Willie the plumber and Lavender Laura

By Ira Spector

SAN DIEGO — Willie and Laura Pincus were a forever couple. There was never any Willie without Laura, nor Laura without Willie, even after he died. He was sixty-five when he checked out, after many years of heart trouble. Jerry Lewis, the comedian once said; “Good Jewish food killed more of my people than the Holocaust did!” Willy had too many delicious pastrami, and chopped liver, sandwiches. When he died, Laura felt cheated. She often told me that she was waiting to rejoin him. She had to wait twelve long years, but finally her patience paid off, and I’m left to tell the tale.

The Willie I knew was a good looking middle-sized man, married to a four foot-something dynamo. By himself, he probably would have been a good steady clerk, everyone’s favorite shoe salesman or hard working dependable shopkeeper. He chose plumbing. Laura was a tiny woman with birdlike features. She was bright, ambitious, and enterprising. She soaked up the street wisdom of the Ellis Island graduates peppering her neighborhood. Laura aspired for Willie and her to break the bonds of their penurious upbringing. They were childhood sweethearts from the Brownsville section in Brooklyn. The neighborhood where they grew up was homogeneous, Jewish, poor, and ambitious. It was sprinkled with many sharp, shrewd, intelligent, and talented people whose children burst the bonds of poverty at the end of the Depression and World War ll.

Laura and Willie graduated from Thomas Jefferson High School in 1938, married soon thereafter, and set out to make their fortune. The War sidetracked them while Willie was away in the Army. When he returned, he went to work and became a journeyman plumber. Laura had loftier goals in mind for the future. They simultaneously started Pincus Plumbing, and a family, with the birth of their daughter, Irene. Years later, they adopted a son, Stephan.

The timing was perfect to begin their business. The post-war U.S. economy, when it got going, burst at the seams with jobs, new housing, new neighborhoods, and money to spend. After almost twenty years, the long winter of Depression, unemployment, war, and shortages was over. The engine of the nation was going full steam ahead, and the Pincus Company reached out for its share.

What a team! Willy had youthful energy, expertness in his trade, and a winning low-key personality. Customers were at ease in dealing with him and confident in his ability and integrity. Laura, working at home, scheduled the appointments, ordered parts, and smoothed the patch of the rare disgruntled customer. She also handled the money and paid the bills. Woven into this tapestry was cooking, cleaning, and raising two kids.

As this business and bank book grew, Laura began to dabble in the stock market and bought high interest paying second trust deeds. She and Willy drove a brand new white Lincoln Continental, bought a columned, brick mansion in the upscale community of Great Neck, Long Island, sailed on the maiden voyage of the QE2 Liner, and ate at the elegant Captain’s table. This must have been something to behold. Willy, who never lost some of the ritual behaviors of his upbringing, always tucked his napkin under his chin while eating. This didn’t seem to bother Laura or their many friends. They saw it as an anachronistic charm.

Although she never told me so, or hinted it, I suspected Laura found a way to squirrel away “funny money,” “Monopoly bucks,” or “fairy dust,” into nontaxable niches. I use this disclaimer in case there is a branch office of the IRS in heaven.

Things were going great, and so was Willie’s waist. He ballooned up to 260 pounds. Then tragedy struck. Willy had a massive heart attack and almost died. It took months for him to recover. When he did, his doctor told him he had to move to a warmer climate and keep his weight down if he wanted to survive. That’s how they arrived in San Diego where Carole and I met them.

I am also an alumnus of Thomas Jefferson High School, (class of 1951) and I was invited to the Pincus home for an alumni organizational meeting. That evening the name, “Lavender Laura,” first entered my mind. I crossed the threshold from the safe, warm, comfortable world of white, cream, and beige walls, into a jarring milieu of unsettling lavender. I previously had one interior decorator client whose living room walls were painted a delicious chocolate. Another one painted his clients’ rooms an intense, unsettling, vivid green. I’ve also known numerous mortgagees with occasional bold color single walls. However, here was color applied in all innocence. Laura loved lavender, and lavender loved Laura: china, napkins, mosaic card tabletop accents, padded seat covers, cushioned stuffed furniture, draperies, with lavender flowers, paper note pads, toiletry articles, television trays, plus any other household item she used her anointed color. There were even lavender ballons at the birthday parties at their home.

Shortly after that momentous meeting, we held an inaugural luncheon for the San Diego chapter of our alumni association at the Al Bahr Masonic Hall. I bought the food for the occasion, because I owned a restaurant and could buy wholesale. I dutifully bought large quantities of lox, bagels, and cream cheese for sandwiches, and Danish pastry for dessert. This was manna from heaven for the thirty, primarily Jewish, attendees.

Toward the end of the luncheon, my new Methodist wife, Carole remarked, “There’s quite a bit of food left.” Laura, with a knowing smile said, “Just wait, watch, and learn.” At the conclusion, every woman rushed up to the tables, wrapped all food they could in paper napkins, and stuffed it into their gaping pocket books. In a few brief minutes, not a morsel of food was left, and the table floral centerpieces were gone as well. My astonished spouse had her first Jewish-piranha experience.

The alumni association flourished for several years, with the Pincuses as the driving force. Eventually, we merged with the Los Angeles chapter, and in one memorable Las Vegas reunion Willy and Laura were honored with a well-deserved humanitarian award. Milton Berle, a friend of one of our L.A.members, topped off the ceremonies with an impromptu hilarious, unpaid, twenty-minute performance.

During the years the Pincuses lived in San Diego, they usually had Thanksgiving dinner at our home. We came to appreciate the two of them for who they were. Laura, always the organizer, was head of the Magen David Ambulance Service fund raising. Willy had gone back into the plumbing business, but on a smaller more relaxed pace with his son Stephan helping him. Stephan, however, had no interest in succeeding his dad.

After seven years, Willy and Laura decided San Diego was not warm enough for them and they moved to Wellington, Florida, an hour’s drive north of Miami. Willy, now too old to be a plumber, eased into selling plumbing parts. He died a few years later. Laura, as far as she was concerned, lived far too many years after Willy. I imagine the happiest day in her life was the day she passed away and rejoined her beloved.

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Ira Spector is a freelance writer based in San Diego.  Free obituaries in memory of members of the San Diego County Jewish community are sponsored on San Diego Jewish World by Inland Industries Group LP in memory of long-time San Diego Jewish community leader Marie (Mrs. Gabriel) Berg.