munger

Tuesday Aug 12

by

The letters and cards
that I receive from some
girls make me believe that
there is still something in
me that attracts them.

But what is it? I am so
lonesome.

—————-

Matt’s Notes

The long months of mourning and worry since his father’s death in May have taken their toll on Papa. He must feel burned out, used up, old. Why else would he talk about his attractiveness to women in the past tense and wonder how they “still” find him attractive?

Another question, too, is why, if so many women show their interest in him, does he dismiss their attention? Why does he find it impossible to see past his loneliness, imagine an end to it? Have his father’s death and his family’s struggles back in the old country made him feel like he’s committing some crime because he’s alive and active in a vibrant place like New York? Does he think a criminal such as he doesn’t deserve to be happy?

Wednesday Aug 13

by


?

————-

Matt’s Notes

For Papa to write nothing but a question mark obviously means more than if he left a page blank or wrote something simple like “nothing of significance” or even “dull.” It’s as if we’ve asked him how his life is going and he’s responded with a sad little shrug.

Thursday Aug 14

by

?

———–

Matt’s Notes

It’s late summer and the year is moving along, and Papa’s diary entries are starting to feel increasingly precious. I’m hungry for any shred of information about what he did on even the most ordinary day. But as he did yesterday, Papa looks at his life and questions whether there’s really anything worth reporting. Each day without monumental change feels uninteresting to him, adds to his sense of stasis, and therefore qualifies only for a quick, resigned shake of the head and a helpless-looking question mark on a page.

[posted from Mexico]

Friday Aug 15

by

?

———–

Matt’s Notes

Like yesterday and the day before, Papa finds nothing interesting to report about his day and, with a single question mark, asks whether his life is worth discussing at all.

Slowly, slowly, in the coming years he would realize his life mattered. But on this day he had only a vague sense that it should, but not how it would.

Saturday Aug 16

by


What can I write when
there is nothing of importance
and no inspiration to write.

C. hasn’t changed a bit
I’m satisfied not to have her
she is thoughtless.
does not consider things

————-

Matt’s Notes

Here Papa writes out the sentiment he’s expressed over the page few days by writing only a question mark in his diary entries: “What can I write when there is nothing of importance…?” The day-to-day details of his life, which I and my legions of readers would certainly find interesting, don’t strike him as worth discussion so long as he feels stuck, lonely, with no prospects for immediate or dramatic change.

As I’ve speculated before, though, I think he was, in fact, growing up very quickly right now. The need to reinvent his world was more pressing now that his father, and the familial security and connection to the old country he represented, were gone. In some way I think the recent, deeper quality of Papa’s loneliness may signal a keener, realistic awareness of his circumstances. He doesn’t yet know exactly what he needs to do to change things, but I think he’s starting to understand that he can’t do it by daydreaming alone.

Meanwhile, the saga of “C.,” or Clara, continues, though Papa still hasn’t explained their long history or why its romantic turbulence has suddenly come to a head. My mother has suggested that Clara might be one of the Breindel sisters, the cousins with whom Papa shared a bed when he first arrived in New York (Eva and Sadie were the others). It wouldn’t have been so odd for distant cousins to romance each other in the 1920’s, so maybe that’s what’s going on here. It would certainly explain why Papa seems to know her so well and why he saw no need to introduce their storyline when it suddenly popped up, clearly continued from some earlier point, a few days ago.

————-

Update 8/25

I just realized that Clara might also be “Clara the daughter of Cousin Leizer” who Papa met on January 6th after her arrival from Europe. After describing the evening he spent with her and his other cousins, Papa went back and wrote an extra line about her in his entry: “The above mentioned Clara Leizers arrived from Europe recently.” I didn’t think much of it when I first read it, but maybe that extra little attention to Clara hints at his attraction to her.

Sunday Aug 17

by


I outfitted her to the station
because she forced herself upon
me. I deserted my friends
in order to accommodate her,
what was the reward?

Humiliation

Disappointment

I shall not be fooled
by trickery again.

Owing to a cold I went to
bed early, and had my sisters
visit me for the first time in
a long while.

