munger

Home and radio night.

The year is ending
a new book shall be
written.

and may the pages
chronicle only happy
events. Amen

—————

Matt’s Notes

Papa’s had a mixed relationship with “home and radio” nights all year. As we’ve discussed before, the kit-built radio set he posed with in the photo below indicates an early adopter’s love for the medium (by “early” we mean he’d probably built his radio set somewhere around 1922 when commercial radio first became viable) and 1924 was particularly full of breakout developments in broadcasting. Among other things, it was the first year a presidential campaign season, including both national conventions, played out on the airwaves, it was the debut year of New York’s venerable public radio station, WNYC, and it was the year AT&T, the biggest corporate player in the industry, made nationwide broadcasts through connected affiliate stations a common practice.

Yet thrilling as it was to listen to the radio in 1924, the isolating effect of Papa’s headphones put an unwelcome accent on a year in which his longing for companionship became deeper and less forgiving. Though he had no privacy when he was “living in board,” his move to an apartment of his own on Attorney Street left him ill at ease and disconnected. This intensified, as those of you who have been following well know, after he learned of his father’s death in the old country, an event that left him bereft, unmoored and, since it fell to him to cover burial expenses, depressingly in debt. (He felt so desperate that he invited his neighbor’s son to stay in his apartment for a time.) Later on he got himself a telephone so he could hear some friendly voices in his spare surroundings, but he found as little comfort in it as he did in formerly reliable distractions like movies, baseball, and his radio.

The year was not entirely free of satisfying moments, naturally. Papa enjoyed his visits to Coney Island, the Metropolitan Opera house, and New York’s assorted parks; he felt the pangs of love for a couple of different women, and though these episodes were disappointing in the end they were food for his romantic soul; he co-founded the “Maccabean” chapter of the fraternal organization, B’nai Zion (Order Sons of Zion) and became its Master of Ceremonies; he saw speeches by and occasionally met his Zionist heroes; he witnessed the first endorsement of Zionism by organized labor, a spiritually inspiring convergence of his most beloved causes; and he welcomed the arrival of two new nephews.

By the end of the year, Papa had emerged from the shadow of mourning and perhaps grown up a little. As I’ve mentioned before, I think his father’s death allowed him, if in a wrenching, unpleasant way, to give up his attachment to the old country and the long-held dream that he could somehow recapture the idealized comforts of his boyhood. It may, in fact, have helped him stop spending quite so much time with his daydreams in general, prompted him to stop wishing for the life he would like and start working on the life he could have. It was, for Papa, a remarkable year, the sort of year people have when they’re twenty-nine.

I wonder, did Papa review his own year in the way I just have when he penned his 1924 diary’s last “home and radio” entry? Or did he just think about the coming year and his prayer to fill “a new book” with only “happy events”? If such a book literally exists I don’t have it, but I know his future. I know he was about to meet my grandmother, I know he would, at last, have a family of his own. I know he found his happiness and that his happiness included me. And I know I’m here now, and I know he can’t hear me, but I swear I’m sitting and whispering the word “Papa” like a spell, whispering Papa, Papa, Papa, please tell me what comes next.

Its All over,

New Years Eve. this year
at District, and Jewish
Students club, in conversation
with a fascinating girl Miriam,
Later at Jewish Students club.

Going home early in the morning
the streets down town were
still crowded with thousands
going home from festivities.

————-

Matt’s Notes

“It’s all over,” indeed. Papa’s final diary entry gives us a nice little snapshot of his life at this time: The Zionist organizations and Jewish clubs he was part of; his guarded excitement over yet another intriguing woman; his walk home alone through a crowd of revelers, an echo of the way he started the year. And we know more about him now, too: he was an opera aficionado, a baseball fan, a movie lover, an avid radio listener, a labor activist, a deeply spiritual Jew, a devoted brother, a homesick child, a son who grieved for his father, a romantic soul, an unremarkable immigrant from Eastern Europe, and a remarkable figure to those who knew him.

