the largest freshman class in UC's history. Some students lived in apartments where carpeting hadn't been put down, or water leaks. My grandson managed to survive his first year of "remote" college at The Deacon. The next year, he and his best friend found a great place in an old apartment building on Bishop St. It has fewer amenities, but they are quite happy completing their sophomore year.

https://bkvgroup.com/projects/the-deacon/

Paul Simons

Just a note of thanks for information on interesting topics some of which mean something to me. This is a public forum and in a way it's performance art - we know it can be read by many - so with that I want to give all the credit I can to those who develop treatments for maladies like kidney stones and the like. I remember a Scientific American article about the first laser probably from when we were all "Effies." It bounced light back and forth within a ruby bar about an inch in diameter and about a foot long, had to weigh 8 or 10 pounds. Now a small but powerful laser can be focused directly, through a thin fiberoptic cable, on a kidney stone and can shatter it in a fraction of a second, no invasive surgery required.
 

And of course there are other examples of advances in technology making our lives far better and yes far longer. I don't think anyone reading this is unaware of what I'm talking about - we're all in our 70's and have probably benefited ourselves from them. It's a shame that respect for scientific research and advances isn't universal. There's one big problem which is the nuclear weapon. Instead of making a war of total aggression unthinkable it has allowed the perpetrator of such a war to threaten the world and get away with it. If anyone has a solution to that I'd like to know what it is. A heck of a thing to have to think about on Christmas Eve but it's our world and it's not warm and cozy in Kyiv today.

Chuck Cole

An excellent sign of how much technology (along with a dramatic reduction in cigarette use)  has improved our health since we were born.  Life expectancy is 1946 (there are somewhat different numbers out there on different web sites) was 64/69 (M/F).  For someone born today it is 74/78.  

In 1946, if you were 75, your life expectancy was an additional 12.9/14.6 and for us today it is 15.8/19.0.  When were were growing up, I don't think I knew anyone who was 90.  Half of males and a higher percentage of females will make it to 90 today.  I've had several surgeries over the past few years and the technology that has been used (MRI/catscan/medications, instantaneous results from imaging) is amazing.

Life expectancy in the US has dropped for two years in a row mainly due to COVID.  If pandemics became more frequent, we may have reached a high-water mark on life expectancy in 2019.  

Philip Spiess

A SEASONAL SOLILOQUY AND LAMENT:

"Christmas comes but once a year" . . . so they say.  But, alas, in the past year or so, a certain seasonal savor has gone out of the Christmas season.  Whether it's thanks to COVID or for some other reason, Christmas's "blessings" now arrive every day -- and usually more than once a day!

I refer to packages.  Once upon a time, in my childhood, when a present from a distant aunt or godfather would arrive several days before Christmas, it was a rare treat and excitement galore to anticipate what this annual package might contain.  No more, and bah! humbug! to it!  Now, instead of shopping at the big box stores downtown or at the mall for presents to appear under the tree, we have big boxes arrive from the stores by way of Amazon, UPS, FedEx, and the U. S. Postal Service DAILY AND ALL THE YEAR 'ROUND, courtesy of on-line ordering.  Even in England and Canada, "Boxing Day" is not just the day after Christmas anymore; it's every day, day in and day out.  Yes, it's our fault -- but the excitement is gone.  Now our dog Haligan, who recognizes each delivery truck (and the type it is) by its sound as it comes up the street, long before it stops in front of the house, announces the arrival of any package (as we no longer have a butler) -- and then goes berserk, because he knows what's coming (and coming again before you can turn around) and hates the noise of opening cardboard (i.e., the "ripping" sound).  He cowers under the dining table at my right leg and scratches at me for me to make this awful thing go away.  Give me a break, dog!

What about security:  packages on the stoop, stupe! -- and you and the neighbors are not home.  (The guy who steals the packages -- he sees when you are sleeping; he knows when you're at work!)  He stoops to stealing any package, he has to stoop to steal, lift, run -- it gives new meaning to the term "front stoop."  But lo!  Most of us have "Ring" cameras at our front doors these days, and we can box his ears if we catch him and get our boxes back. 

So much for the soliloquy, now for the lament.  Taking in the several years' effect of what I have outlined above, I am a sad and sorry failure as a stock investor:  I never invested in a cardboard manufacturing plant!  I'd be rich today!  More cardboard arrives at our (still) humble home on a daily basis than we can consume locally.  It doesn't even fit into the recycling bin on a weekly basis.  I could have been "the Cardboard King" of North America if I'd invested when I thought of it!  H'mm . . . on second thought, the "Cardboard King" doesn't sound so good, does it?  Think of what could have happened to me if I'd been caught in the rain (and I often get caught in the rain -- at least lots of people say I'm usually all wet).  No, what the Dickens; I should have founded a cardboard firm called "The Sydney Carton Company," with the slogan "It is a far, far better thing that we make, than we have ever done; it is a far, far better place our products go to than they have ever gone."

Happy Holidays, all!

Dale Gieringer

   As a PS to Chuck, the latest news is that US life expectancy has actually fallen over the past two years due to COVID and fentanyl.   It is now 76.4 years,  a span that dates back to July 1946,   Rejoice and be thankful that we will all (cross your fingers!)  have surpassed that mark by our next reunion.

