By Andrew Malekoff

My mother was five months shy of her 77th birthday when she died 25 years ago in the spring of 1997. I received “the call” from her next door neighbor in New Jersey while I was attending a meeting at my office on Long Island. I had just visited her for Passover dinner a few days before along with my wife and our two sons.

The driver who came by her house to pick her up for dialysis rang the doorbell, but she didn’t answer. He knocked on her next door neighbor’s door. The neighbor had a key and when he opened the side door and walked up three steps to the kitchen, he found her on the floor.

She had died of heart failure.

Years earlier she had undergone bypass surgery and before that an angioplasty. The dye that was used for the angioplasty affected her kidney functioning.

My mom was a longtime smoker. She finally quit before she had surgery. Her gravelly voice was a telltale sign. It became a part of her persona, especially as a businesswoman with a reputation for being tough. More on that later.

One of my routine tasks as a young child, before we moved to the suburbs, was to walk to the corner candy store from our apartment in Newark and buy her three packs of Camel cigarettes at a quarter a pack.

She always added a nickel so I could buy a candy bar. My No. 1 choice was Payday, which consists of salted peanuts covering a nougat-like caramel center.

Fun fact: Did you know that Payday candy bars were first manufactured in 1932 by Frank “Marty” Martoccio, a macaroni and candy manufacturer from Minnesota? Neither did I. But I just googled it.

I don’t think my teeth could handle a Payday today, although my dentist has a great payday whenever I visit.

My mother, born Evelyn Goldberger in August 1920, was a middle child. She told me she wanted to go to college, but that privilege was reserved for her younger brother.

She wanted to become a fashion designer. During her latter high school years she cut school for several weeks during December to work at Gimbels, a department store in Newark, so she could earn enough money to buy designer clothes. I’m not sure how she pulled that off.

After high school she was a bookkeeper for a vending machine company. I later learned that it was a front for the Jersey mob. She was mostly tight-lipped about that, although I did manage to squeeze a few good stories out of her. Sorry, but not enough space here to go into more detail.

By the time I was a young teenager, she started an antiques business to help support the family. She built it from the ground up. Early on she sold her wares at the Englishtown Flea Market in Manalapan, N.J., on Saturday mornings. She woke me or my brother at 3 a.m. to travel with her and help her to unload and unpack.

She and my dad, who died three years before her at age 74, went to estate sales and, in time, she qualified for spots at fancy antique shows in New York City. For many years, she and my dad would go every Sunday morning to buy and sell at the famous 26th Avenue Flea Market in the city. It became a regular family meeting place before and after our kids were born. It was fun seeing her in her element.

She also opened a store that she called Antique Evelyn. Some of my childhood friends used to go there to get advice for jewelry gifts for their girlfriends. At home, she hid her jewelry in the freezer, packed in tin foil, although I wouldn’t advise it. Patient thieves will eventually find their way to the fridge.

Growing up, I wasn’t personally aware of any gay people. That is, until my mom went into business. Her best friends in the antique business were gay men. She often had several couples over for dinner. Sometimes they slept over when there was a show nearby. She always raved about the parties they invited her and my dad to in Manhattan.

When mom died and we were sitting shiva, a few of those same friends stopped by to pay their respects. They had the most fun talking about her wheeling-and-dealing. It was a cut-throat world and they respected her business acumen and negotiating skills. And they loved her for her generous spirit and friendship.

It is hard to believe that 25 years have passed since Antique Evelyn left the Earth. She was a character. Harder still is to know that she was only five years older than I am today and too young to die.