The Copa (2 page)

My mother never spoke about her childhood to me. It was almost as if her life began when she married my father, the tough-talking Russian Jew. I do know that after she graduated from high school, she traveled to New York to do some modeling and she had been a showgirl in the Ziegfeld Follies prior to meeting my father. Clearly, she had the drive and ambition to obtain the glamorous lifestyle she longed for. My mother was very liberated for a woman living in those times; things were very different from today in terms of what role a woman and wife played in American society.

Jules had little time to devote to anything else besides his work and Claudia—in that order. I was a distant third. Again, although they were not your average couple, I do believe they loved each other. Each
filled a need and void for the other and that was all that mattered to them. Each day, only a small fraction of their time would be spent together. As you will see, our family did not live what most people would call a typical or normal life.

Me as a baby with my nurse after arriving in Florida.

I made my first appearance as part of the Podell family in February 1945 during a trip to Florida. I say “appearance” because one day I suddenly appeared; I was adopted. I would not know until several years later that Jules and Claudia Podell were not my birth parents. It wasn't until they had both passed away that I pieced together the following details.

At that time, the only one alive in the family who might know any details about my birth parents was Aunt Ann, who was now quite elderly. Her memory was spotty and she liked to drink, but Aunt Ann was my only source. I asked her if she knew of the circumstances sur
rounding my adoption. Ann said she was on a vacation in Florida, paid for by Jules, which included his three sisters and their families, during February 1945. My father rented a house, a compound, so the entire family could be near one another. One day a plane arrived with Jules, Claudia, a baby, and a nurse. One minute no baby, the next minute—presto!—a baby. No one in the family ever questioned my sudden appearance; nobody thought it was strange that Jules and Claudia had arrived with a newborn. Not a single word was spoken among the siblings about where I might have come from and the circumstances. The sisters and their families just accepted the fact that I was now Jules and Claudia's child. They had to, because if they didn't, Jules might get angry and stop supporting them. I asked Ann if she ever once asked Jules or Claudia about my birth parents over the years and she said emphatically no. I was not shocked by Ann's response. As I previously stated, in
my parents' world, unpleasant things were swept under the rug and never discussed. My adoption and the circumstances of it would never be a topic of conversation within the Podell family while they were alive. I was given the name Malda—named after my father's mother, Malka. My mother hated the name Malka so they changed the
k
to a
d
and ended up with Malda.

My father and me.

My parents and me celebrating my second birthday.

My father putting on my party hat while celebrating my third birthday with a group of friends at our home on 910 Fifth Avenue. Close family friend and business associate Jack Entratter observes the festivities.

From the time I was a very young age, Mother would always tell me “remember you are a Podell.” That meant you had to be beautiful, you had to conduct yourself properly, and you could not show any emotion. After a short time I didn't want to be a Podell and live up to a certain standard of perfection. My mother's main standards were beauty and appearance. Don't get me wrong—being a Podell did have its advantages. I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I was raised to feel like I was. I never had to do anything for myself, let alone for others. We had servants and a staff; I would throw my clothes on the floor and they would pick them up. I had a buzzer in my room that I could ring for anything I needed. I would ring the buzzer and ask the maid to get me a glass of water, and it would be done.

There was a man working in the house who served as my father's butler, chauffeur, and valet among other things. John Jackson was his name, but everybody just called him Jackson. He would address us as Miss Malda, Mrs. Podell, and Mr. Podell. I was not particularly fond of Jackson and neither was my mother. I assumed my father liked him, or he would not have stayed in his employ. My father or mother would always say “Jackson, get the car,” or “Jackson, drive Malda to school.” John Jackson would work for our family until the day my father passed away.

When I went to school, Jackson drove me. This was always an embarrassment to me because the other kids would stare at me. When
ever anyone at school asked what my father did, I told them he owned a pizza parlor. I wanted to be like them, but I couldn't be. I had a hard time finding true friends because in the long run they all wanted part of the limelight that they thought I lived in. I was always a giving child, and I was always disappointed when friendships turned sour. I truly believed that other children lived like this. The kids at school looked at me with something close to awe, and I wasn't able to form any real friendships until I was shipped off to camp.

