Little Tommy Tucker

My brother Solomon, is called Tucky; after the depression era nursery rhyme: “Little Tommy Tucker, sings for his supper.” Early on, he displayed a fabulous vocal talent. A “Wunderkind.” Beginning at age 8, he started to sing with the great synagogue choirs as alto soloist. All the famous cantors of the day knew him, and requested his services, especially at weddings. In the early ’40’s, it was traditional for a boy to sing an alto solo called “Vimaleh” at weddings. Such a child was called a “Vimaleh Boy.” The word means: “to fulfill,” as in fulfilling the wishes of the assembled for the bride and groom. A very dramatic moment in the ceremony, the boy sings while slowly walking down the aisle, and when arriving at the wedding canopy, lifts his arms in priestly benediction, as the song ends. Tucky was THE vimaleh boy of the five boroughs of New York City, the mecca of Cantorial music in the United States, giving his mother and father heaping humps of NACHAS (pleasure).
In his mothers eyes particularly, he could do no wrong, and this feeling lasted till her dying day.

I was born shortly before Tucky’s Bar Mitzvah, and grew up worshiping him. At the age of nineteen, Tuck became the full time Cantor of Congregation Beth Shalom, of Long Beach and Lido. Though he was a marvelous pulpit Cantor, he became famous for his work and creativity off the pulpit. Easily the most charismatic Cantor of his generation, he was idolized by legions of his Bar/Bat mitzvah students. In the ’50’s, students called him by his first name, unheard of in the profession. Having a hair trigger temper, (inherited from our mother Matilda, master of the open handed right cross,) did not deter his students from loving him. On the contrary, being yelled at by Sol was worn as a badge of honor. To this day I hear from his former students describing him as “This cool Cantor who reminded me of James Bond!” It was no accident that I too became a Cantor.

Back home, my memories of our relationship are crystal clear. He took me to my first ball game; the Brooklyn Dodgers vs Philly, and caught a foul ball hit by Gil Hodges. Heady stuff… Going home on the subway, a man got caught in the closing door, and Tuck, quick on his feet, pried the doors open, freeing the guy. I still see that moment in my dreams.

My favorite thing was to do stuff for him. Nothing would make me happier than to wait on line at the Metropolitan Opera, for a couple of hours, to buy seats for him and a date. He had a volunteer choir in Long Beach, called the Ronim chorus, and would ask me to travel from Brooklyn to Long beach on tuesday nights to be a ringer for the choir. Merrily I would get on the “D” train, go to the city, get on the Long Island Railroad, and take a cab to his synagogue. Watching him run a rehearsal with this ragtag group of volunteers was hysterical. He would say things like: “Make sure you all come next week, for a general rehearsal.” They would all look at each other and nod in wonderment saying: “Wow, a GENERAL rehearsal!” Total nonsense… Strictly speaking, he couldn’t conduct a train, but his personality won the day. Handsome to the extreme, the women choristers drooled. Rehearsal over, he took me to the local Deli for center cut tongue on club, (scoop the bread) and drove me to the train.

Bar Mitzvah boys were regularly pinched on the cheek. He has hundreds of pictures of him pinching kids. Saturday afternoon was prime time for bar Mitzvah lessons. Tucky would sit on a Lawn chair in the back yard in bathing trunks teaching and pinching away. When I was eleven, I visited for a shabbat weekend. I was quite big for my age, and fluent in the musical systems and tropes taught to Bar Mitzvah students, as I had a Yeshivah education. Having a big load of kids on Saturday, Tuck asked me to teach a few. I remember asking: “Can I pinch them too?”

Tucky and his friends had a basketball team which played in the local Young Israel called “The Davids,” A name that he picked. Each member had a cool jacket with their name or nickname on the back, written in a flowery hand. The “T” in Tucky was so fancy, it could have easily been mistaken for an “F.” When he passed it down to me, I wore it proudly, though I had to fight my way out of certain situations…

Whenever a thorny question arose in the household, mom (Tibby), would invariably say: “Call Tucky; he’ll know what to do!” It became a family dictum. In any situation needing a decision, we would all look at each other and say: “Call Tucky…” When Dad passed away, I moved to Florida, partially, for a last ditch effort to save my failing marriage. A year into the experiment, we divorced. Mom then decided she would move to Florida, to “take care of her Jackie.” Lucky me. Soon, Tucky started calling, barking out orders for me concerning the care of Tibby, making sure, from his long distance perch, that I was doing the necessary legwork needed to cater to her every whim. All of this was going on when I, who was married at age nineteen, was trying to finally enjoy some semblance of bachelorhood. So, one fine day, I was teaching a Bar Mitzvah lesson, when the phone rings, and one of Tibby’s neighbors excitedly says: “Come quick, your mom is on the floor!” I immediately knew what was wrong. Mom was a manic depressive, and when a depression hit, all the strength would leave her body, and she would literally fall to the floor, requiring hospitalization. This happened to her about once a year, beginning at age fifty, until her death at ninety four. Sure enough, when I arrived, she was flat on her back, with a ring of neighbors circling her. It looked like some kind of religious rite from a voodoo ceremony. Beckoning me with her index finger, she whispered with my ear next to her mouth: “Call Tucky, he’ll know what to do…”

My big brother, Solomon, is an amazing guy. I already mentioned what he has meant to legions of his students. The loyalty they show him comes from them experiencing his loyalty to them. He is driven by an almost eerie compulsion to help people. One of his former students got into trouble with the law, and found himself in jail on the eve of Yom Kippur, just hours before the Kol Nidre service. Tucky ran to appear before a magistrate, pleading to let the young man out, so he could sit with his parents in synagogue on the Holy Day. The Judge, knowing and respecting “Cantor Sol,” gave his permission. Every widow in the congregation got a call from him on friday, including calls from Israel, during a six month sabbatical. Closer to home, back in ’91, I was diagnosed with an acoustic neuroma, a benign brain tumor, touching the hearing and facial nerves. The House Ear Clinic in LA had a renowned surgical team that dealt with this problem, and I flew there for a consultation. Tucky insisted on coming with me. When the surgeon described the procedure to us, HE fainted.

Fast forward to a few years ago. Tibby, age 94, was in the Hebrew Home, in Riverdale, and was failing. In earlier days, with mom being manic most of the time, she would display her love for us in a very gregarious way. Never softly or soberly. So, sitting and holding her hand in the home, I thought I would give it a shot. I looked in her eyes, and softly whispered: “Mom, I love you.” With her eyes darting nervously, left and right, she said: “Where’s Tucky?”