munger

Tuesday Jan 1

by

Jan. 1
Last night’s New Years adventures
will be found on last pages.
I spent the day quietly at home

[from a memoranda page at the end of the diary]

Jan 1, 1924

New Years Eve. in N.Y. is certainly
an event, last night I deserted my
friends for a while at 11:30 I was
in the jam of the merry and noise
making crowds, Poor, rich, soldiers
sailors, old and young, some masqu-
eraded with countless noisemaking
devices, looking into their faces, every-
body seems to be happy, Slowly I fought
my way to the Capitol Thea. to make
the special midnight performance,
after leaving the theatre at 1:45 the
Street was still crowded with the gay
throngs.

Am I the only one whom this
carnival fails to make happy? But I
think I did notice sadness in some
eyes, are their souls hungry? Longing?
My New Years Eve, was at an end at an
East Side joint where prohibition drinks
were freely served, I reached home 4am.

————–

Matt’s Notes

This entry really starts to give us a feeling for the New York City my grandfather lived in. His description of the crowds is almost cinematic, a whirl of costumed extras (soldiers and sailors? Really?) with smiling faces blowing into noisemakers and clogging the streets. It’s not hard to picture at all.

His offhand mention of the Capitol Theatre, though, really places him a different, long-ago New York. The Capitol, which once stood at the corner of 50th Street and Broadway in New York City, was one of the grand movie palaces that used to be common in America. They disappeared way before my time, but as I understand it they were enormous, spectacular spaces, gilded to the nines and outfitted to invoke the European palaces that their largely immigrant audiences would never have gotten near back home.

By ©1920 by American Studio N. Y.

In palaces like the Capitol, movies screenings were almost beside the point. Nightly programming included orchestral music (remember that films were silent in 1924, so theaters were outfitted for live orchestras as a matter of course) as well as ballet and opera performances from the theaters’ resident companies.

According to the New York Times archive, the New Years performance my grandfather saw was an exemplary mashup, including “Chaminade’s ‘Air de Ballet’ by the Capitol singers and dancers”, the “Volga Boat Song” (a Russian folk song — you know the tune) and the “Skaters Waltz”. The draw for my grandfather, though, would have been the Capitol Grand Orchestra’s scheduled performance of the “1812 Overture” (no doubt with the cannons going off at midnight) since he was a huge fan of Tchaikovsky. (Oddly enough, as I write this on New Year’s Day in 2007 the “1812 Overture” started playing on the radio station I’m listening to on the Web. Maybe it’s a New Year’s tradition that I wasn’t aware of.)

His reference to the bar he winds up in is the oddest detail for me. I always gathered that he had something like a Buddhist’s monks beatific vibe and moral virtue, and preferred to spend his free time raising funds for Zionist organizations and going to synagogues. It’s hard to imagine that he ever took a sip of alcohol other than at his own bris, let alone wander into a “joint” to drink illegally, but I suppose it was the order of the day on New Year’s eve.

I also find it interesting that he refers to illegal alcohol as “prohibition liquor”, which I always thought was a label created for historical reference. It’s a very official-sounding term; maybe he uses it rather than something more slangy because he’s not exposed to drinking all that much.

Though Papa gives the New Year’s spectacle its due, he’s clearly unable to shake the low mood he mentions in his previous entry. The way he wanders away from his friends to search strangers’ faces for some sign of kinship, some confirmation that other people feel as lonely and dissatisfied as he does, is terribly wistful yet oddly comforting to me. Of course there are others in the crowd who feel at odds with the spectacle, who reflect on their own concerns while pretending to celebrate — if I’d been there there, I might have been of of them, someone in whose eyes he noticed sadness. Haven’t I been known to back away from a crowd, watch a party from the sidelines, withdraw into my own head when I feel at odds with the people around me?

Maybe I share Papa’s very brand of self-reflectiveness, passed to me through his genes or through his influence on my mother. And if that’s the case, it’s not so bad. Papa was admired and beloved, an exemplar for his family of a life well lived, a source of vivid, affectionate memories for a grandson and a granddaughter who barely knew him. It occurs to me that whatever I have in common with him is worth embracing if it means I can be more like him.

