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Good books, old friends

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By Kara Kvasnicka

Tuesday, November 29, -0001

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Kindness and generosity are the first words that spring to mind in recalling this remarkable man. He was the "poster boy" for a generation that instinctively and uncomplainingly put its family and everyone else's interests before its own.

He was also, as anyone who knew him will confirm, the ultimate stickler for appropriate behavior. So much was this the case that I would never have dared to tell him that one of my favorite characters from the realms of children's literature is Kay Thompson's deliciously naughty Eloise.

Visits with my grandparents while I was growing up were infrequent since they lived in Minneapolis, 700 miles away. Hugs, kisses and lots of presents are what I remember most about our all-too-brief reunions.

Neither my grandpa or grandma sought to find any fault with my brother, sister or I — their only grandchildren. We, in turn, strived hard to deserve their pride and affection.

From our earliest associations with him, we learned through innocent trial and error that the one sure way to displease my grandfather was to forget our manners.

Just one elbow on the dinner table was enough to provoke a withering glare and a scolding we would not soon forget.

One of the most mortifying moments of my entire existence resulted from being caught by my grandfather in an accidental but nevertheless unpardonable act of utter social gracelessness.

Clear as a bell, it comes back to me …

I was nine years old, and it was the first night of an extended summer visit in which I would be lucky enough to have my grandparents all to myself.

Believe it or not, I had flown to Minneapolis on a Northwest Airlines jet without any adult relative to chaperone me. Mind you, I was carefully supervised by a bevy of flight attendants from the time one of them escorted me out of my parents' care and onto the plane until the time we landed at our destination. There, one of them led me directly to the terminal where my grandparents waited for me with outstretched arms.

To celebrate my arrival and the completion of this important first step toward independent womanhood, my grandparents took me to dinner at one of their favorite restaurants. It was a posh uptown eatery called the Rainbow.

The occasion started off promisingly enough. We placed our orders and I shyly answered all their questions about my third grade academic endeavors while we waited for our meals to arrive.

It was when my grandparents started digging into the fruit salads which preceded their entrees that things got ugly.

My grandpa, bless his big soft heart, was concerned that I should grow restless while waiting for the cheeseburger and fries I had selected from the children's menu.

So, he invented an entertainment just for me.

Gingerly, one after another, he forked every cherry from his luscious-looking, seasonal assortment onto my empty bread plate. With each deposit he simultaneously chanted a clever play on my name that would win the heart of any little girl who shared it: "A cherry for Kari."

Ah, if only I had just been content to admire the pretty arrangement he made with those plump, tempting fruits. If only I had not been hungry enough to actually eat one.

Following my grandfather's lead, I used my fork to transport one of the juicy treats to my mouth. Sadly, second nature took over when it came to removing the hard, unchewable pit in the center. I used my fingers.

The expression in my grandpa's eyes, as he witnessed this unforgivable faux pas quickly changed from disbelief to horror. His cheeks turned the same purple hue as the cherries' skin. He started sputtering in tongues, and with no small amount of terror, I braced myself for the inevitable public humiliation
"Don't ever use your fingers to remove food from your mouth. Always use your fork!" he directed me sternly and loudly enough for all the other diners to hear.

Needless to say the rest of the evening was somewhat subdued. Fully conscious of the lapse in his own comportment constituted by his over-reaction, my grandfather was mad at himself for losing his temper with me.

I was just sorry at that point in my development to have been yelled at regardless of what I had done. But, trust me, my gruff teddy bear of a grandfather was the last person in the world I wanted to let down.

While I had never seen anyone else use flatware to consume these quintessential, all-American finger foods, I can assure you of one thing. When my burger and fries were at last put before me, I used my fork and knife to eat the few bites of them for which I could still muster an appetite.

Nearly 30 years later I pull from a delivery of new books to my branch a fresh look at the topic on which I have no doubt my grandfather was the world's leading unrecognized authority.

It is written by someone whose expertise on all things right and proper has, in contrast, made her a household name and most assuredly one that was repeated frequently in my grandparents' home.

Indeed, my grandfather would be the first person to recommend I stock my nonfiction collection with Letitia Baldridge's New Manners for New Times: A Complete Guide to Etiquette (Scribner, 2003, 709 pages, $35).

Hmmmm … I wonder as I idly fan its pages. Just what are the written rules for eating fruit in the company of others?

In the chapter "Table Manners That Take You Anywhere," I find my answer.

"A small piece of fruit with a stone in its center," according to the guru of goodness, "is put whole in the mouth with the fingers. The fruit is chewed off the stone in the mouth; the pit is then pushed onto a fork or spoon with tongue action and then brought down onto the plate."

Wow! What a revelation! If this is the same instruction provided by etiquette mavens in 1974 (I will have to seriously look into this), it means I was never entirely in the wrong. I just got it backwards. I used my fingers when I should have used my fork and my fork when I should have used my fingers.

Got that?

You have no idea how much better I feel having made this discovery. A burden of guilt I have carried around for decades has been at least partially alleviated.

I need read no further to heartily recommend this book which in the space of a single paragraph has, really and truly, changed my life.

However, I am sure you will also want to hear what the esteemed Mrs. Baldridge has to say about the numerous other subjects she covers in this tome that is comprehensive to say the least.

As expected, she provides resolutions to such traditional conundrums as how to address government officials in written communications, what to wear to specific events and what to say to a friend who has just lost a loved one.

She also gives her views on the sticky situations with which we must cope as a result of the sociological and technological changes that have transpired since her last edition of this book hit the shelves in 1989.

Intrigued by categories both old and new, I guess I will start with flatware to make sure I am using the proper utensils to eat my lunch. Then, I will move on to more controversial issues like the use of cell phones in public.

I can only imagine my grandfather's response were he seated in a restaurant near someone carrying on a loud conversation over the latest in wireless communications devices. It would definitely be a struggle for him to politely keep his peace.

Kvasnicka, a former East Village Magazine news editor, has been the magazine's contributing editor and research consultant since 1989. She is the librarian at the Genesee District Library's Goodrich Branch.

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