I first heard about my Uncle Sam from my grandparents, Morris and Rachel Eskin, with whom I spent a great deal of time when I was a child. I looked through photograph albums and saw pictures of my father and Sam as children. Sam had long blond sausage curls, and when they were cut, my grandfather saved one of them in a white box on cotton wool. They didn't talk much to me about Sam, but I knew that he had left home at an early age and had been around the world. There were gifts, such as carved ebony elephants with ivory tusks and a beautiful Japanese kimono in shades of lavender, which I inherited and wore several times when I performed arias from "Madame Butterfly". (Ruth was quite an accomplished Opera singer in the 40's and 50's). There were also pictures of Sam wearing a cowboy outfit with sheepskin chaps, and one in a boxing or wrestling ring - he had had many types of jobs as he worked his way around the country. He came to visit us for a short time every few years, but all I remember is that when he left, he usually gave a half dollar to me and my brother (Bob Eskin). This was a large amount of money since I used to baby-sit for the neighbors for an entire evening for a quarter!

My grandfather was always in touch with Sam and used to send checks to Stanley and Otho on their birthdays - sometimes he would ask me to write out the checks. This was strange since they were my first cousins but I had never met them. My mother was one of ten children, all still living in the Baltimore-Washington area, and we got together with them and their children almost every weekend. So I grew up feeling that there was something strange about Sam's lifestyle which my family didn't approve of. My grandfather visited Sam in Woodstock from time to time and I have an audiotape of him being interviewed by someone at one of Sam's parties, on which he talks about how proud he is to have lived to see blacks and whites socializing together. (You can hear the ringing of the ship's clock bells in the background on the tape.)

During the depression years, my father had a hard time making a living. He lost his job with a Baltimore newspaper when it was taken over by Hearst publications. Then he tried a number of business ventures, which did not succeed. Eventually, Sam was instrumental in getting him a job with United Parcel Service, which was quite a feat since until that time, the company frowned upon nepotism. This was in 1940, and all during the war years, my father worked for UPS for a modest salary because tires and gasoline were rationed and it was not the best of times for the company. However, the company issued stock to its employees in lieu of money and because of this, my father was able to retire comfortably at age 62.

In 1943, Nathan Skurnik and I were married - my daughter Rita was born in 1950 (Nat having been overseas for four years during the war) and my son Michael was born in 1953.

Our first visit to Woodstock was in the summer of 1957 - Sam had come to visit us in Manhattan, where Nat operated a small supermarket. He dropped in one afternoon, had a cup of coffee, and ordered some case of Macadamia nuts, which Nat offered to get for him wholesale. He invited us to Woodstock and so we went. We slept in the trailer, which he kept next to his house for his guests, and nine months later our son, Harmon was born. We often kidded Sam about being responsible for this event.

Our next visit to Woodstock was when Harmon was about four years old (1962) and it was an unforgettable one. Sam fixed one of his famous paellas in a huge pan, which hung by the fireplace, and we drank a lot of beer and bourbon. He played and sang "Cigareets and Whiskey and Wild Wild Women, They drive you crazy, they drive you insaaaaaaane." About 10 o'clock, when my children would usually have been in bed, he decided to take us all down to town to the Little Brown Jug to hear a jazz band, where we had more beer. The kids loved the place and the music. When we got back about midnight, he put on more music and started dancing on the table with Harmon right behind him. Every once in a while, he turned and gave out a mighty lion's roar, which scared everyone half to death, but then we laughed hysterically. There's never been another night like it, before or after.

On another visit, Sam decided to ride back to New York with us. He packed a few things in a red bandana tied to a stick, hobo style, and told us to drop him off on Ninth Ave in Greenwich Village. It was midnight by the time we got there and we were reluctant to leave him but he said he had friends he could stay with. We called him our 69 year-old hippie uncle!

Another visit we made to Woodstock was with our daughter Rita and her newlywed husband, Don Collins (they are now divorced), who is a real libertarian, believing in freedom for the individual above all, with the government responsible only for the defense of the country, public safety and the court system. He and Sam were having a conversation about economics and Sam interrupted Don early on, mistakenly thinking he was going to express some socialist view, and said, "if we could take all their money away from the rich people of the world and give it to all the poor people of the world, it would last about a week, and then everyone would be poor." We can assume he had given up his communist views by then. Of course, Don said that he did not believe in taking money away from anyone for any purpose.

Needless to say, we tended to idealize Sam. He was so different than my father, who was a quiet, conservative, disciplined man who had to work hard all his life and took life very seriously. I enjoyed reading Stanley's memoirs because I realized that Sam had faults similar to my father's and they were both only human.

In 1966, our son, Michael was 13 and we planned a party for his Bar Mitzvah and sent Sam an invitation. We were happy that he attended and he seemed to enjoy being with all of us. Not long after that, we received a letter from him informing us that he was about to set up a trust fund for each of our children and also for my brother's two children. It was to be used only for educational purposes until they reached the age of 25, at which time it could be used for anything they wanted. This was a stunning gesture and, while it was not a large amount of money, it had the psychological effect of giving my children the confidence of knowing they had a nest egg to fall back on. We did not find it necessary to use that money for their education and they did not spend any of it until after they were married. Rita and Don used the money to invest in their honey bee business, which has paid off well over the years. Michael and Harmon and their wives, Lori and Judy, used their savings for a down payment on their first houses. I'm very grateful for him - it was a very kind and caring thing for him to do and has had a far-reaching effect on all my family.

When Sam died, I called my father and offered to go to the funeral with him, but he said he had called and that there was not going to be a funeral. I still feel sad that I did not pay my last respects to a remarkable man. Sometime later, my husband was driving in the Kingston area and decided to drive to Woodstock to see the place. It was deserted - the doors were open and he wandered into the barn. There was stuff piled all over and he suddenly felt a desire to have something of Sam's, so he took an African mask that was lying on the floor. We hung it over our piano, and our granddaughter Lisa used to get frightened of it when she climbed up on the seat to play "Chopsticks" with me. I always felt Sam was there roaring like a lion. I miss him.

To see larger images,
click on each picture:

Ruth Skurnik with Morris Eskin in 1952.

Ruth Skurnik in 1928.

Ruth in 1941.

Ruth and Nathan Skurnik
in 1943.

Ruth's three children
in 1963.

Ruth and her three
children in 1963.

Nat and Ruth Skurnik
in 1988




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