I have cloudy memories until about age seven, which is when my whole life changed. It wasn't until I was seven years old that I was told I had been adopted by Jules and Claudia and was not their biological child. I remember that moment as if it were yesterday; it was a complete shock. At that time we were living in an apartment at 910 Fifth Avenue, and every night my mother would supervise me brushing my teeth. The sink in the bathroom was too high for me, so I had a stepladder to stand on. I can remember the scent of my mother's perfume and her standing next to me. I was in a pair of blue cotton pajamas and had just started brushing my teeth. I'm unsure of the reason, but Claudia's anger stemmed from the fact that I didn't want to do something she had asked. At that point she said to me, “You are just like your mother. Keep it up and you're going to end up just like her…she was no good and neither will you be. I'm sorry I ever adopted you.”

Stunned
is a mild word for what I felt. I looked at her and asked her what she meant. She replied, “Apples don't fall far from the tree and you'll end up like your mother.” It was all very matter-of-fact; Claudia told me that I was adopted, that she was not my real mother and Jules was not my real father. She then proceeded to say that I came from the
“wrong side of the tracks,” and with that, she walked out of the room. I never got over her saying that to me.

The next day I questioned her about my real parents, wanting her to tell me what my real mother and father were like. Claudia would tell me that my birth mother had died in childbirth, and my father was killed in World War II. At the time I believed her, and it wasn't until I was several years older that I questioned her story. Never once did my father mention in my presence that I was adopted. Once I discovered that I was adopted, my whole world changed. I would imagine that Jules and Claudia had kidnapped me and I didn't want to be with them anymore. I started to rebel over anything and everything I could. I'm sure that once I became a teenager, they would have gladly given me back if that had been possible.

I believe that Claudia wanted a daughter, and since Jules was accustomed to giving her whatever she wanted, he agreed to adopt me. My father worked long hours and was away from home most of the time; the majority of Claudia's day was spent alone in the house. I believe I was adopted as a companion and possession for my mother. She essentially wanted a little girl to while away the hours with her while her husband was at the club.

At one time I asked my mother why I couldn't have a brother or a sister. She told me she had had a hysterectomy years ago and was unable to have children. My mother proceeded to show me her scar; it was huge and she hated it. Back then, doctors were forced to perform hysterectomies through a woman's stomach, which was very painful.

Since many of Jules and Claudia's friends had children, they felt it was the respectable thing to do. I don't think my father ever wanted or needed children because his whole life was centered on the Copacabana.
The responsibilities of raising me were left mostly to the hired staff. My parents did not know what to do with me once I reached a certain age. They gave me as much as they could of themselves, which was not much. I guess in their world they felt giving me freedom without boundaries was a good thing. It could have been a lot worse; I loved them and they loved me the best way they knew how.

A lavish party thrown by my parents at our apartment at 910 Fifth Avenue, which was served and catered by the Copacabana staff.

We lived at 910 Fifth Avenue in New York until I was about ten years old. The apartment was very dark, with wood paneling in the foyer and dark blue paint or flocked wallpaper throughout. Remember, this was the 1950s, so this type of decor was considered stylish. There was a doorman in the lobby and a creaky old elevator that would take us to the twelfth floor. I was scared to death of the elevator, never knowing if it might get stuck while I was on it. We had the only apartment on
the entire floor. Our maid was the only one who answered the door after someone was announced from downstairs. Once you entered, there was a long hallway and directly to the right was my father's room, which I was forbidden to enter unless I had been summoned. His den had lighter wood paneling and a desk and various awards on the wall. There was also a separate bathroom in his section of the house. My room was far from the main entrance of the apartment. My mother's room and mine were close but separated by the maid's quarters. It seemed as if my father's bedroom was at least two football fields away from us.