————

Additional references for this post:

– Gabler, Neal. “For 25 Cents, Every Moviegoer Was Royalty“, The New York Times, 10/24/89 (subscription required).

——-

Update

I’ve been thinking a little more about “The Volga Boat Song” I mentioned above (give it a listen if you haven’t already). I’ve always thought of this tune as the default accompaniment to images of drudgery or dread in early 20th-Century movies — I feel like I’ve heard it in Bugs Bunny episodes, Max Fleischer cartoons and maybe even Universal horror movies — but I guess I figured it was just always there and never considered its origins. It must have been a real touchstone for immigrants if the Capitol Theater played it on New Year’s Eve for an audience that was no doubt packed with Eastern European Jews like my grandfather. And since Jewish immigrants were no strangers to radio and film work, it’s no wonder that imports like “The Volga Boat Song” found their way into the popular culture of the day.

————–

Update 3/19 –

Listen here to the Volga Boat Song:

Image Credit: Library of Congress LC-USZ62-113144. Inquiring into ownership.

Wednesday Jan 2

by

I had an unexpected visitor
during the day. I. M. Duval,
The poor fellow told me of his
plight.

I again gave him $2.00 and
what else can I do for him? My
heart goes out in sympathy for him
suffering that dreadful disease
Tuberculosis.

The radio my only companion
again entertained me in the
evening, The fine music
appeals so much to my senti-
mentalism.

Duty to my parents, I sent them
$5.00 today
Received a letter from father urging
me again to get married. –
(what a problem for me to solve)

———–

Matt’s Notes

This passage really packs a heavy dose of information about my grandfather’s world. Like his references to the Capitol Theatre and prohibition liquor in his New Year’s entry, the casual mention of a tubercular neighbor on a repeat visit to his apartment is as jarring to me as if a Dickens character suddenly walked into my office. (Apologies to I.M. Duval for objectifying him and his situation. In a world without antibiotic treatments, tuberculosis was probably a death sentence for him.)

In this entry he also touches on a few important themes in his life: His mixed relationship with his radio (loves the music; would prefer a wife), his charitable nature, his sentimentality and the ever-present pressures from his family in the old country. I’m sure everyone he knew sent a bit of their wages back home every month (as immigrants continue to do today) and I don’t think he resented this “duty” to his parents too much, but his aside about the way his father pushes him to get married “(what a problem for me to solve)” is more complicated. At twenty-nine, he was probably long past the age when he was expected to be married, but I wonder whether his response betrays annoyance with his father for bringing up the obvious or if he feels genuinely guilty for letting his family down. Probably a little of both.

——————-

Updates

According to the Lower East Side Tenement Museum site, tuberculosis was on the wane in the 1920’s, but was still the third-leading cause of death in New York City. The site goes on to say:

In the public mind, tuberculosis was known as a “Jewish disease”, yet statistically Jews had a lower mortality rate than gentiles. Throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries the highest rate of death from pulmonary tuberculosis was among Irish and Scandinavians and the lowest among the Jews. Anti-semitic views of Jewish immigrants as being unclean and diseased fostered this thinking. Tuberculosis was also associated with the clothing industry (it was sometimes referred to as “tailor’s disease”), presumably as a result of an unhealthy environment in the crowed work shops which nurtured consumption. Perhaps because Jews were chiefly engaged in the manufacturing of clothing, the concept of the Jewish tubercular tailor grew.

Thursday Jan 3

by


After work, at the Zionist Central
office I’ve been approached by the well
known poet, Imber to do something
for him, I promised to be on a comittee
to arrange an evening.

Attended afterward a meeting
of the E.S. Keren Haysod Comittee
and later in the evening
a banquet at Garfeins in honor
of Mr. Angrist, who is leaving for Pal.
I was happy indeed to do honor
to such a worthy Man as Mr.
Angrist, whom I count as one of
the best Zionists.

I was greatly impressed by
the speeches of the guests.
I reached home again at 2 am
but surely I don’t regret staying
out late at such gatherings.