He died when I was four years old, and, as it turns out, I’ve missed him every day since then. Still, I feel extraordinarily fortunate to have had the chance to spend this whole year with him in something like an adult conversation. Next year we’ll see a conversation of a different sort, or one side of it, anyway, as we look at the letters he wrote to my grandmother during their long courtship. I’m looking forward to it, but right now I want to make sure I cover every word left in his diary, because he did write a couple of of more lines on the last “Memoranda” page, each separated by a little squiggle:

Novak was a prolific, well-known actress in her day whose good-girl image probably appealed to Papa. Her career faded with the advent of talkies, though she did pop up in modern movies from time to time and published, in 1974, a cookbook called A Treasury of Chicken Cookery. It’s no longer in print.

———–

Matt’s Notes

Papa wrote this, the first of his letters to my grandmother (or at least the earliest I have) while she was in Columbia, Connecticut for a spring getaway. It’s addressed to “Miss Jeanie Pollack, c/o J. Kresewitz,” so I suppose J. Kresewitz was either a relative, a family friend, or the proprietor of some kind of resort or camp.

The back of Papa’s letter also has a note from my grandmother’s sister, Sally, and the envelope also contained an enclosed note from her cousin. The text of each is below; I’ll add comments along the way.

——–

April 22, 1925

Dear Jeanie:

I am writing this first letter at your home.
It was indeed a source of pleasure and an
honor having had the privilege to escort you
to the station.

I was kind of worried because I did not
accompany you to your destination, and believe
me I could hardly get through my day’s work
being overanxious to talk to you, and when
I finally heard your sweet voice on the phone
I was overjoyed, but I certainly had a
long wait till I got the connection.

Your dear mother and father and Sally
were overjoyed to hear of your safe arrival
and we all expect to hear from you in
detail as to how you were received
and how you are enjoying the new environment.

So far for tonight, I will write you again tomorrow.

Faithfully,

Your Soul friend

Harry

Enclosed is a letter that arrived today for you.

(over)

—————–

[MU] Before we look at the note from Sally on the flip side of this page, let’s remember that my grandmother does not appear at all in Papa’s 1924 diary. He surely would have written about her if he’d met her that year (he always wrote about the women who intrigued him) so he couldn’t have known her for much more than four months when he wrote this deeply affectionate letter in April of ’25.

What could have happened between January and April to make him fall for her so completely, to call her his “soul friend,” to take it upon himself to see her off at the train station, to anxiously wait for a long-distance connection to hear her voice, and even to take responsibility for forwarding her correspondence? How did he become so well known to her family in such a short time that he returned to their home instead of his own after he escorted her to the train?

Sally’s note to my grandmother follows.

——————

April 21, 1925

Dear Jean:

Just a few lines to let
you know how nice & quiet it is
since you went away believe me
kid, it’s a pleasure. The Throop
Ave. Chaazin & his wife are over
the house now & we are all drinking
tea. I just can’t wait to go to
bed as I will have the whole place
for myself. To-morrow your sister-
in-law & her mother will be
over the house to make arrange-
ments for his your brother’s engage-
ment.

Take care of yourself &
get fat as it costs money.
I am not any to anxious to
write but being that Mr. Sheurman
asked me to write it don’t look
nice to refuse. I will close now
fondest regards from all especially
mother. I am

Sally

—————–
[MU] Papa included the following letter with with his letter to my grandmother.

April 19, 1925

Dear Cousin Jean

– I am so glad that you
would like to have me for
a brother, but I think I’d
rather be a good cousin than a
poor brother. To-morrow I
expect to start school, al-
thought I still limp a little
I can’t stay away from school.
anymore as I have lost enough
in these 7 weeks. I’ll have to work
pretty hard to make up for lost
time, anyway I’m going to try
very hard and study a good deal.

