LOOK UP IKE Sass For Fine Chocolates." That was the slogan my handsome grandfather, Isaac Sass, gave his confectionery business. His candy was delicious, and his slogan, unusually bold for 1920s Baltimore, made him a household name.
Originally, he did OK selling produce in Hollins Market. Then he got an idea. To boost business on the weekends, he made candy and placed it on two corners of his produce stall. It was at the eye level of children who would pull their parents to his stall and enjoy free candy while Grandpop sold the parents produce. Eventually, he dropped the produce and just sold candy. Business boomed.
His slogan, which was printed on his bags, boxes and even his trucks, proved to be a key selling tool. While the candy was delicious, many customers bought it for out-of-town friends and relatives mainly to show them the slogan, which was unusually brash and funny for the time.
Eventually, he had stalls in every produce market in Baltimore, including three in Lexington Market. Also, he had several confectionary stores, which sold candy and ice cream. He even had one in Westminster, which was mostly rural then. At holiday time, people stood in long lines while he boxed chocolates with both hands, simultaneously.
Near the end of the Depression, he sold the business to Louis J. Rheb. Today, among Rheb Candy Co.'s operations are two Lexington Market stalls at the original locations of two of Grandpop's stalls.
Grandpop was my father's father and the son of Russian Jewish immigrants. He was about 3 years old when his father died, just six months after the family arrived in America. His mother supported the family by selling working men's hats and clothes from an outdoor Hollins Market stall, which was placed in front of their tiny house. While selling, she kept her eye on her infant in a baby carriage behind the stall, while my Grandpop and his two young sisters played in the house. With his father suddenly gone and his mother outside with customers, Grandpop became a tearful, unruly child. He quieted down only when she sat him on the stall where he sold match sticks. His first English word was, "mayches" (matches).
By the time he was 8, it was his job to set up his mother's stall every morning before going to school. On Saturdays, after he set up her stall, he would set up his own.
When he was 12, he learned how to cut out men's pants from a man in the market. The man showed him how to lay out fabric, place the pattern on it and cut. Grandpop told my mother that by the time he was 12 years old, he knew he would always be able to make his own way in the world -- he could sell produce and cut out men's pants. At 18, he read the New Testament and converted to Christianity -- bold thinking then for a nice Jewish boy.
The hard childhood circumstances that forged a young boy's self-reliance also molded a soft and kind heart that overflowed with humor. He never forgot how it felt to lose his father and to have to help his mother support the family.
Through the years, I've come to realize the impact he had on many people's lives in Baltimore. One person's recollection of my Grandpop is particularly memorable. In 1963, while buying shoes with my mother's credit card at the Hess Shoe Store, then located on Howard Street, the saleswoman immediately recognized the last name on the card. "Sass -- are you related to the Candy Man?" I thought she was going to mention the slogan. "Yes," I responded, "he's my grandfather; did you know him?" "I lived in an orphanage as a child," she said. "Your grandfather came every Christmas Eve with candy and presents. He was dressed like Santa Claus; I'll never forget him."
I didn't ask her the name of the orphanage, but it may have been the Hebrew Orphan Asylum; the original building is still on Rayner Street in West Baltimore.
I was stunned. Of all the family stories, I had never heard that one. But I wasn't surprised to hear either of his generosity or his attention to children who had lost their parents.
When I returned home, I excitedly told my mother about the saleswoman's story about Grandpop. I thought it would be news to her, too. Mother laughed and said, "You never heard about that? Grandpop took the candy and Mr. Hendler [Hendler's Ice Cream] took the ice cream. Together they provided a Christmas party and presents for every child. Can you picture your Jewish grandfather in a Santa Claus suit?" Easily, I thought.
Many people still remember the name Isaac Sass because of his slogan. But anyone who knew him primarily recalls his kindness.
Christmas never passes without my thinking of the orphanage and the generosity of my unorthodox Jewish grandfather who died Christmas Day 1959 at the age of 75.
Shalom.
Signe L. Lauren writes from Baltimore.