—————–

Matt’s Notes

Like many Jews who had grown up in the repressive, sequestered environments of European shtetls, Papa passionately believed in the idea of Jewish statehood and spent much of his free time raising funds, “arranging an evening” here or there and “staying out late at such gatherings” as Zionist meetings and receptions. His mention of the “Keren Haysod Comittee” is historically interesting because Keren Hayesod (as its name is typically written in English) is now a large international organization, but it was only four years old when my grandfather and his colleagues gathered at the East Side chapter meeting described here. Were they in unheated rooms, wrapped in overcoats and sucking on cigarettes while they laid their plans? Or were they already well-established, pulling ahead of other organizations that hatched in the wake of the Balfour Declaration? Did they pursue their Zionist dreams in the very Lower East Side spaces where New Yorkers now pursue candied sea urchin cocktails and chocolate mojitos? I’ll write Keren Hayesod for more information and see what they have to say.

If you’re familiar with Israel’s history, you might have felt a little jolt at the mention of “the well known poet, Imber”, but settle down — Naftali Herz Imber, who wrote the lyrics to Hatik vah (the Israeli national anthem) died in 1909. Papa is probably talking about Samuel Jacob Imber, a Galician poet who spent a few years in America. With only the Internets at my disposal I can’t find out much about him at the moment other than that he wrote in Yiddish and was killed by Nazis in 1942, but please drop a comment below if you know more.

I’m also not sure who Mr. Angrist is or what Garfein’s is — perhaps it’s the home of a man named Garfein, or maybe it’s a long-lost, schmaltz-soaked eatery like Sammy’s Roumanian Steakhouse. I again picture my Papa and his cohorts crammed together, toasting the august Mr. Augrist with bread and salt, shouting over one another to pay proper tribute (and for some reason I also picture them seated Last Supper-style, which tells you more about my high regard for my grandfather than my knowledge of Zionist banquets.) Anyone out there have a picture of a 20’s era Zionist gathering, or any information on who Mr. Augrist might be?

Update:

A Jewish friend from South Africa, asked if she’s heard of Keren Hayesod, writes:

…of course I’ve heard of Keren Hayesod. The [South African] Jewish community was so homogenous and so Zionist that when I was growing up all tzedokkah went to United Israel Appeal and we had the blue and white ‘pushkas’ (charity boxes) from Keren Hayesod. I used to get mad because we were giving old clothing, etc to people in Israel rather than the poor of South Africa. I even did ‘bob-a-jobs’, as we called them, for KH. You’d go round to old Jewish people’s homes to help them with some small task in return for a donation to Israel.

Interesting. I just didn’t know about KH until I read about them in Papa’s diary.

Friday Jan 4

by

After working hours
Spent entire eve. at home enjoying
the radio The part played by the
N.Y. Symphony Orch, Beethovens 5th Sy.
was most impressive. –

It touched my heart to read the
story of a Jewish girl of Romania arriving
in this country, was sentenced to be sent
back because the quota for that country was full.
She being a violinist took a chance
to try as an artiste, as such are
exempted from the draft quota, and in
the presence of the immigration
authorities she played Shuberts
Serenade while tears were streaming
from her eyes, this won her the
freedom of these shores.

What a dramatic climax for
a Jewish girl after years of suffering
finally winning the freedom of a
new Land with renewed hopes
for a better future.

———–

Geez.

As melodramatic as this story is, I get choked up when I view it through my grandfather’s eyes. His own emigration was only eleven years prior, and the sensations of the experience — from leaving his family and home of 18 years to the sea voyage itself to the stresses of his arrival at Ellis Island — must have remained as fresh in his mind as when he first felt them.

And so, aided by Papa’s capacity for empathy (so pronounced that I picked up on it when I was four and he was 75) his deep belief in the promise of his own American life, and his attachment to classical music, this tear-jerker about a Jewish girl winning her freedom with a sentimental classical tune earns immortality in his diary.

Updates

The more I think about it, the more I feel like I’ve seen something about a girl earning entry to America with a tearful violin solo in an old movie. Am I just mixing it up with the image of the violinist on the deck of the Titanic?

———-

Update 3/19

Here’s another way to listen to Schubert’s Serenade:

Saturday Jan 5

by


The day was dull as usual,
and in the evening I was rather
busy, I attended two balls,
The first one was the Zionist Ball
at Webster Hall, by the Tikvath
Yehuda Club, the 2nd the
Jewish Authors Ball, at 71st Reg.
Armory, I enjoyed both as
I met numerous friends, I
had only one dance at each and
of course walzes My favorite.
As usual I wore my tuxedo,
The many girls I saw were
really beautiful very beautiful
but none of them appealed to me,
Jazz-babies, wild women, and
none of that good type which
appeals to me and so rare among
women.

