Old South Portlanders kibbitz after all these years

The neighborhood may be gone, but community lives on

By POLINA OLSEN

article created on: 2009-02-15T00:00:00

When Mutzy Enkelis shows up the place starts hopping. Anyone can tell you that.

As his brother Arnold noted, “There’s two Jews you refer to by their first name only. “One is Mutzy and the other is Jesus.”

And Mutzy does show up at the Skybox Pub and Grill (7981 SE Milwaukie Ave.) every Thursday along with other Old South Portland alumni. In their mid-80s, they grew up together, went to school together, sometimes even joined the service together. Now they remember old times and catch up on what’s new over lunch at the Sellwood neighborhood sports bar.

South Portland, as many know, was the immigrant district where Jews and Italians settled in the early 1900s. The roughly 1.5 square miles south of downtown Portland had few Jewish residents before 1900 but 6,000 by 1920, according to author Steven Lowenstein. Portland’s Italian population also surged reaching 5,500 by 1910.

The tight ethnic community had kosher butcher shops, bakeries, synagogues and Italian delis before a series of highway projects cut it to shreds. By the time the 1960s urban renewal project razed 54 blocks, many immigrant families had left South Portland for more prestigious neighborhoods like Laurelhurst and Irvington.

Today, the waitress had coffee ready as small groups filtered in and joined the long reserved table.

“There is a distinction between south South Portland and upper South Portland,” Mutzy explained over his Rueben sandwich.

“South Portland Heights,” someone snarled.

North (upper) South Portlanders lived roughly north of Southwest Lincoln Street, attended Shattuck School and played basketball at B’nai B’rith on Southwest 13th Avenue. South South Portlanders went to Failing School and the Neighborhood House where everyone met for Hebrew School. Several at the table also enjoyed the Manley Community Center. Run by the Women’s Home Missionary Society, it moved from Southwest First Avenue and Southwest Caruthers Street next to Failing School in 1929.

“Hi, Shamos,” Arnold Enkelis said as former police detective Al Vigna sat down. “Everyone had a nickname,” Enkelis said. He, in fact, is better known as Teta, leftover from his toddler days when he couldn’t pronounce streetcar.

“We had one guy named Shagitz LaGrande,” Mutzy said, in another reference to nicknames. “Shagitz made a lot of money.”

The mostly Orthodox immigrants relied on young Italians like Willy LaGrande for help with forbidden chores over Shabbas. They often lived around Duniway Park, once a large hole in the ground. The city filled the gulch with garbage dumped from trucks throughout the west side turning it into The Children’s Park, according to Oregonian articles ranging from 1914 through 1923. (Some swear if you light a match near the place, there’ll be an explosion).

“Before the days of Fred Meyer we’d go to Mink’s for sunflower seeds,” Shamos began. “He’d measure them out in a shot glass.”

“How many groceries did we have in South Portland?” Mutzy asked and everyone started counting. “Shneiderman’s, Korsun’s, Calistro and Halperin’s…”

“Tony had a pacemaker put in,” someone interrupted. “He still plays slow pitch in the summer. Remember those softball games?”

Meanwhile, Judge Casciato, waiting quietly for his soup, modeled an origami boat from Keno tickets. Although his mother spoke Italian and Mutzy and Teta’s mother spokeYiddish, apparently this didn’t slow communication. “All the Jewish ladies seemed to have sing-song voices,” he said.

“The judge is good,” Teta whispered. “He married us all for free.”

Talk went on another hour.

“Dave was quite a guy,” a gentleman recalled. “I used to see him at the Captain’s Bar. His cigarette ash fell in his drink and he finished it anyway.”

“The Lincoln Theater—we’d see a couple features and a cartoon,” Shamos said. “Like Jackie Cooper. And, Mrs. Carlin played the organ.”

“The first talkie was at the Grant Street Theater,” Teta chimed in.

“The stories here are told and retold,” another quietly confided. “The guys here know them by heart.”

Finally, they said goodbye. They’ll see each other same time same place next week.

“We used to have big reunions once a year,” Mutzy said wistfully. “Three to four hundred people came. We had them at the Neighbors of Woodcraft Hall. We had the biggest dance bands in the city; there was food galore from 7 p.m. until midnight. But then, it got to be too much of a chore.”

“Nobody had money, and we were so close,” Teta added, reflecting on his old neighborhood. “We always say—there will never be another South Portland.”

This story was made possible by a grant from the Judith and Edwin Cohen Foundation.