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His name was Shimon Shliffer. My mother, I think, lost his plays, which upsets me because
I think someone will lose my plays, my niece or somebody will, but he was. Yeah, you know,
it’s funny, these stories are all handed down, so who knows how much of it is true
or not, and there is some story that he had a heart attack or an ulcer of something while
he was onstage in Pittsburgh, in some sort of play. I don’t know. I’ve never read
his plays. I wanted to get a hold of them. I wanted to show them to Joe Papp who was
very interested in Yiddish theatre, but I still haven’t gotten a hold of them. In
college I met somebody whose father knew my grandfather and lived in Winnipeg and knew
of his writing.