Steven Levinson

Yesterday, Christmas Eve, would have been my mother's 96th birtyhday.  She had more bad medical breaks than she deserved -- two radical mastectomies, a hysterectomy, and a dead child (all before age 42), and a persistently bad heart (in connection with which a surgical misadventure left her paraplegic for her last six years). She died at 65 on my father's 72nd birthday, the day I was sworn onto the Hawaii Supreme Court.  And through it all my child mom was the epitome of grace.  Happy Birthday, Mom.

Jeff Daum

Bitter sweet Steve- A hearthfelt tribute to your Mom.  Thank you for sharing.

Florence (Now Jean) Ager

GIFTING AND SHOPPING TRENDS

Paul Simons

After reading Steve's tribute to his mother and Jeff's words I'm moved to add my sympathy to theirs for the suffering she endured. Life for many seems to be more moments of lightheartedness interspersed with a continuous struggle against adversity which turns tragic. It doesn't do any good to count one's blessings in the face of the suffering of others. We need to try to alleviate suffering and when we can't we can at least share in it. Thanks Steve for allowing us to do that, to feel a bit of what you're feeling and a bit of her strength in confronting pain and persevering through it.

Philip Spiess

Hey, boys and girls!  While we're in the throes of the Twelve Days of Christmas, or the Winter Solstice, or the Annual Shop Till You Drop Season, or whatever it is -- it's time to recount that ageless seasonal legend of:

"HOW THE ANGEL CAME TO BE ATOP THE CHRISTMAS TREE:        (A Tale of the Spirit of Christmas)":

It was many, many years ago, almost too long ago to tell when it was -- why, it was practically "once upon a time" time, it was that long ago -- when, up there at the North Pole (and it was a much longer Pole then; it hadn't begun to melt, for it was shortly after the last Ice Age), a disaster occurred -- the Elves went on strike!

Oh, yeah! they were steamed!  Santa's living and working conditions -- if they even could be called such -- for the Elves were distinctly substandard.  First off:  freezing cold temperatures, and no heat in the bunk houses!  (Santa can be stingy -- he puts all his money into making those toys, so he can look like the Big Man on Christmas Eve!)  Second:  18-hour work days!  (How else do you think he gets everything done in time for Christmas?)  Third:  Unhealthy food, including Christmas cookies and chocolates, washed down with hot cocoa (collected on Christmas Eve from the houses visited, and used for the Elves' yearly dining).  (Even the reindeer get a better knosh, and daily at that!)  Fourth:  Inability to get any sleep, short as that sleep might be.  (Those damn Christmas carols kept playing over the loud speakers 24 hours a day from the popular radio stations, with "Jingle Bell Rock" or "Feliz Navidad" repeating every seventh song or so).  Fifth:  The actual work was boring, boring, boring:  carving toys, painting toys, wrapping toys, loading toys -- always the same, day in and day out (and the assembly line and conveyor belt had not yet been invented)!  Sixth:  Their shoes all curled up at the ends, cramping their toes.  Seventh:  -- but you get the idea.

So, as a result of all these spirit-destroying work conditions (and Elves are usually a carefree lot when they can get away, as you may surmise), they "downed tools" and went on strike!  It was the week before Christmas.  There was nothing that Santa could do to talk them back to work; the situation had gone on too long, with Santa refusing the Elves any negotiations or altered terms of work, for Santa is a stern taskmaster.  (Remember, he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake -- and he gives you a fat black lump of coal in your stocking if you've misbehaved -- and those stockings are harder to walk in than curved-toed shoes any day!)

So what could Santa do at this, the last minute, with so much still to be done?  Well, he brought in the Angels to break the strike.  Now, frankly, between you and me, there's nothing worse than a "scab" Angel.  They certainly are well-meaning, and they're used to taking orders from Mr. Big, but they're not adjusted to the Santa's Toyshop kind of work (they can't even play "Feliz Navidad" on a harp), they haven't been trained, they only know how to sprinkle rainbows with color or paint the clouds with sunshine, they've never loaded a sleigh, harnessed reindeer, or given a good push at the "Dash away, all!" signal.  In short, as quick workers at short notice for a Fat Man in a Mood at "Crunch Time," they were a disaster.

Finally it was Christmas Eve, and Santa was tearing out his few remaining hairs.  Nothing was done, nothing was finished:  paint had yet to dry, packages had to be wrapped, evergreens had to be decorated and draped, the reindeer had to be fed before their nightly journey, the sleigh had to be loaded, lists had to be checked and re-checked -- and Santa was absolutely beside himself, so many things yet to be nailed down and accomplished, and it was really time to go --

Just then the smallest Angel of them all came into the office and said, "Hi, Mr. Santy!  I've got the tree decorated, just like you asked.  Where do you want me to put it?"  And Santa told that littlest Angel just where he could put that tree . . . .

And that, folks, is the touching, heartfelt legend of why the angel is atop the Christmas tree.  "God bless us, everyone!"  

Philip Spiess

The Spiess cellar, ready for New Year's Eve!

Margery Erhardt (Feller)

HoHoHo! Phil, just how much wine from one of your barrels did you have before writing that funny piece? And why wasn't I invited?