Web Editorial #25: Poppy's Eulogy
 

 When my Aunt Diane came to me on Sunday and asked me if I could write a eulogy for my grandfather, I have to say that I was pretty terrified at the prospect. I still am. After all, how can the life of Abraham Topkin possibly be whittled down to a few pages or a few minutes? To truly get a measure of the man, three-hundred sixty five pages a year, for all eighty-three of his years, wouldn’t be nearly enough. But I also realized that if I refused this request, if I backed away from it, I would miss out on an opportunity to honor a man who has honored me since my birth. So I accepted the challenge. I think that the best way- and maybe the only way- to proceed is simply to relate my memories of him, to give my own perspective of him, to show how deeply he impacted my life. I’m pretty sure that everyone in this room, when they listen to my stories, will hear their own as well.

  I was warned in advance to put my thoughts in order, and on paper, as most people who do this have trouble making it to the end without assistance. Well, I’ve done as I was told, just in case. But I’ve decided that I will make it to the end without fail. There certainly isn’t one word in any language that can capture the essence of Abraham Topkin. But if any word comes close, it would be "fighter". He fought like no one else, and he always won. I will carry on in that spirit, and hopefully, with his strength- and I’ll win, too. To make things a little easier, let’s dispense with the formalities. Abraham Topkin is a great name, and a powerful name. Abraham was the patriarchal figure of the Jewish people, just as Abraham Topkin was the patriarch of this family. But I never called him by that name. From the first to the last, I always called him "Poppy". 

 My first real memory of Poppy dates back to when I was three years old, living at Fort Benning Army Base in Columbus, Georgia. Mom and Dad took Daniel and me to the airport, because Poppy Ay-Bee and Grandma Ruthie were coming to see us. I know that I must have seen him countless times before that trip to the airport- I just can’t remember any further back than that. But I do recall running up and down the terminal that day, jumping with excitement as their airplane taxied to a stop on the runway. Looking back, there couldn’t have been a more appropriate vehicle to bring him to see me. A beautiful silver-toned plane, with a big yellow smiley happy face painted on the nose. And off of that plane came a beautiful, silver-haired man, with a big smiley happy face. I’ve often heard it said that Poppy looked exactly like legendary Hollywood heart-throb Cesar Romero. Well, I’ve seen the pictures, and let’s just say that although there is a resemblance, Cesar Romero on his best day only wished he looked like Poppy.

 Every day during that visit to Georgia, Poppy would put me on his shoulders and walk up and down our street. I wasn’t particularly fond of heights back then. I used to watch the paratroopers practicing their jumps with the other Army brats, and I distinctly remember saying to my father, "Uh, Dad? If those parachutes don’t open, those guys are going to be squished, right?" But for some unquantifiable reason- a reason which anyone who knew him would understand- I never once felt scared of falling when I was riding up on Poppy’s shoulders. He’d always sing my name, too- a little personal song that he seemed to have for each of his children and grandchildren. Mine went a little something like this- "Matt-a-you!!! Matt-a-you!!!" He’d sing that song every time he’d see me, every time we’d speak on the phone. I wish I could write a song like that, just once. And he had this little game he would play- the "tap on the shoulder and run" game. I would constantly feel someone tapping me on my shoulder, but when I’d turn around, no one would be there… well, no one except for Poppy, casually reading a newspaper or looking up at the sky and whistling. It took me years to put two and two together, to finally figure out that the mysterious shoulder-tapper was actually him. I use that same game now on my niece and nephew- maybe not quite as effectively, but I still get a pretty good laugh.

 When my family moved from Columbus back up to New York, we stayed at Poppy and Grandma’s house on East 88th Street in Brooklyn for a little while. That was so much fun for me, especially when Poppy would take me for a walk to the candy store around the corner and buy me a bag of licorice. But it was also there, and then, that Poppy gave me my first taste of serious religious education. There were a few times when, after the candy store, he would take me inside the local temple- the shul, as he called it. I remember that the shul had a beautiful Ark to hold the torahs. Only I was four years old, and I had no idea what the Ark was. Actually, since it had doors that slid open and closed, and since this particular Ark had lights on each side that to my eyes seemed to make it move, I thought it was an elevator. When I asked Poppy if it really was an elevator, he said to me, "Yes, kind of. It’s an elevator that only goes up. The people in the shul pray, and their prayers go into the elevator and up to God, and God answers them." Now that is what I call high-quality education. Poppy instilled in me my first sense of awe at the power of God. It was a lesson that I have never forgotten.

