In the long and checkered history of New York, there have been many tall tales recounted: fables hard to believe, stories of heroes and villains that seem impossible to accept as true. Every so often, if we’re lucky, we come across a true yarn that, while appearing inexplicable, in fact did take place exactly as recorded. One such story was told to me recently by a direct descendant of Mrs. Minnie Cohen, a resident of Harlem in New York City more than a hundred years ago. As the great-great nephew of this estimable woman, he swears to the accuracy of the following story. The fact that he is a Teaneck man should not entitle him to greater believability than anyone else, but he is an honorable and trustworthy person and would not intentionally mislead us. His story:
A little background would be helpful before we meet our characters. Harlem had been an independent village on the island of Manhattan for many years into the late 19th century. Always the most fertile, arable portion of the island, by the time of our story, the urban city had caught up to this formerly rural area; Harlem was now the home of a multitude of Jewish, Irish and Italian immigrants. A notable stream, the Harlem Creek, ran diagonally through the center of Harlem from St. Nicholas Avenue and 151st Street southeast to 110th Street and Lenox Avenue. The creek continued along 107th Street from what is today Fifth Avenue due east to the Harlem River. At its confluence with the river, the Harlem Creek was estimated to be 100 feet wide and 20 feet deep. Unknown to anyone alive today or for that matter their grandparents, the city fathers of New York decided to eliminate this natural waterway by means of landfill and sewer, but the creek still runs underground today, silently coursing under the footfalls of many unknowing East Siders who would be shocked to know this fact.
It is December 1899, and Uncle Samuel Cohen, who lives “above” the Harlem Creek, is late returning home from work. Aunt Minnie, his wife of many years, the mother of their nine immigrant children, is worried. This was not his pattern; as a carpenter’s assistant in lower Manhattan, she knew him to be a man of fierce habits. The likelihood of his not coming home by 5 o’clock via the elevated railway that led to their apartment was an evil sign to her in itself. When by the next morning Uncle Samuel had still not returned, Aunt Minnie felt compelled to reach out to the local constabulary for help in finding him.
Had he been the subject of foul play? Had he had an accident of some sort?
Aunt Minnie was very concerned as she entered the police precinct station on the corner of 110th Street and Lenox Avenue. The burly Irish officer behind the high desk seemed bored and bemused by Aunt Minnie: She was a fairly short woman, with a shock of raven-colored hair covered by a shawl that she wore whenever she left home:
“We’ll check it out for you, Mrs. Cohen, of that you can rest assured!” said the officer.
She smiled, thanked him, then headed back home where her 12-year-old daughter was babysitting some of her younger siblings. Later that evening, a knock came on Aunt Minnie’s door and she ushered two police officers into the parlor of her modest apartment.
“Mrs. Cohen, we have what appears to be some sad news for you. Earlier today we found an unidentified body—a man—in the Harlem River not far from here. Apparently he had washed up on the shore near 107th Street, where the old filled-in Harlem Creek used to emerge from the marsh and enter the river; since he had no identification on him, we were hard-pressed to determine who he was and how he got there. We are suggesting you come with us to identify the man; he has a beard and appears to be a middle-aged Jewish man as best as we can tell.”
Minnie of course was instantly shocked and horrified by the news. Quickly gathering her shawl and coat for protection against the late fall weather, she accompanied the officers to the city morgue in Harlem.
It was a difficult moment for all as they revealed under a sheet the body of Uncle Samuel. It was now the turn of the officers and the coroner’s assistant to be shocked when Aunt Minnie started into a conversation with the inert body of her, apparently, late husband:
“Samuel, you can’t leave me here! You must not leave me here with the children! They need their father, they need you to guide them and teach them! I need you!”
She kept pressing on the bare chest of the lifeless body in front of her.
“Sam!” she pleaded urgently.
Some minutes went by and the officers and the coroner’s assistant began to shuffle their feet uncomfortably and even shed some tears in response to Aunt Minnie’s plaintive cries.
“Sam, I insist you wake up, Sam, Sam!” she repeated in desperation, beating his chest again and again.
After five or ten minutes of this interaction, to the utter shock and amazement of everyone except Aunt Minnie, Uncle Samuel (for so he truly was) began to stir, opened his eyes, coughed, coughed again, and there before them he lay, alive!
“Miracle, miracle!” shouted the coroner’s assistant.
“He’s alive!” echoed the officers with absolute incredulity.
Aunt Minnie smiled, shook her hands, clasped them in gratitude to the sky and shouted: “Avinu Shebashamyim!”
“Praise the Lord for bringing back Samuel,” Aunt Minnie requested from the officers nearby.
The police sergeant responded after a moment to Aunt Minnie:
“Aye, madam, I don’t know for sure if it was the Lord who brought him back, but I know you with your ministrations and faith have brought your Samuel back to life.”
By this time Uncle Samuel sat up, covered in the bed sheet and asked the officers where his clothes were.
“Ah, they are drenched I think and ruined beyond repair, but we’ll get you something that fits and you can go home with your devoted wife. Take care of her, she’s a special woman for sure!”
And so Aunt Minnie’s short-lived, but heart-wrenching dilemma was solved; swift action on her part, but—more so—determination that this would not be the final act of Uncle Samuel’s life, brought about a modern-day miracle worthy of the prophets of yesteryear. According to family legend, Aunt Minnie and Uncle Samuel had four additional children following his brush with death. In the annals of New York, this was one moment truly worth remembering, above the waters of the forgotten Harlem Creek.
By Joseph Rotenberg
Joe Rotenberg, a frequent contributor to The Jewish Link, has resided in Teaneck for more than 40 years with his wife, Barbara. His first collection of short stories and essays entitled “Timeless Travels: Tales of Mystery, Intrigue, Humor and Enchantment” was published by Gefen last year.
