FRED SIMON’S FEEDING AND CARE OF A GOY

     I had been in marketing at Simon for around 8 years and was attempting to outdo each grand opening and special event's activity at our malls.  In 1980, Fred Simon changed my life and career path when he brought me into the leasing department.      

     I joined leasing at the same time as Max Reiswerg, whose parents owned the kosher meat market in Broad Ripple.  Max and I shared an office and Fred would yell down the hall, “Get the butcher’s kid and the redneck down here!”  Max was a blessing for me and would interpret the Yiddish phrases bandied about and directed at me.  I quickly learned enough to determine when I was in trouble or not.

     I learned the science of leasing shopping centers under the tutelage of Fred, Irv Katz and a crew of really enjoyable individuals.  A new factor for me was the accompaniment of food at every available

opportunity.  All meetings were an occasion to eat and I was quickly indoctrinated into the Fred Simon dining customs, which included frequent visits to Shapiro’s Deli in Indianapolis, where I am sure his patronage had been paying the light bill for years.  

     I had not been in leasing too long when Fred had Shapiro’s cater a meeting.  His assistant Gayla, was passing out the assorted sandwich’s and gave me one marked, “GOY BOY SPECIAL.”  Fred is puffing on his cigar and laughing as I open it up to find a pickle loaf, mayo and cheese on white bread.  Everyone starts laughing and I questioned if you could even make such a sandwich in Shapiro’s.   Fred conceded it took some work, but if enough of my people from the gentile nation asked for it, he might be able to convince Max Shapiro to add it to the menu. 

     Fred had me convinced it is written in the Torah somewhere, all Jews are required to eat Chinese food and go to the movies on Christmas Eve.  During holidays or someone’s birthday he would assemble us and members of other departments, as part of the Fred Simon charitable, “Schlep a Schlub to Lunch Foundation.”   These were always fun gatherings with a lot of jocularity.

    Fred and I went to see the people of Wyatt’s Cafeteria in Dallas for restaurant locations within our malls in Texas.  I grew up in Texas dining at Wyatt’s for special occasions and loved their food.  It was prepared for the southern palate, lots of squash casseroles, turnip greens and black eyed peas.   The owner, Lynn Packer, took us to one of his locations for

lunch and ordered a sampling of everything for our plates.  I am in heaven, chowing down on the cuisine of my childhood.  Fred’s gag reflex is kicking in and every time Lynn turned his head, Fred is shoveling the food off of his plate, onto mine.  When my plate got too full, he was

scooping the grits, pork rinds and stewed tomatoes casserole into the adjacent tree planter.

     After lunch we went to their offices and presented a couple of cafeteria locations to their real estate committee.  They agreed to go forward with the presented locations and stood up, expecting us to leave.  I said, “I have just one more opportunity to share with you.”  

     Their Executive VP said, “Your reputation proceeds you, we are not going to Corsicana, Texas (a very small center, in a very small market we inherited and were attempting to lease).   

     I said, “Well, you don’t really know Corsicana.”    

     He said, “I was born in Corsicana, I went to school in Corsicana and my mother lives in Corsicana”….DEAD SILENCE.  He smiled like he had just slaughtered me in ping pong.  

     I slowly asked, “Well…when was the last time you were there?”    

     He replied, “Tuesday.”  Fred, Lynn Packer and everyone else in the room burst into laughter, as I waved both hands in surrender, packed up my bag and thanked them for their time.    

     As we walked out, Fred draped his arm over my shoulder and said, “… of all the towns on God’s green earth for that maven to be from, it had to be Corsicana!”

     I believe my first trip to New York was in Fred’s company and he took me to the Carnegie Deli.  I never knew such places existed.  We were sitting in a packed lunch crowd of humanity and food excess.   He orders me the “Woody Allen”, which is a ridiculous, giant sandwich made of massive amounts of pastrami and corned beef on rye.  We are all jammed together, shoulder to shoulder with strangers and I am attempting to wrestle this sandwich, as Fred sits across from me watching, while smoking a cigar…(you could do that back then.) 

     I am hip deep into the sandwich, with this salted, cured beef all over

my plate, the table, me and adjacent diners.  Fred looks at me with one eye slightly squinted against the cigar smoke and asks, “How do you like that, Kid?”  

     “Mr Simon, this is wonderful…but the salt is killing me, do you think I could get some coleslaw to help balance this out?”

     Fred said, “Oh sure, sure, sure”.  He turns to the little Jewish waiter standing next to the table in his tuxedo and points at me with his cigar.   “Hey”    

     ”Yes, sir?”     

     Fred said, “The Goy wants some cole slaw!”    

     The little waiter cups a hand to the side of his mouth and yells to the front, “COLESLAW FOR THE GOY!”     

     This place is packed and EVERYONE burst into laughter.  Strangers are slapping me on the back and I am attempting to slide down my chair onto the floor.  I immediately got the impression I was the only gentile in a two block radius.

     We bought a home that backed up to the Jewish Community Center in Indianapolis.  Fred called me into his office and said, “You know, there is not a trailer park, red neck bar or any recent KKK rallies in the neighborhood.  Just some nice, quiet Jewish families, within walking distance of the synagogue.  Are you sure you will be happy there?”   He claimed to have heard my two sons had already started a shakedown business at the Jewish Home for the Aged, adjacent to our backyard.  (They were 4 and 2 years of age).  He said he would go to the neighborhood association to try to get them to let me stay as a token gentile, under his protection,  but I had to join the J.C.C.

     He said he needed me to manage/coach the men’s softball team, because the parks and recreation department were getting a lot of complaints of the J.C.C. team engaging in rowdy behavior and colorful language.  Fred said he suggested my name to the J.C.C. management as someone to tackle the problem, because…as he laughingly explained… “We can’t have one of our Jewish members manage the team, because if they get banned from playing due to ‘overly aggressive play’, it will look bad.  But…if we get banned from play while you are the manager, we can blame you, claim you are anti-Semitic and this led to the teams poor morale and hostility.”  At his insistence, I “volunteered”, stopped most of the “excessive competitiveness”  at the games, attended the meetings with the parks and recreation groups and reported back to the J.C.C. hierarchy.  

     One of my favorite Fred Simon moments is when someone would compliment him on a tie he was wearing.  He would stop whatever he was doing, take off the tie and give it to individual.  My friend, John Neutzling, secured a tie this way and  commented on the large diamond ring Fred wore on his pinkie.  John made it known, he was going for the ring!  He figured if he complimented Fred on his ring, Fred would have to turn it over to him.  After this, anytime Fred saw John coming, he would take off the ring, put it in his pocket and then turn to shake John’s hand.  

     It was all a great deal of frolic and Fred is one of the funniest men I have met.  I also learned a number of Yiddish words and phrases while at Simon.  If you look up the word “Mensch” you will likely see the face of Fred Simon.  He made work fun and life around him was a joy.  He is a child of God and reflects the love of our heavenly father.