Labor Day

It's Labor Day, so I thought I'd add something unusual to the mix. My family took several trips to Miami during my lifetime, and I remember a specific trip in the summer of 1961. We travelled by train, because my Dad was afraid to fly. He was a clothing manufacturer, he started as a master tailor in Philadelphia, and later opened his own business/factory: Bannercraft Clothing Company. (We referred to it as The Shop.) We stayed in a nice hotel, and my sister and I did arts and crafts near the pool in the afternoon. One night, before we went to dinner, we visited The Fontainbleau Hotel in Miami Beach, where the Teamsters were holding a convention in the lobby area. My Dad pointed to a man in the group, and told me to ask him for his autograph. It was Jimmy Hoffa, and he was very kind to me. I had a little pink autograph book, I got some memorable autographs over the years, but they all have tapes stains (Mom's handiwork) and they're quite faded. I'm not going to heroize Jimmy Hoffa, but I often think about his daughter, Barbara Ann Crancer: she's 88 now. In 1992, she was appointed to associate circuit court judge for St. Louis County, Missouri. In 1987, she filed a FOIA request with the DOJ for the release of records pertaining to her father's death/disappearance in July 1975. Her request was denied, and in 1989 she filed suit in district court for a Vaughan index. This was argued in 1992. You can read the lengthy and convoluted documentation of the multiple proceedings on Justia (a headache will ensue, your vision will blur) — ultimately, all of Crancer's appeals were exhausted and she has received no information. Thanks for reading Karen's Essays! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. So films and profits are made, and books are written, and speculation abounds and folks indulge pithy but questionable comments online (looking at you,) and a daughter and jurist will likely go to her grave without knowing what happened to herown father. My Dad was killed when he was backed over by a Philadelphia Sanitation Truck in Valley Green, a nature reserve whereno other vehicles are allowed. They called him 'an elderly man' without naming him on ABC news that night. We sued the city. My friend's husband (he was my friend as well) suffered a heart attack in this same park, but the road was blocked so the ambulance could not get to him in time. He died I had not planned to digress into the personal realm here, but the loss of my father who worked so hard all his life, employed a huge staff, and helped to support his Mother (he was one of ten children) haunts me to this day. So I can only imagine what Barbara has experienced. It's Labor Day. May those who labored and are gone rest in peace. May their loved ones do so as well. Thanks for reading Karen's Essays! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.