Harvey Hockstein Rhymes

About the Book

Born to immigrant parents and growing up during the Depression, Harvey learned many life lessons as he grew, some harder than others. He loved school, especially geography and social studies, but eventually joined his father in his hardware business. While he was famous in town as “Harvey Hardware” and made a good living for his family, there was not much time left for creative outlets. When his daughter, Marilyn, passed away from Hodgkin’s lymphoma in 1987, Harvey joined The Compassionate Friends to share his grief and also began writing as an outlet for his emotions. Over time, his poems moved away from loss and grief to other observations on life. In Harvey Hockstein Rhymes, these thoughts and musings come together to allow all the guests of this life to share in his journey. Once Harvey started writing, he could not be stopped. Through computer struggles and e-mail issues, he persevered to bring us his thoughts of love, life, family, loss, and the universe. In sweet, funny, and imaginative verse, we catch a glimpse of what Harvey has been thinking through all these years. Being an overachiever, it took Harvey only eighty-plus years to bring us this book, which is comprised of just a sample of his many thoughts and may be called a short rendition of the last eighty-six years.

About the Author

I am a late achiever, being eighty-six years old. I may be called a very late, late achiever. But here is a short rendition of the last eighty-six years. My father wanted me to be a mechanic. He was a jack of all trades and a master of all trades. Both my parents came over to America on a boat. They were both ten years old and had to adapt to a new lifestyle. My grandfather and the oldest of the Hockstein siblings preceded the rest of the five siblings to this nation as they could not afford to bring everyone over at the same time. My uncle Sam acted as a “chaperone” in this fabled land where the streets were paved with gold. The first time, while walking with Sam, they were approached by a policeman, Sam assured my father that in America, we need to be afraid of the police. Ah, security! My father drove a bus and eventually bought a small hardware store in Verona, New Jersey. And that is where I learned my trade. I didn’t enjoy being a hardware man and eventually called myself Harvey Hardware. This was not the name of the business, but I made a living. In the eighth grade, I wrote a poem about Pearl Harbor. I read it to my parents, and they thought it was very good. Our English teacher, Miss Camp, made a change in the last stanza. I had written “that the sons of the Heaven were going to Hell.” Miss Camp said that one could use such language (the Japanese termed themselves the sons of heaven), so I thought of other rhymes but never considered them printable. My, how times have changed.