 Soon enough, Poppy and Grandma moved from Brooklyn to Bayside. I lost my first tooth in that Bayside house, with Poppy’s help, when I was almost seven. That tooth was loose as can be, but no matter what I did, it just wouldn’t fall out. I knew from my friends at school that if you lost a tooth, the "Tooth Fairy" would leave a dollar under your pillow. Boy, I wanted that dollar. A dollar could buy four packs of baseball cards back then. Well, Poppy must have seen me fiddling with my tooth, and quickly noticed my frustration. So, he came over to me with a big, green, crunchy apple, and said, "Here, eat this." One bite later, tooth was in hand. I was pretty excited. I said to Poppy, "The Tooth Fairy is gonna give me a dollar for this tooth!" Poppy looked offended. "Only a dollar? For that tooth? For my Mayshee’s tooth? I’ll give you two dollars!" My sense of worth doubled with his offer. I don’t know if I’d ever actually held two dollars at the same time before that moment. Of course, Poppy and I did business. I’m certain he felt that he got the better end of the deal. I was also with Poppy on the day Jessica was born. Poppy sat me down at his kitchen table that morning, sat all the boys down, in fact, for a conference- to give us advice about how to be good "big brothers" to our new baby sister. Obviously, taking care of girls was something that Poppy knew a little bit about. I don’t know how much of his advice I actually followed, but I sure did listen to it.

Poppy didn’t have any fancy college degrees or doctorates hanging on his wall- he reserved his wall space for important things, like hundreds of pictures of his ever-expanding family. But one thing that no one can deny about him is that he was a learned, intuitive, and fiercely intelligent man. He knew exactly what was going on all around him, and didn’t need SAT vocabulary to make a point. He could speak about any topic, whether politics or coin collecting or history or the stock market, in language so elegant and uncluttered that a child could understand. I’d venture to say that there were a lot of people out there who thought they were smart, until they had to come up against Poppy in a humbling battle of wits. He was also a man of great aesthetic sensibilities. He spoke proudly of his career as a furrier, during which he used his artistry and superior aptitude for design to the highest effect. Later on he took up woodcarving and marketry, once again displaying his great natural eye. He appreciated artisitry in any field, even in those he didn’t care for. But clearly, the one area where he surpassed all others in sheer brilliance was how to to live life to the fullest. He always knew that there is only one element of life that is irreplaceable and priceless- family. He knew this before it was fashionable. He knew this before global tragedy made so many people rethink their own selfish philosophies. He knew this because it was a concept threaded so intrinsically into his being that it reached the level of instinct.

I know that if I was giving a performance or a concert, Poppy would be in the audience whenever possible. It didn’t matter if it was classical music or jazz band or a play or ear-splitting rock-and-roll. The simple fact that I was involved was enough to get him there, and enough to give him enjoyment. He felt the same for all of his grandchildren- he loved seeing us using our creative abilities, whatever the medium, and loved to brag about our talents and our successes. But in particular, he found special satisfaction when it was Grandma who was performing. There are a lot of singers in this family, but let’s face facts- only Grandma really sings. It was Grandma’s siren song which caught Poppy’s ear, and then his eye, over sixty years ago. She taught all of her daughters, who in turn taught their children- but like any crafty performer, she never gave away all of her best tricks. Who can forget her sold-out run at the Bretton Woods Theatre? Well, after one of Grandma’s tour-de-force evenings, Poppy turned to me, beaming with pride and adoration, and said, "How about my Ruthie, huh? Whattaya say we take your Grandma out on the road and make a few bucks?" I should have taken him up on his offer- I’d be retired to a chateau in the south of France by now. 

