A eulogy for Annette Siegal, delivered February 24th, 2011.
My mother was born 87 years ago, in the Bronx and was raised in
Brooklyn, a borough she denied ever having stepped foot in.
She presented herself to the world, as if she were to the manor born.
She was part Lauren Bacall, part Babe Paley and part Jackie O. She
was tall and statuesque. She had great bone structure and carried
herself like a queen, impeccably dressed at all times. Even her
voice was elegant and seductive, when she wasn't yelling at me.
As her daughter, this was not an easy act to follow.
Her humble roots began in Russia, where her maternal grandparents,
Isador and Rebecca Kantorwitz were born and married. In the 1880's,
they immigrated to Buffalo, where Isador got a job in a factory,
making shoes. This, was way before Manolo Blahniks, and Christian
Rebecca bore Isador six children, in various upstate New York cities.
The youngest, being Annette's mother Mildred, who was born in 1900 in
Rochester. Rebecca's gritty independence and moxy, provided the
super glue, that held these fragile immigrant families together. The
family eventually moved to the Lower East Side: another location my
mother had, "absolutely no recall ".
Twenty-five years ago I wrote a book called, "Six Generations: In
Search of a Deli", consisting of photographs, accompanied by
interviews, with family members, including my mother.
Upon asking her to describe a photograph, of her maternal grandmother,
Rebecca, she replied,: "She had beautiful hair, that she washed
everyday with an egg and wore in a braid". This was the roots of
Annette's infatuation with good grooming, and a flattering do.
My mother told me, that after her Grandpa Isador died, her
grandmother, Rebecca, lived alone in a tiny room with a kitchen. Her
six children, used to take turns, visiting her every few days. This
is where Annette, got the idea of visiting rights: the children always
came to the mother.
Annette's paternal grandparents, another Rebecca, and Samuel
Weissinger, were also born in Russia in the 1870s. They lived on
Essex Street. Her father Harry, was an ace basketball player at the
University Settlement House, which always made us giggle, because he
was so short. He married Annette's mother, Mildred, when she was
seventeen, and Harry was a mere twenty.
Harry's parents eventually moved to Coney Island, and entertained, an
endless array of nutty relatives, with singing dogs who played the
piano. My mother always loved going there. Even then, she knew a good
Harry went to work on Seventh Avenue, in the garment industry, and
eventually, became the president of the Piece Goods Buyers, for many
years. He worked for designer, Hannah Troy and was known, and
respected by Norman Norell, and newcomers, Bill Blass, Oscar de La
Renta, and Geoffrey Beene. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of
fabrics, and instilled, in my mother, an appreciation of fashion and
design. He dressed his wife, and his daughters, in American couture
clothing, with matching shoes and bags, white gloves, and exquisite
Gerald, Annette's older brother, by six years was very much like their
gregarious mother, Mildred. He had her sparkling eyes, quick smile,
generous personality, and a million friends. He was also, the first
Jew in Brooklyn to ski, play golf in Egypt, and wear yellow cashmere
socks, with tasseled loafers, way before Ralph Lauren. Her younger
sister, Barbara was born six years after her.
My father Martin Siegal, a Second Lieutenant in the army, came home on
leave, and met my mother at a cousin's wedding in 1944. He was ten
years older, and dashing in a uniform. It was love at first sight.
She was the most gorgeous girl, he had ever met. They were married
within a year, and moved to suburban Teaneck, New Jersey. My mother
gave birth to me in 1947, and Gary in 1949. My father, was in the
light bulb business, with his father Adam, who came here from Warsaw,
Poland, at the turn of the century. He worked in Thomas Edison's
original factory. They now had a thriving lighting manufacturing
company, which eventually became, the third largest in the country.
Gary and I were babies, when they joined their first country club. My
mother, was always a great athlete, and took to the game of golf, and
the lifestyle easily. She developed a great talent for mahjong,
canasta, and around the clock help. She had been a swimming
instructor, at camp, and as a young child, taught me the American
crawl, which still remains a cherished memory.
Dinner on trays, in front of the TV was forbidden. She cooked the
family meat and potatoes, five nights a week. Thursday, maids night
out, was deli, and Sunday was Chinese.
My brother, dressed as Hop-a-Long Cassidy, in the front yard and shot
everyone in sight, using a gun, with smoking ammunition. I struggled
through ballet, and ended up in art class. Every June, we were
shipped off to summer camp, in New Hampshire, and every July, they
showed up with bags of salamis and bagels, in case we were starving.
My parents, had a wonderful marriage. He adored her. She adored him.
She adored being adored.
Martin also had a personality, that lit up, like one of his light
bulbs. He was a world class raconteur, a workaholic and brilliant
mathematician. The more successful he became, the more he instilled,
his work ethic in all of us.
We then moved up the hill, to Englewood Cliffs where Gary and I were
headed to high school. My mother, was looking for something to do.
She became, the first personal stylist, at her country club. Always
being, one of the best dressed women in town, she began to sell her
style. She had her father, introduce her to all of the designers.
She showed the girls, what to wear, and when. She took my father's
car and driver, and a huge hand bag filled with cash, to the Seventh
Avenue show rooms. She bought hundreds of dresses. She set up shop,
in the house. There was always a parade of her friends trying on
clothes, and ,of course, paying in cash. It was like Lohmans, in our
basement. My father, the financial genius, did all her books, and
paid her taxes.