—————-

Matt’s Notes

Since I’ve started this blog I’ve thought a lot about what I do and don’t share with my grandfather. This entry’s got a few easy ones: I’ve seen the inside of Webster Hall (which is still at its original 11th Street location) but not the long-demolished 71st Regiment Armory (though a piece of it adorns the subway stop under its former location). I own a tuxedo, but I can’t waltz. I can’t imagine that I’d ever find the women at something called The Jewish Authors’ ball to be too “wild”, but I didn’t grow up in the old country.

A more challenging thing to think about is how the Jewish orientation of his social and spiritual life did not find its way to me. Though I rocked a brown Pierre Cardin three-piecer at my Bar Mitvah, I had decided long before that I was an atheist (I’m Jewish, all right, but God just doesn’t compute). I’ve known a few more religious Jews who, like my grandfather, spent their weekends going around to Jewish events and kept their social lives within sometimes large but always well-established Jewish circles; the parameters appealed to me in the abstract but I couldn’t imagine myself inside them. If know if I were single I’d never use jdate.com, though I get giddy over their “why is this site different from all other sites” billboard (this may sum up where my head’s at more than anything). Then again, while I never went out looking for nice Jewish girls when I was single, I wound up marrying one and I’m very glad to have her. In fact, she’s probably exactly the kind of woman Papa would have liked — pretty, but a “good type” as well.

Hmmm. I’m not sure where I’m going with this and it’s time to wrap up this post (I write these in the morning before work and revisit them at the end of the day, in case you’re wondering) but in reading over the above paragraph I realize I’m triangulating to find whatever kernel of my Papa still survives in me. I get the feeling it won’t be the last time.

Update 1/14

Here’s a photo of my grandfather in the tuxedo he mentions above (at least I assume so; this photo is signed and dated 1919 and I imagine he didn’t get another tuxedo in the intervening five years).

Interestingly, this photo is printed on a postcard, and it’s not the only postcard we have featuring a studio shot of my grandfather. I’ll have to learn more, but I assume it was typical to have these kinds of postcards made up as calling cards. This particular card was made, according to the raised stamp, at photo studio “L. Borressoff, 365 Grand St, N.Y.”

The note on the on the front reads “Sincerely yours Harry Scheurman New York July 1919.” I think it was Papa’s favorite shot of himself, too, because in 1925 he wrote a note on the back and sent it to a woman he was courting named Jean. That was my grandmother. This card came from a box of her memorabilia.

Update 1/17

“Cabinet cards” like the one above were indeed common back then. Descended from smaller cartes de visite (visiting cards) popularized by military officers in the early 1800’s, they had evolved into the larger style pictured here by the 1860’s.

For more, check out Wikipedia’s carte-de-visite entry and City Gallery’s Cabinet Card entry. (Thanks to Durya at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum for the pointers.)

Sunday Jan 6

by


6:30P.M. This was certainly a mo-
notonous day so far what will happen later. –

9:45
I met at Breindel’s Clara the
daughter of Cousin Leizer, and
others, we went to Eva where
we had a most enjoyable eve.
Incl in the company were
Mr. and Mrs. Mendel, C, and her
friends.

I was glad indeed to receive
personal greetings from my parents
and other dear ones on the other
side, and that they are in good
health, which makes me
happier

The above mentioned
Clara Leizers arrived from Europe
recently.

—————–

Matt’s Notes

Papa has time-stamped this entry as he did on New Year’s eve, which makes me think he does this when he’s excited about what the evening has in store. In this case, when he penned his 6:30 paragraph he was getting ready to meet a recent arrival from “the other side.” With only the mails to keep him in touch with his large circle of family and friends in Snyatyn, this must have been a rare treat indeed. (The last paragraph of the entry is written in a light, straight hand, very different from his usual strong, slanted style. Perhaps he added this late at night, unable to sleep with news from home running through his head.)