——————-

Matt’s Notes

By “her,” I assume Papa means Clara, the mysterious woman who has both fascinated and, it seems, tormented Papa since well before he started his 1924 diary. (The story of his disappointing, ongoing relationship with her showed up in full flower a week ago without introduction. He seems intimately familiar with her foibles and behavior, so he surely had a long history with her. She might even be one of the distant cousins he lived with when he first came to America.)

What type of disappointment and humiliation befell Papa when he changed his Sunday plans to see her off on a trip? Did she imply he’d get a kiss? An invitation to join her? A hint of a deeper romance? Or did they have an unspoken understanding in which she fed his appetite for hopes and dreams (remember, until this point Papa’s dreams and romantically unrequited hopes were important food for his poet’s soul, perhaps even more important to him than much of his real life) in exchange for assistance with her luggage and other odd jobs?

Whatever the particulars of their relationship, Papa and Clara manage to at least partly fill each others’ needs through a well-established, pseudo-intimate routine. I imagine Papa has vowed a million times before to “not be fooled by trickery again” in the course of his association with her, but I expect he’ll keep allowing it until he establishes a truer, more productive romance with someone else.

————-

Additional note:

Papa writes “I outfitted her to the station” in the first line of this entry. It’s an odd phrase but the word “outfitted” is quite clear:

I’ve always thought the verb “outfit” referred specifically to the collection or preparation of equipment and clothing, as in “Admiral Peary outfitted himself for his expedition to the North pole.” But, Papa uses it here in a more general way to indicate that he brought Clara’s stuff to a train station and perhaps loaded it onto a train. Was the word used more broadly this way back in the 20’s?

Monday Aug 18

by


Received from [?] S. a letter
I would say rather [almost] affectionate
letter.

I shall gladly answer her.
She is the type of a girl I may
associate with.

I’ve just been informed that Miss R.
an intelligent American girl, was about
to propose to me but was stopped by her
parents who want their daughter to marry
wealth.

She a beautiful girl having gone through
all phases of life having all sorts of
admirers, game to the core, age 26.
seeks to propose to me the quiet, as
a climax to a gay and merry girlhood
life. — She saw me but twice, but
asked me to take her to a concert at
the Stadium. I may do it yet.
Yes. She was once an actress too.

—————–

Matt’s Notes

I can’t make out the name of the woman who surprised Papa with her interest in him, but it looks something like “Sarah”:

I also can’t figure out from Papa’s tone whether he’s disappointed or simply surprised by news of “Miss R’s” thwarted proposal, but his discussion of it does reveal a few interesting details about Papa’s world. He refers to Miss R. as an “American girl,” which is the first time he’s used this phrase in his diary and no doubt means she was born in America and was more assimilated than he. I’m not sure if he therefore thought of her as part of a higher, more genteel social class, but her parents certainly did.

I also find it odd that a woman we’ver never heard of before planned to propose to Papa but I suppose my understanding of the word “propose” is quite different than Papa and Miss R.’s. Papa must have met her through a marriage broker and forgotten about her with the faceless prospects he described, or rather found too uninspiring to describe, back in early August. By “proposing” to him, she probably would have indicated, through the marriage broker, her willingness to marry him if he were amenable. I imagine the marriage broker delivered the news of her sentiments and of her family’s disapproval to see if Papa was willing to check her out again and, perhaps, try to win her family over.

Despite his description of her qualifications, I don’t think Papa was very excited about her. He could be very hard on himself about his lack of money and social standing when he was really interested in a woman who he felt was too good for him, but it doesn’t seem to bother him here. Also, news of Miss R.’s near-proposal doesn’t disappoint him nearly as much as his dramatic encounter back in January with “Tillie,” who sent him into a days-long tailspin when she confessed her love for him even though she was engaged to someone else.

In any event, the “concert at the Stadium” Papa planned to take Miss R. to was the August 20th performance of the New York Philharmonic at City College Stadium (a.k.a. Lewisohn Stadium, formerly located at 138th Street and Amsterdam Avenue). This was 1924’s final installment of the popular “Stadium concerts” summer music series, which was introduced in 1918 (when soldiers and sailors got in free) and continued until the mid-1960’s when Lewisohn Stadium was razed to accommodate City College’s expansion plans.

————

New York Times References: