Bette has been my friend, almost a sister, despite distance and long absences, for almost 70 years. She passed away unexpectedly last week.

We met the summer before fourth grade when each of our families moved into our new homes in the suburbs of Long Island’s North Shore.  It was a fairly rural, modern Quaker settlement then – no sidewalks, a one-room school house, hitching posts and a general store – though definitely on its way to becoming much like any upscale “new-money” home development, with horses and streams and a town called Hicksville across the tracks. Yes, Billy Joel’s home. He was a contemporary of ours. We lived on the “right side” of those tracks.

Bette was then, as she remained through the years, a kind, open, steady and welcoming person. She grew up with many of the things I didn’t have – for example, a functional loving family that discussed instead of shouted and went fun places together as a family; and imported Irish girls as live-in “au pairs “ (we called them maids back then). My African American housekeeper came once a week and was chubby and old. We shared her with my many aunts in a rotation that would tire any 20-year-old.

Bette was a very capable student. Steady and successful, she always made honor roll. She had a place in the glee club each year. She played the piano beautifully. We all took lessons, but Bette made it into Mrs. Gillery’s Gallery for the very gifted musician.

Bette’s father could play the piano, too, but his forte was the horn and the trumpet as I recall. When Bette met Gene, her former husband, he wooed her with quiet guitar music. Bette accompanied him on the piano. As an adult, she never owned up........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)