I remember.

When I heard President Kennedy was shot, I was playing hearts in a

dorm room at Mizzou.

When I heard Martin Luther King had been assassinated, I was busy

in my office at the Air Base in Saigon.

But now, the worst of all news possible – Pratzel’s is kaput. My

world spins out of control. I leap from my computer and warp speed

it to Dierbergs. Too late. Shelves that normally teem with those

shiny see-through bags of Pratzel’s tzitzel and seeded bagels are

as empty as the Gobi Desert at high noon in July

I am undone. What am I to do? Spread that delightful

Philadelphia-brand Cream Cheese on white bread? Even the gentile

side of my wife’s family wouldn’t consider such a

desecration!

And alas poor corned beef. I knew it well, lying on miraculous

tzitzel under a blanket of blessed Dijon mustard, a combination

suitable for the gods on Mount Olympus. But now stripped of its

lifelong partner – think George and Gracie, Roy and Dale – corned

beef lies upon my plate with no hope of ever regaining its sandwich

greatness. It lies there alone, except for a solitary dill pickle

insisting that 10-grain whole wheat is a nutritious substitute for

my beloved tzitzel, even if wheat bread tastes like a welcome

mat.

I guess Abraham Lincoln said it best in his famed Gettysburg

address, “The world will little note nor long remember what we say

here, but it can never forget…” a really great corned beef

sandwich. Toss the Dijon and your Philadelphia Cream Cheese, my

friends, it’s time to mourn.

Jeff Klayman

St. Louis County