The Chronicle’s “Paul Caplan tells a distinguished tale” (May 26) reminded me of a vignette from his wife, Gertrude. It says much, I think, of what the culture of Squirrel Hill was a long time ago.
As a young mother, she took her infant shopping on Murray Avenue one morning. The baby was asleep when she got to the kosher butcher, and because the shop was often noisy, she left the carriage outside by the door. When she came out, the baby was gone. Not a bit alarmed, she knew exactly what had happened: Her mother had come by, recognized her grandchild and taken her home. Gert plunked her meat in the carriage and trundled on to her mother’s house, where she had a delicious lunch and a fulsome lecture on child care. She got home in time for a nap.
Lucy Zabarenko, Ph.D.