Still, at the end of the evening he describes himself as “happier”, but not “happy,” which makes me sad. His English is too strong for him not to know the difference between the words. At best he’s trying not to tempt the keyn aynhoreh by seeming too cheerful. More likely though, it betrays how deep and indefatigable his sadness must have been.

Sadder still: The “dear ones” he was so happy to hear about would almost all be killed by German soldiers a few years later. (Forgive me for laying it on so thick, but any mention of Snyatyn carries with it this cloud.) All the more remarkable, then, that when I knew him at the end of his life he radiated such personal joy and satisfaction. My mother has a photograph of him, sitting on our back lawn lawn, surrounded by his grandchildren in the sunshine, beaming kvelling with total contentment. In the end, he had all he wanted, and all the sadness of his youth, sadness so deep he wouldn’t allow himself the use of the word “happy”, was obliterated. It makes me want to send him a packet from the future with that photograph and a note saying “Papa, this is you.”

————-

Updates

Monday Jan 7

by


On my way from work Rabi
Davedel Horowitz from Meletz escorted
my home all the way from the
K.H. office.

Heard Mr. Bock the donor
of the $100.000 peace prize
explain the theory, I do not fully
agree with him as I believe in
Americas full participation in
the league of Nations.
I heard the above talk on the radio.
Universal peace in my
opinion is possible only
when the U.S. will officially
enroll as a member of the
League and exert its influence
upon the nations

—————

Matt’s Notes

The “Bock” Papa refers to is Edward William Bok, famed both for transforming Ladies Home Journal from an obscure publication into a national powerhouse and for transforming himself from an unknown Dutch immigrant into a wealthy and prominent Progressivist. Some time after retiring from publishing, Bok funded a $100,000 open competition to find a plan for world peace, and promised to push the winning plan through Congress. This caused quite a stir. Over 22,000 Americans submitted plans, and the winner, Charles Herbert Levermore, achieved some degree of fame, but in the end the whole effort never amounted to much.

When Papa tuned into WEAF on January 7, he heard Bok outline the winning plan, which called for greater U.S. participation in the World Court but fell short of endorsing U.S. membership in the League of Nations. Papa would have favored an active U.S. foreign policy — America’s “influence upon the nations” was essential to world peace, as he notes, but his beloved Zionist cause needed it even more. America’s navel-gazing in the 1920’s must have frustrated him, hence his ultimate disappointment with Bok’s suggestions.

One thing I like about Papa’s diary is what it reveals about the popular culture of the day, or at least what someone of his background and tastes would have picked up on. With only a small page available to record the day’s events he chose to write about Bok’s radio address, so the Bok Peace Prize must have been as widely discussed as a typical Britney underwear incident is today. By 1930, Time magazine would describe it in Bok’s obituary merely as a “prize of $100,000 for the best essay on how to achieve International peace” — a kind understatement of what a high profile disappointment the Peace Plan really was. But, Bok’s life story was an inspiration to many, his autobiography won a Pulitzer Prize and he was a legend in the publishing industry, so I’ll avoid knocking his Peace Prize just because I’d never heard of him.

I’d also never heard of Rabbi Davidel Horowitz, which attests more to my ignorance of the Zionist movement (not for the last time, I’m sure) than his actual degree of notoriety. There’s a good chance Papa is talking about David Horowitz, a prominent young Zionist of his day who went on to found a scholarly organization called United Israel World Union. If so, Papa must have been thrilled as they walked the lower East Side, perhaps wrapped in long coats but certainly oblivious to the cold as they talked, young and insistent, of changing the world.

——————-

Updates

WEAF was the American Telephone and Telegraph radio station in New York. An innovator in technical, programming and advertising operations, it would become part of NBC in 1926.

——————-

Additional references for this post:

– “Peace Plan“, Time, 1/14/24 (and search the Time archive for more on Edward Bok).
– “The Peace Plan” (editorial) The New York Times, 1/7/24 (subscription required; PDF).
– “BOK PEACE PLAN STIRS WIDE INTEREST; FIGHT OVER IT BEGINS; Founder and Many Others Appeal by Radio for Approval“, The New York Times, 1/8/24 (subscription required; PDF; search The New York Times archive for more on Edward Bok).
– Edward Bok biography on Wikipedia
– David Horowitz obituary at United Israel World Union Web site
– WEAF history at Answers.com