In 1972 my father-in-law, Harry Pachter, was being installed as the President of B’nai Brith Men Canada. At the same convention was the installation of the new President of B’nai Brith Women.
For reasons that escape me, B’nai Brith Canada always held their annual conventions in The Catskills in New York State. At that time the conventions were held at the Concord, the original and most famous of the hotels in The Catskills. The Canadian conventions moved to the Nevele in later years. The move to the Nevele apparently had nothing to do with the fact that at an earlier convention at the Concord my mother-in-law, Sara, had mischievously poured detergent into the fountain in the Concord foyer. According to the story there were bubbles everywhere and it took ages to get the place back in shape. Crazy Canadians.
Harry wanted as many family members as possible to attend his installation and so Karen and I and several other family members dutifully attended. Not a difficult decision because The Catskills were beautiful and the Concord was well known for its use and support of Jewish comedians in its entertainment.
On the night of the installation we were all seated in the big ballroom at tables of ten or twelve. Each table had a centre piece of helium filled balloons and a picture of the incoming Presidents. The hall was packed with people from all over Canada and many from the U.S. as well. It was a vast cavernous hall and on one side was the speaker’s dais with rows of seats for the B.B. dignitaries. There would be lots of speakers that night.
The speeches started before the meal was served and after a while I was getting restless. I had always been fascinated by helium filled balloons. I was eager to see if I could get a balloon to just hang motionless by tying a piece of bread to the attached string. I detached a balloon and tied a piece of my bread roll to the string. It was too heavy. So I removed small pieces until the balloon just hung motionless. If I raised the bread the balloon would rise and just sit there. The people at the table were amused. If I pushed the bread to my right or left the balloon would drift in that direction. So I patted the balloon across the table. It drifted towards one of the guests opposite me. He patted it back and the game began. Eventually one of 
the guests patted the balloon behind him to the next table. I watched as the balloon lazily crossed the gap between the tables and drifted passed the nose of the surprised guest. It took him a moment to register what he was looking at. He turned around and saw our table smiling at him. The game was on. The guests at our table were now in competition with the guests at the next table who were up to the challenge. Before long there were several balloons floating from table to table. Some of the balloon makers were not as diligent as I and their balloons soared aloft disappearing up to the black ceiling above. Some of the balloons were caught up in the air-conditioning draft and were starting to descend on other tables. It wasn’t too long before the whole ballroom was awash with balloons with pieces of bread hanging from them. Some drifting, some going up, some coming down. Some drifting past the noses of the dignitaries who gazed expressionless as the bread wafted by. It really was a funny sight to see.
It was now time for something new. I attached a sugar pack to a balloon and tore a small piece from the bottom of the package. As the sugar slowly ran out the balloon rose in the air and drifted across the room sprinkling sugar on the innocent victims below.
The sugar packs caught on with the other guests but after the sugar ran out the balloons just rose into the blackness of the ballroom ceiling.
I had one more “experiment” that I wanted to try. Ice cubes. As luck would have it the ice cubes had holes in them. It was easy for me to tie an ice cube to the balloon string and then wait for the ice to melt. Meanwhile dinner was being served. We’d had our salad and were waiting for the next course, soup.
My balloon with the ice cube slowly lifted off the table and slowly rose up wafting across the gap to the table behind me. I lost sight of the balloon as it rose up to the ceiling. What I did hear was a guest at the table behind me complaining to the waiter, as he delivered the soup, that water was dripping on him from, he supposed, the air-conditioning above. The Maitre d’ was brought over and I could see a lot of gesticulating up to the ceiling. Suddenly there was further commotion from that table by the same guest. According to the guest, something had fallen into his soup. I turned to see what was happening and I saw the guest anxiously using his soup spoon to find whatever it was that fell into his soup. By this time I had figured it out. The balloon with the melting ice cube had reached the ceiling above his head and had been dripping on him. Eventually the ice broke free and that was what had landed in his soup. Naturally, the ice had melted and couldn’t be found in the soup. The guest got an apology from the Maitre d’ and a fresh soup.
Meanwhile the speeches continued amidst a ballroom awash with balloons with pieces of bread hanging from some, pictures of the incoming Presidents and bread sticks hanging from the rest. It was quite the sight to see.
I’ve never had the same success with helium balloons as I did that night; that doesn’t stop me from trying.