Maybe some day you will be proud
of your cousin Irving. We were [glad] to
hear that you are all well and
had a pleasant holiday and
also glad that your house is
filled up and looks nice & hope
you will very happy in it. I
am very glad that you are working
it seems that your boss can’t
do without you. You must be very

valuable to him. How about getting
married and giving us all a happy
surprise? Do you still go out with
Jack or have you another sheik
handy. How is Sadie (Pincher), is
she in love yet? When I wrote
that Sadie should give youa pinch
I meant she should youve you a hearty
one, like she used to do to me, but it’s
all for love. Was Gertie, Rose and
their families at your house to the
Sadorem. It’s about all I can
think of just now, Dad & Mother
send their love to all. I send my regards
to Uncle Sam and Aunt Brina.

I remain

Irving Bernstein

P.S.

The weather here is punk.

There were four pages of letters in yesterday’s post, so I want to make sure the letter my grandmother’s sister, Sally, wrote at Papa’s request doesn’t get lost in the shuffle. My grandmother, as we’ll recall, had just gone up to Columbia, Connecticut for some kind of spring retreat, and here’s what Sally had to say:

Just a few lines to let
you know how nice & quiet it is
since you went away believe me
kid, it’s a pleasure. The Throop
Ave. Chaazin & his wife are over
the house now & we are all drinking
tea. I just can’t wait to go to
bed as I will have the whole place
for myself.

And:

Take care of yourself &get fat
as it costs money.
I am not any to anxious to
write but being that Mr. Sheurman
asked me to write it don’t look
nice to refuse.

Hmmm. Not exactly a warm outpouring of sisterly affection, though Papa wasn’t totally inaccurate when he wrote that Sally was “overjoyed to hear of [my grandmother’s] safe arrival” in Connecticut — she would have been glad to hear of my grandmother’s arrival anywhere, as long as it was nowhere near Brooklyn. My grandmother always claimed that Sally tried to kill her in the crib by stuffing toilet paper down her throat, and while this claim might score an 8.5 on the Freud-O-Meter for its conflation of scatology, infanticide and sibling rivalry, it also might be true if Sally’s letter is any gauge of her hostility.

I don’t think Papa’s presence did a lot to improve Sally’s attitude toward my grandmother, either. As the story goes, Papa was originally introduced to Sally for matrimonial purposes, but in the regular course of meeting her family fell instantly and completely in love with my grandmother. My grandmother was eighteen at the time and in no hurry to marry a man who was twelve years her senior, but Papa declared that he would wait for as long as he had to for her to come ’round to loving him. (Sally watched all this happen and, no doubt, dreamed of a world in which toilet paper came in larger, deadlier rolls.)

Papa’s vow to wait for my grandmother indefinitely was rather remarkable, despite what Sally might have thought, but not out of character for a young man who so passionately believed in romance, who enjoyed feeling thunderstruck, and didn’t mind a little soulful pining here and there. At some point in early 1925, my grandmother’s father, Samuel Pollack, asked Papa to reconsider Sally (who also went by the nickname Sadie). Papa’s answer is near-legendary, and often quoted, on my mother’s side of the family: “Sadie is a wonderful woman, but don’t I have a heart? My heart knows what it wants.” He meant it sincerely, and held on for five more years until my grandmother agreed to marry him.

————

Update 1/10

My mother has consulted with our cousin Shirley, who was a flower girl at Papa’s wedding and also happens to know everything there is to know on Earth, and learned that Columbia, Connecticut was the post office address of the farm owned by my great-grandmother’s cousin in Chesterfield, Connecticut. My grandmother, her sisters and especially her sickly brother used to go up there frequently to take in the country air. One of my aunts once described the farm’s milk as “so fresh that hair from the cows’ tail was still in it,” so I assume she only drank it once.

A couple of other details: the letter Papa forwarded to my grandmother was from her cousin, Irving Bernstein, the child of one of my great-grandmother’s two sisters who lived in Toronto, Canada. The “Throop Ave. Chaazin” may refer to a cantor (chazin) who lived on Throop Avenue in Brooklyn, though we can’t be sure.

I’ve digressed a bit here to talk about my grandmother’s family, but I think it’s worth noting that they were well-established in North America and, in the case of my grandmother’s immediate family, relatively well-to-do. Papa, of course, was not, and the question of whether he was worthy of my grandmother would remain a significant consideration throughout their long courtship.