Poppy was the same way when it came to family simchas. If someone was graduating from college, or law school, or medical school, or being bar or bat mitzvahed, or getting engaged or married, Poppy was always there- and nothing could stop him. Like I said earlier, Poppy was a fighter- as my mother called him, "the world’s most gentle fighter." There wasn’t a mean bone in his body, that’s for sure. But he had a reputation as "The Indestructable Man", and it was well-deserved. According to legend, it started just a few weeks before my Aunt Fran’s wedding, when he was told by doctors that he might not make it to the ceremony. Well, Poppy found a way to make it to his daughter’s wedding, all right- and despite hearing those same ominous words of warning countless times afterward, he had four more decades worth of celebrations. To Poppy, life itself was a celebration- something to be cherished, never to be wasted, worth fighting for tooth and nail. Just this past September, Poppy escorted Grandma onto the dance floor at Susan and Justin’s wedding, and took Grandma for a spin. He partied until night’s end, and even sat through a thunderous set of rock-and-roll courtesy of Justin and the Friedman Brothers. He told me afterwards that he loved every minute of it. It was the sort of event and gathering and performance that he lived for, and as he always did, he wrung every last drop of happiness that he could from it.

My Aunt Diane pointed out to me that although Poppy’s life was often intruded upon by illness, he was most definitely not a sick man, and never lived like one, either. He never complained, and he absolutely refused to give in to anything, for as long as I knew him. Another of the nick-names that eventually stuck to him was "Rocky". Who else but Rocky had been knocked down so many times, only to get back up time and again and win? Whether it was his lungs, his heart, his hip, or cancer- it made no difference whatsoever. Any other man would have folded under the weight of such overwhelming obstacles. Poppy laughed them off, overcame each setback even when no one thought or believed it was possible, and carried on. In the end, he conquered them all. Each one of us faces challenges in our lives, and I’m sure that we’ve all reached a point where it feels like you can’t possibly deal with them. All I have to do when that happens is think about my grandfather, think about all that he went through, and what he accomplished in the face of adversity- and I realize that there is no legitimate excuse to ever feel that way.

My Aunt Marilyn said that although Poppy isn’t here with us anymore, he will never, ever leave us. She is absolutely correct. He is part of everything we say and do, down to the tiniest detail. He is present in the way we act, the way we speak, the way we go about living our lives every single day. How many of us here have used his favorite patented catch-phrases, like "Ay-a-pa-tee-ja-mi-nara", or "You think you’re playin’ with the kids?" or "What you see is what it is?" Actually, I’m thinking about starting a revival movement for "Ay-a-la-coo-coo-wah-chee-wah-wah", but that’s just me. I know I’ve never tasted anything more delicious than his secret recipe for matzoh brye. How many of us have attempted to decode that secret on Passover, and will continue to do so on every Passover to come? Each one of us has some element of personality, some interest or hobby, some movement or facial expression, that came directly from him. And just look at what he leaves as his legacy to the world. A wife of sixty-two years. Four children. Thirteen grandchildren. Nine great-grandchildren. All of whom benefit from his wisdom and experience, and most of all, his immeasurable love of life. I think he considered himself a supremely lucky man. Every one of us should hope to be so lucky.

This past weekend, the Leonid meteor shower lit the heavens afire with a display that, according to astronomers, will not be matched again for almost a hundred years. It was a once-in-a-lifetime event, much as Poppy was a "once-in-a-lifetime" man. Perhaps the timing was more than coincidental. And tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. I know it’s hard to even think about, but we should. Although what we have lost is irreplaceable, all of us have gained something equally priceless, that we must be thankful for. We got the once-in-a-lifetime chance to know and to love Abraham Topkin- a unique and original human being, who gave everything he had to his family and to the world, who defied the odds and lived his life on his terms, who possessed a heart big enough for ten people. He was the most generous, the most graceful, and the bravest man I have ever known. How could I not be thankful for that?

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Here's to a good man who lived his life surrounded by a wonderful, loving family I am proud to consider my own.

      Brian Turner
      The "5th Friedman Brother"

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