Mr. Fred Cohn
(written by Leah Cohn for Mr. Cohn's funeral service)
My father was the strongest man i ever knew, and he was that way until the day he passed away. He worked every day to take care of us and in turn we worked with him to create a special kosher bakery and a life we all could be proud of.
As a young man, my father wanted to become a doctor like his father but the circumstances in hitler’s germany did not allow this to happen.
As a youngster in germany, my father lived with his family upstairs from a bakery. He often spoke about that bakery. He told us how “backer meister britze” taught him how to bake even though he was jewish and that was not allowed. This relationship was actually the beginning of his baking career.
My father left Germany with his family in 1939. They found themselves in a very “special land”. This was “Bolivia”. My father opened a bakery there and one day a cute red headed girl walked in a became a saleslady for him. Her job did not last very long but their marriage lasted 57 years.
My mother and father always talked about their days in Bolivia. It always seemed to me to be a very special time in their lives. They had so much in common because of their separate journeys from Germany. I think their most special memories happened in Bolivia.
I often asked my mother what she liked most about my father when they first met. She said they were first friends she 14 and he 17, and that he was someone to build on, he was solid and steadfast, and boy was she right.
My sister Ruth was born in Bolivia and so started our family.
In 1954 my parents came to Baltimore with only a little more than $50.00 in their pocket and scared of what was ahead for them. In 1957 i was born and my brother Max followed in 1959.
My father worked at Nate's and Leon's and Hilltop Diner in the beginning but always had dreams of opening his own bakery.
In 1960, my father opened Freddy’s Bakery. I remember as a child going there and helping out and probably mostly being in the way.
In 1965 my parents opened Goldman’s Bakery on Rogers and Park Heights Ave.
I remember on my summer vacations going in to the bakery with my mother and brother to help crack eggs and make kichel. As a family member you always worked. On holidays, Max or I would hand out numbers to our customers personally as they walked in the door.
As i got older, I started working on sundays along with my mother and my sister ruth. The bakery was always a very important part of our lives. It was survival for my parents!!!
A funny thing i remember goes back to the fourth grade. I had two vocabulary words. One was the number 28 and the other was apple strudel. I told my teacher very proudly that my father was a baker and that we owned a bakery. The teacher suggested that i bring in 28 pieces of apple strudel for the entire class. This continued all my life, everybody always thought it was so cool to have a bakery.
In 1973, we moved our bakery to its present location. My brother was becoming more actively involved. I started full time in 1989 and Ruth was always available when needed. The rest is history.
My mother and father worked side by side for more than 40 years. Yes, they had their moments. My mother sometimes quit, then my father would quit. But none of us could be fired. I still try to this day to get fired but it just doesn’t work. I would just like to get fired for 3 days.
Our home life was always family oriented. We always ate dinner together at 6:00 pm and talked about our day. My father was never home in the morning when i woke up except on saturdays. He was always aware of what was going on in all our lives. He was proud when i starting my career at the hospital and always enjoyed hearing my gory stories at dinner time.
My mother and father had a good life together. It took a while before they were able to afford a real vacation but finally they were able to travel at least once a year after that.
The last four years have been very difficult. My father developed Alzheimers disease. He was really never sick prior to this a day in his life.
This disease is devastating, but never the less my father still continued to work a few hours here and there. He forgot many things but never his bakery, or how to twist a challah, or make napoleons.
A few weeks ago i was icing some jewish star cookies with my father and even though he could not verbally say it he pointed to me that i was being a little sloppy. My father was a perfectionist at work and he would let you know if something was not right.
This disease made life very different for my family. My father still remembered us but everything was very confused. We tried to place him in an Alzheimer assisted living but nothing could compare to taking care of him at home and this is what our family did. We took care of him to the end.
He died holding my hand and i will remember that forever.
I will miss his smile, his jokes, his long stories about Germany and Bolivia. His stories of his St. Bernard, and Angora cats, and his days playing soccer. I will miss seeing him kiss my mother when he came home from work.
I will miss him and that part of my life forever
Love, Leah