Where Do We Come From. 02/03/23

So here’s the deal. When it comes to the subject of where did we come from, there are two types of people. People like John who trace their roots back through the ages and people like me who basically couldn’t care less. Pet peeve, people who say “I could care less,” which means the exact opposite of what they’re trying to say. I think if you could care less, then go ahead and care less. But I wandered off course again. The point is, I know very little about my past and haven’t thought of searching for it. I know one set of grandparents came over from Russia and the others used to live in Boston, but that’s it. After that, bupkis (which means “nothing” for those of you who don’t know a few choice Yiddish phrases). Friends have said to me, “You think your mother’s parents come from Boston? How about their parents?” And I shrug my shoulders and say, “I don’t know.” Whereas John can say he’s 29% Scottish, another 69% from other European locales, and 1% Ivory Coast and Ghana (the latter part is probably why he played jazz trumpet in high school). As for me, there’s the Russian part and then I’m told that my last name (Landorf) is actually German for “country village” so maybe I’m part German and I can see why my ancestors were smart to get the hell out of there. Come to think of it, I do have a predilection for sausage, sauerkraut, brown bread, beer and mustard with seeds, but that’s probably coincidental.

At any rate we decided to invent a past for Marv. Think about it, if we gave Marv my attitude, it wouldn’t have made much of a comic.

Mike: Hey Dad, what are those pictures?”

Marv: Oh just some old family photos I found in the attic.

Mike: Who’s that? Marv: I have absolutely no idea.

See what I mean? Not much of a comic. So we went with John’s ancestor-friendly approach and invented a past life for Marv’s grandpa, which explained the strange last name for a Black man, Mandlebaum. After some back and forth, John wondered about making Morris a baker of Streit’s Matzo. I went into my cupboard and just happened to have a box of the very same. As luck would happen they opened their matzo factory in 1925 which happened to fit our timeline perfectly and the story emerged. How many Black men in the 1920’s can you think of that became Matzo bakers? And how many of those starred for the company hoops team? Not too many, except for the esteemed Morris Mandlebaum, a guy that could make a crisp matzo. And a hook shot from 12-feet.

The other thing we like about the search for Marv’s past is it gave Marv a profound way to bond with his son. Come to think of it, maybe I will get the Ancestry kit after all.

Have a wonderful weekend and we’ll see you next week with the conclusion of the Morris Mandlebaum story and a trip back to Al’s new workplace, Pizza-on-a-Stick.

Andy and John