My parents were able to rent an apartment at 710 Eastgate in 1948. Those were good years, with wonderful friends and neighbors, gathering on the front walk of the apartment building’s wooden benches to kibbitz, in the summer evenings.

I was just 10 years old, but I loved listening to all the conversations. Everyone in the neighborhood bought bakery goods everyday from Pratzel’s, it was tradition. But all of a sudden, it would be close to 11 p.m. or midnight. The ladies were still going strong and getting hungry from the smell down the block coming from Pratzel’s. My mother would go into the house and give me some money. I would walk to the bakery, go to the back door and knock. They would let me in and I would buy the fabulous smelling hot rye breads and run back to the apartment where the waiting ladies sat on the benches.

By that time, they had brought out a stick of sweet butter and a knife. Sometimes it would be just pulled apart for the best ever lasting treat. Melting butter running down our hands and arms were a delight and after it was all gone, everyone said good night and went to their beds smelling and dreaming of the best bread anyone could ever want.

To this day, I remember those summer evenings and the joy that the memories hold for me.

Pratzel’s, you are already so missed!

Frances Podhorzer Goldberg

Creve Coeur