Grisha Nachshen (Harry Nash)

I've been thinking that so many of us cousins have vivid memories of Uncle Grisha (he always said not to call him Uncle, just Grisha) but we never get around to seeing much written on him. I propose we ask the cousins to each write up anecdotes of their memories of our wonderful Grisha. Here's the first one...

Memories of Grisha

Grisha bought me and Philip our first bicycles. Grisha, when he came in to visit from New York would bring us pencils he got from different bank promotions. According to my mother, he used to play the stock market and play chess in Central Park.

After a seder once, he said to me, 'why are you wearing that yarmulka?" I said I didn't really know, just because we always did it. He said, "take it off." I often remember that incident.

I did. I thought he was telling me to take it off, but he was telling me to wear it if I knew why I was wearing it. It only took me about 30 years to figure that out.

He would lovingly bug his youngest sister Tanya if she could still speak and read Russian. "Yes, yes" she would insist. So he would pull out a Russian book and have her read a page. He and my dad would spend hours playing chess. Often silently studying the board, but frequently arguing loudly with each other. Everyone knows I'm sure how exciting/frustrating/aggravating/invigorating it was to be drawn into a debate with him only at some point to have him switch viewpoints and get you totally fadreyt in kop. I regarded it as a sign of his unique way of 'parenting' us.

I stayed at his famous New York high rise apartment, with a door man. When you turned on the bathroom light a little transistor radio would go on. He loved his siamese cat, Igor. he took a picture of me holding Prince Igor in 1967. Five years later, in 1972, he flew from NY to Windsor to be at a family simcha and brought the picture to give to me. I still have it.

After he died, Tanya would often say that she missed him very much. I have a great picture of him smoking a favorite cigar, his long grey wavy hair, chuckling a big smile, his bushy masculine eyebrows. When I find it , I'll give it to Brian to post.

I look forward to reading other cousins memories of him.

Peter

I moved to New York from Montreal in 1955, alone - away from my warm and loving family. The only one, other than a few peers, I knew in N.Y. was my uncle, Greisha, a dapper, charming, bon vivant. He welcomed me into his home and life.

He had many quirks, most of which I still think of when the proper moment arises. He truly was a man ahead of his time. Often, when I asked him to join me for dinner on the town - his comment - "you get better food at home - just send the restaurant a check."

His excercise was to walk to work and back - from his apartment on 96th St. to midtown 38th St.

The post office and he did not agree. Whenever his mailbox was filled with solicitations or as he put it "garbage mail" he would restuff the envelopes and return to the senders with the hope they would stop. After awhile, he got a P.O. Box so that his mail would not be seen by the doorman who distributed.

His cat, Princer Igor, got much of his affection. When I brought my infant son, Elliot, to visit, Greisha put the cat into the carriage to play with him. The cat was not a willing playmate. Prince Igor, a Burmese, if memory serves me well, was very anti-social. He did not like humans and whenever I would visit, he promptly hid under the bed.

When my father, Avrum, his older brother, came to N.Y. for a visit, Greisha (our family did not use the prefixes of Aunt or Uncle) came to my home with a bottle of Vodka and a box of cigars in hand. The two brothers would enjoy both, sit and discuss, or argue, the state of affairs of the U.S., Canada, Russia, et al, always heatedly. No solutions, many words.

Greisha was a very argumentative man. In his opinion, and his opinions were very strong, there were at least 5 sides to everything, his, mine, yours, and the rest of the world.

From the time I moved to N.Y. in 1955 to his death in 1978, we were close and caring about each other. I was with him to the very end. I truly got to know him and love him.

My Uncle Greisha shared his life with his wife, Mildred. They together gave me the love and warmth that encompasses me until this very day. I think of them very often with great love and warm thoughts. I was very fortunate to have been so close to them in heart and proximity all those years.

Almost 20 years later, I still miss him, but his many quirks and being will always be with me. A strange and difficult man, loved and admired by all.

With loving memories,

Elizabeth

aka Bess

aka Liz

A footnote about names. Greisha a Russian name, Harry in English, Herschel in Yiddish. He told me many times that had he remained in Russia or elsewhere in Europe, his name would have been Gregoire or Gregory. So much for a name. He was the first one of the NACHSHENS to change his name to NASH. Way back when.