East Side Stories:Tales of Jewish Life in the Lower East Side of New York in the 1930's by Sidney Weissman
Authors: Sidney Weissman
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drugstore, it’s not far from here, just a couple of blocks.” Coolidge, silent, nodded, and I said, “Then I think he ought to go home.” Coolidge shut his eyes and nodded.
We left the school building using the staircase that was near an exit door. We were out in the street, walking swiftly. Goldie asked Yussie, “How’s it coming along?”
“It hurts,” Yussie said. “It hurts! I didn’t do anything!”
“Yeah,” Goldie said. “It should’ve been Gimpy and some of those others.” He shrugged. “It should’ve been them.”
“But it was me,” Yussie said bitterly.
The drugstore was on the corner of the street. I could see one of its display windows with its two large urn-like glass vases of a design peculiar to drugstores. Inside the glass vases, was a colored liquid, each vase a different color. A large cardboard sign advertís-ing Ex-Lax was in the window with small dummy cardboard boxes of the product stacked neatly throughout.
We entered the drugstore, it was empty of customers. Doc was working behind the prescription counter, he looked up across its wide wooden partition, saw us, and he came out to meet us. “Doc,” I said to him, “I got a friend who hurt himself.”
“So I see,” Doc said. He picked up a chair at the side of the store and said to Yussie, “Sit down, let me take a look at it. A-ha!” he said as Yussie removed his hand from the wad of paper.
Doc acted as neighborhood doctor. Except for prescriptions, which he was forbidden to write, he could only fill them, he advised us about our ills, telling us what patent medicine to use for our colds, our stomach aches, our cramps, for the thousand and one things we came down with. He talked to the women in soft, discrete, secretive tones, he listened attentively to them. He was also excellent in removing cinders from eyes, something quite usual. He did everything but write prescriptions, fill and pull teeth, set broken bones and operate on people. Because there was no money, everybody I knew only used doctors and dentists in the most dire circumstances.
Yussie had removed his shirt, Doc ran behind the counter, returned with bandage, tape, a bottle of antiseptic. He knelt down beside Yussie asked, “How’d you get it, hah?”
As Doc swabbed gently, removed the blood, cleaned the wound, Yussie, wincing, was saying, “I ran into something.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Doc said, nodding slightly. “That’s what they all say.” He swabbed antiseptic into the wound, Yussie stiffened with the pain and Doc said, “Yeah. It hurts. I can’t help it, but that’s what I got to do.” He applied a bandage to the wound and he said to me, “Leo, how is your family?”
“They’re okay,” I said. Doc nodded, finished his bandaging. He arose groaning against the tightness in his knees and said to Yussie, “You don’t have to go to the dispensary or see a doctor. It’ll heal okay. I don’t think it’ll need stitches.” As Yussie was painfully putting on his shirt, Doc said, “Keep it clean. Leave the bandage on, don’t take it off until it’s healed.” Yussie, fully dressed now, nodded.
“Thanks, Doc,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”
“Eh,” Doc said. “What else am I here for? Give my regards to your family.” To Yussie he said, “No more fights, you hear? You don’t think you fooled me with that monkey business you ran into something.”
Yussie stood undecided for a moment then finally said in a tentative voice, “What do I owe you?”
Doc stared at him for a moment, waved his hand in front of his face, said, “What should I charge you, a hundred dollars? Come on, boychik, don’t talk narishkeit, foolishness.”
“No, I owe it,”Yussie said. “How much?”
Doc snorted. “Oy vay? he said to himself. “A sport.”
Yussie was reaching into his pocket for a coin and I said to him, “Forget it. He does it for all of us.”
Yussie stared at Doc and said, “Thanks.”
“Now, that’s it,” Doc said.
We left the school building using the staircase that was near an exit door. We were out in the street, walking swiftly. Goldie asked Yussie, “How’s it coming along?”
“It hurts,” Yussie said. “It hurts! I didn’t do anything!”
“Yeah,” Goldie said. “It should’ve been Gimpy and some of those others.” He shrugged. “It should’ve been them.”
“But it was me,” Yussie said bitterly.
The drugstore was on the corner of the street. I could see one of its display windows with its two large urn-like glass vases of a design peculiar to drugstores. Inside the glass vases, was a colored liquid, each vase a different color. A large cardboard sign advertís-ing Ex-Lax was in the window with small dummy cardboard boxes of the product stacked neatly throughout.
We entered the drugstore, it was empty of customers. Doc was working behind the prescription counter, he looked up across its wide wooden partition, saw us, and he came out to meet us. “Doc,” I said to him, “I got a friend who hurt himself.”
“So I see,” Doc said. He picked up a chair at the side of the store and said to Yussie, “Sit down, let me take a look at it. A-ha!” he said as Yussie removed his hand from the wad of paper.
Doc acted as neighborhood doctor. Except for prescriptions, which he was forbidden to write, he could only fill them, he advised us about our ills, telling us what patent medicine to use for our colds, our stomach aches, our cramps, for the thousand and one things we came down with. He talked to the women in soft, discrete, secretive tones, he listened attentively to them. He was also excellent in removing cinders from eyes, something quite usual. He did everything but write prescriptions, fill and pull teeth, set broken bones and operate on people. Because there was no money, everybody I knew only used doctors and dentists in the most dire circumstances.
Yussie had removed his shirt, Doc ran behind the counter, returned with bandage, tape, a bottle of antiseptic. He knelt down beside Yussie asked, “How’d you get it, hah?”
As Doc swabbed gently, removed the blood, cleaned the wound, Yussie, wincing, was saying, “I ran into something.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Doc said, nodding slightly. “That’s what they all say.” He swabbed antiseptic into the wound, Yussie stiffened with the pain and Doc said, “Yeah. It hurts. I can’t help it, but that’s what I got to do.” He applied a bandage to the wound and he said to me, “Leo, how is your family?”
“They’re okay,” I said. Doc nodded, finished his bandaging. He arose groaning against the tightness in his knees and said to Yussie, “You don’t have to go to the dispensary or see a doctor. It’ll heal okay. I don’t think it’ll need stitches.” As Yussie was painfully putting on his shirt, Doc said, “Keep it clean. Leave the bandage on, don’t take it off until it’s healed.” Yussie, fully dressed now, nodded.
“Thanks, Doc,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”
“Eh,” Doc said. “What else am I here for? Give my regards to your family.” To Yussie he said, “No more fights, you hear? You don’t think you fooled me with that monkey business you ran into something.”
Yussie stood undecided for a moment then finally said in a tentative voice, “What do I owe you?”
Doc stared at him for a moment, waved his hand in front of his face, said, “What should I charge you, a hundred dollars? Come on, boychik, don’t talk narishkeit, foolishness.”
“No, I owe it,”Yussie said. “How much?”
Doc snorted. “Oy vay? he said to himself. “A sport.”
Yussie was reaching into his pocket for a coin and I said to him, “Forget it. He does it for all of us.”
Yussie stared at Doc and said, “Thanks.”
“Now, that’s it,” Doc said.
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