Taffy’s ashes were sprinkled, in part, in the garden at Susan and John’s. For all those thinking ‘But she didn’t eat vegetables’ don’t worry, we put her by tomatoes so she could have Bloody Marys forever.
How I met Taffy
I first started doing things for her when she had the metal bars across the window in her bedroom out to the patio. She couldn’t find anyone who would paint them inside and out for her, so I did it.
Wen my daughter was sick. My daughter had to have open heart surgery and brain surgery, and Taffy really comforted me during that time.
The following story comes from Taffy’s neighbor, Gloria, who lives in Gigi’s old apartment.
Taffy always had plants, ferns, in the corner of the apartment. At least until I was older. Finally she accepted the fact that she was a serial fern killer, and stopped. But she ended up with new plants. A couple in the building had these plants, but not enough room to keep them, and certainly not outside, so they asked Taffy if they could put them on her patio. Taffy said “Of course.” But come fall, when the cold bit, she knew it was time for the plants to go home. She called and called and the couple never came back for the plants, so Taffy just moved them in to the old plant place and there they lived.
In the old days, she’d probably have had someone drop the plants off on their doorstep with a bill for services.
From Allen Simon and Yolanda Pessina:
The last time we saw Taffy was in October of last year. Yolanda and I live in Manhattan, and when Hurrican Sandy hit New York, we lost power and running water in our building for a number of days. On the fifth day without power, we found what must have been the last available auto to rent on the island, and we drove west to Cleveland. On the way, we became reacquainted with luxuries like running water and electricity at a Comfort Inn in Pennsylvania.
In Cleveland, we did a number of things, including calling up Taffy and going to dinner with her at Nighttown. The problem with relating anything after the fact about a visit with someone like Taffy is that you are having so much fun in the moment that the time flies and you only remember highlights. But what I remember was that we entertained her with our stories about Hurricane Sandy, and she told us about how she once organized a party (I think it was a birthday party) for the newspaper columnist, Windsor French, where she arranged for the exotic dancers from the Roxy Theater on Short Vincent Avenue, next to her store in The Arcade, to be the entertainment. Conversation turned to the upcoming Presidential Election, and Taffy said that she was going to have people over to her apartment to watch the results on television. Stories and laughter were traded back and forth. It was a magical evening, and as it turned out, it was the last time we saw Taffy.
Dear Susan and John
I know my wife spoke to you about Taffy, but I just have to put in my two cents.
Not only was she one of the most respected people in our industry, but she herself, just being her, was something special.
Everyone who met her, was always impressed by the way she looked, the way she treated people, and the joy she had for life.
Every Jewish holiday we will miss her more than ever. Who else would call us EVERY YEAR, and never forget.
She was quite a lady.