By now, they had a second home on a golf course in Fort Lauderdale,
next door to her brother, Gerry. My father finally put his foot down,
and my mother was forbidden to sell dresses out of the Florida house.
He was tired, of seeing her friends running around in their underwear.
My high school years with her, were noisy, to say the least. I was
adventurous and disobedient. One summer, in the 60's I was a
volunteer worker at The University Settlement Camp for
under-privileged children. I came home looking like beatnik,
folk-singer, Joan Baez: no bra, work shirt, dirty feet in sandals and
hair, half way down my back. She was horrified, and instantly cleaned
me up. The next summer, I got a job modeling on Seventh Avenue. My
new get up, was a Vidal Sassoon hair cut, thick false eye lashes, and
a Chanel suit. I would lie to her, and sneak into the city at night,
to get a table, usually near the kitchen, at Elaine's, where I would
watch Woody Allen, or Jackie Onassis eat dinner.
I was also the captain, of the flag twirlers, for my high school
football team. On Halloween, my mother would take my entire outfit,
wear it to the country club, and win first prize.
I was such a pain in the ass. The worst thing, she would say to me
was, "I only wish you, have a daughter, like you someday".
Of course, my brother was perfect. He never gave her one minute of
aggravation, or heartache. The one thing, that sent her into a tail
spin, was when he secretly joined the football team, and she went
screaming to my father.
Gary and I went off to college, and Annette and Martin moved into a
gorgeous, stone and glass house, on a hill, in the woods in Alpine.
She loved that house. She was such a neat freak. She would have the
gardner come and vacuum her forest.
Her children came home from college. I went straight to Seventh
Avenue, as a designer, fulfilling her every wish, except, I wasn't
married. She advised me how, and who, to date, and suggested I show
cleavage. My retaliation was: "Unlike all your friend's daughters,: I
am not fat, and I am not divorced".
I changed careers, and ended up in the motion picture publicity. She
was my best customer, at all of our screenings. After receiving an
invitation, her first remark was, "Is it any good?"; then her second
comment, "How many tickets can I have?" She always looked for me on
the red carpet, saved my press clippings, and loved reading my Oscar
Her perfect son, went to work for her perfect husband.
Then, my father got sick. She nursed him through heart attacks, and
strokes for six years. She was completely devoted to him. He died,
just shy of his 73rd birthday. That was twenty-two years ago, and her
life was never quite the same. Although her lifestyle was still grand,
and she was financially secure, she missed him every day of her life.
Gary and Erin's daughter Mattie, was born three months after my father
died. She was named after him. We all felt a little piece of my
father had come back through her. My mother adored Mattie, and
Mattie's half sister Elizabeth. Mattie became an equestrian, at age
three and my mother spent years, and hours, standing at the filthy
horse shows, watching her talented granddaughter fly over fences, and
win ribbons. She once sent Mattie, and me to Argentina, to buy a
jumper, and then refused to pay the shipping fees, to get the stallion
back to the states.
When I took Mattie on Safari twice, to Kenya, Africa, she loved
hearing our stories, about the Masai, and looking at our photos. She
always loved me, for looking after Mattie.
She spent the last twenty-two years of her life in Alpine, and Palm
Beach, traveling the world with her friends, playing golf and cards,
frequenting the Kravis Center, Lincoln Center, and eating in countless
restaurants. She had a charmed life, and was adored by her many
Last September, she was diagnosed with cancer, and David Koch got her
to Sloan Kettering immediately. She sailed through the operation, and
later struggled through chemo. She was still active, and driving in
On Sunday, January 30th, I called her from LA, on the way to the SAG
awards, to give her an update on "The King's Speech", that had won the
PGA, and DGA awards, and was about to win the SAG Ensemble.
An hour later, she had a brain seizure, and was rushed to Englewood
Hospital. Gary was with her, and told me, it was a miracle she
survived. The following day, an MRI revealed, lesions on her brain.
She lived for three weeks, on Hospice care. I found myself dressing
up, in my chicest outfits, to go visit her, so she would be proud of
me. Gary, Erin and I sat by her bedside everyday, and tried to
comfort her. I even, prematurely, told her, "Mom, we won the Oscar",
which made her smile. It was the saddest three weeks of my life, to
watch the most beautiful mother, in the world, wither away. Although
she did not suffer, it broke our hearts, to watch her die.
Over this past weekend, I was in the Alpine house, looking for her
jewelry. I found a letter in her safe, she had written to me on my
50th birthday. It made me cry.
She wrote: "Dear Peggy, Happy Birthday. Fifty years ago today, I had
the thrill of a lifetime. A nurse, brought me a tiny bundle of joy. I
could not believe this tiny creature, all wrapped in a pink blanket,
was my daughter. It seemed like yesterday. I counted the fingers, and
the toes. I just kept staring at this bundle. I envisioned a very
sophisticated, stunning young lady. I was sure, she would at least,
be an editor at Vogue. I wasn't too wrong, as you did grow up, to be
very successful stunning woman. I wish you health, and happiness in
the next half of your life".
On Tuesday, I went to her bedside knowing she could still hear me, and
told her I loved her very much. Tears streamed down her cheek. I
held her in my arms. She died two hours later. I will miss my mother,
for the rest of my life.