Karen called me two weeks before Steven’s 60th birthday party to ask if I would say a few kind words about her husband. I’m a practiced toastmaster, having presided over thanksgiving dinners at our house for twenty years, and I said, “Sure.” I knew there would be others singing the praises of this fine man, and I knew they would all be spontaneous, from the heart and delivered with the passion of a Robert Frost at JFK’s inauguration. How to compete?

I licked my chops

Why not write to Steven’s brother, Igor, in Ohio and and prod him for some dirt? I do, after all, have a reputation to uphold; I do after all, have a younger brother. Here is what Igor sent, which I happily read aloud.

“My younger brother Steven and I lived in Sweden from 1948
to 1954. We came there from Hungary with our parents. When we arrived in Sweden, Steven was three years old and I was eight.

We both went to school in Malmo, Sweden, and we each had our own circle of friends. However, when Steven was about eight years old he wanted to join a social club to which I belonged. This club of 13 year olds met on weekends at a friend’s home in their basement. We had fun gatherings with model trains, ping pong and other hobbies of interest to boys at that age.

There were some younger kids hanging around us,younger siblings and friends of those siblings. They included several admiring younger girls. Steven was one of these “wanna bees”. He wanted to joinour club, but he was repeatedly told he was too young.”


************I paused to hand Steven this photo of The Club with the president pro tem, Igor, in the center. Note his smile. Though Steven listened in good humor, I could see those long simmering, painful memories bubbling up. As if on cue, Steve declared how angry it made him to be excluded from The Club…***********
“This must have upset him. Finally one day he came down in to the basement where the model railroad tracks were neatly laid out, and he proceeded to tear them up in a fit of anger. This was a bad day for us all! After that episode my brother was politely banished from the premises.

I am not sure he ever forgave us. We have long since forgiven him. Several members of this club recently met for reunions, once in Dayton, Ohio and once in Sweden. The club’s steering committee has invited Steven to finally join the club, but he has refused to acknowledge our invitation.

I think it’s time to bury the hatchet! Get over it, Steven! We want you to have a happy rest of your life beyond 60. Have a great celebration with your family and friends.”

your loving brother,
Igor

But it doesn’t end yet. Days before his birthday, Diane and I made a list of relevant facts, some of which came from “the loving brother,” and I fed them to Adam, the limerick machine. I ended my toast with these:

Margit said to Semyon, “I’ll grant you
He needs some help with his pas de deux
But it isn’t by chance
He left history for dance
Our boy don’t look bad in a tutu……

I take frequent calls from our host
And his birthday gives me license to roast
I know all things mechanical
To Steve are satanical
But without me the man can’t burn toast…

The stripper to Steven seemed spastic
And he hollered, “You could be fantastic!
I can help with your issues –
I’ve a couch and some tissues.”
As he slipped his card in her elastic.

Sunday, I wrote Igor to describe the previous night’s events and to thank him for his contribution. He sent this, a photo of the original train tracks: