2005-06-17-Nick Feurzeig_Fathers

2005-06-17 Father's Day

Writers Directory

Gail Umeham

Memories of Dad, the Policeman
Well to Surface for Father's Day

Jewishsightseeing.com, June 17, 2005

By Gail Umeham

Nicholas T. Feurzeig, my father, was named Nathan at his bris, but Nathan wasn't much of name for a Chicago cop in 1930. For that matter, Jewish wasn't much of a religion for a Chicago cop then, either. "Nathan" he could and did change, but not his Judaism.

What a deal, Nick the Cop— that's my Dad. He walked the beat, cruised the streets in a patrol car, rode a motorcycle and worked as a plainclothes detective, all in the name of Chicago law and order. He loved his work and was proud of what he did.

But how and why did a nice Jewish boy from the West Side of Chicago end up on the police force at the tender age of 21?

The why is easy. "The money was good," said Nick¹s kid brother, Charlie Feurzeig. The how was a little more involved. According to brother Charlie,"it was all politics."

"There were a lot of votes to be had from the Feurzeigs," said Charlie, "and Ward Committeeman Rosenberg wasn't going to let them slip through his fingers." So, when (my) Grandpa Louis asked Rosenberg to help his son Nate get on the force, Rosenberg did his best, which was very good." Out of 2,000 new recruits that year, Feurzeig "was number 50 on the list," Charlie reported.

Nick was seemingly fearless and only talked about his escapades and close calls years and years later. He used to like to tell the story of stopping—he was a motorcycle policeman by this time— a speeding vehicle that unbeknown to him contained several notorious mobsters. Marty Ochs and Paul Labriola, hoodlums with known links to Jack Ruby and the Dallas crime scene, had just been released from jail the day before. Once he realized whom he had stopped, Nick called a squad car to take them away. The Chicago Sun-Times reported that Labriola complained bitterly, saying "It's persecution, that's what, persecution." Every time Nick retold this story,
he would add how glad he had been that he didn't know who they were before
he stopped them.

Over the many years he was on the Chicago P.D. (40-plus), he found himself in many such similar situations— such is the work of a policeman. My mother and I both chose not to think about it. In fact, I think we spent a great deal of time not thinking about what my father was doing at work. His work activities were so completely outside the structure of our lives, it was
better not to contemplate the happenings.

After his retirement, Nick and my Mom moved to San Diego, where he never had a dull moment. He studied Spanish, got a real estate license, took up square dancing, traveled widely, went to Jack La Lanne's regularly for a workout (way before it was fashionable to work out), swam every day, rode a bicycle, went water skiing, played a great game of pinochle and, of course, rode his beloved motorcycle.

He became handyman to the world, giving anyone who asked help with small
home-maintenance problems. And regularly, without fail for 25 years, he delivered Meals on Wheels for Jewish Family Service.

It started with my mother deciding to volunteer to deliver meals. On her very first day out, she was confronted with construction work at the address she was to make her delivery.

She knew she couldn't get to it with the car, and without hesitation she turned around, drove right home and told Nick that he had to get on his motorcycle and make the delivery, since someone was waiting for a meal. She never made another delivery and he rarely missed doing so.

Whenever I visited San Diego, I was careful not to make my journey begin or end on Monday, for that was his delivery day, and not even the arrival or departure of his only child would make him give it up.

Award after award came his way for his dedication to his volunteer work. The last honor, won at age 87, was the J.C. Penney Golden Rule Award from JCPenney and the United Way of San Diego County for his more than 25 years of delivering hot meals to homebound seniors. The award earned Jewish Family Service a $250 contribution just 18 months before he passed away, my Jewish father.