I had a minor operation that required me to be in hospital for about 3 days, and the guy I shared a room with was dying of lung cancer, and he was a great character -- he had been a Jewish tailor on Spadina Avenue (Toronto) in the Jewish heyday, and he regaled me with stories about all the vaudeville guys who came into town, and he was vicious about the influx of Chinese who had destroyed the area (as far as he was concerned) -- "The Day Shopsy's closes (Shopsy's was a big deli) is the day the Red Sea closes behind Moses, no more fucking Jews in Egypt!" And so on.

His other task was to hide cigarettes from everyone, in spite of the fact that his family came in every day to sweep out every hideyhole they could find. They looked everywhere, but he always seemed to hide a few, and where he got the supply, I do not know. In the toilets, bedpans, pillow slips, you name it. The first day he said to me, "Can you hide some for me?" and I said no. We discussed the ethics of this, and whether I was a putz, and he was dying anyway, so what did it matter, and we had a good time over it. Then he shrugged and took it in good part. It was a good thing!! The family -- five of them -- rolled in about an hour later, and they started their search, and stopped around my bed, looking suspiciously at me. "Can we search you?" one old lady said sweetly but determined. "No," I said, "I am offlimits. This is a cigarette-free zone. No cigarettes here." And from then on they left me in peace. I had a great time: the family was planning a huge wedding up north, so I got to hear everything about the Jewish community in Toronto, who was rich, who was poor, who was screwing whom, you name it, which was truly eye-opening!!!!When I left, it was actually quite sad, I had grown fond of the guy, who died a few months later.

yours,

Peter T.