coney island

Sunday Jun 22

by

The heat chased me out
to Coney Island, where I
took the first dive in the
cool ocean. Lonely I spent
there several hours and
in the evening I certainly
was refreshed by the cool
ocean breezes on the boat
ride back to town.

I could have stayed on the
island later, but I escaped
the gay throngs on the boardwalk
there was no place for a lone
sad man, to get that boat, but
on the boat again were gay couples
which in my loneliness tended to
make me sadder.

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Matt’s Notes

Papa’s description of his lonely trip to Coney Island reminds me of his New Year’s Eve entry, when he used similar words to describe the sense of isolation and longing he felt among the “gay throngs.” It’s a cinematic, melodramatic scenario in which the fine weather and ocean vista remain nearly unseen as we maintain tight focus on a single, sad man; in which happy couples materialize and whirl toward him from every angle like leering funhouse ogres; in which his only moment of respite comes when he makes his way to the bow of the Coney Island ferry, turns away from his fellow passengers and their contentment, faces lower Manhattan, and closes his eyes against the “cool ocean breezes.”

Of course, to cut from Papa, lonely in Times Square on New Year’s Eve to Papa, lonely in Coney Island on the cusp of summer, is to mislead the audience. A casual viewer might see only a montage of a man boxed in by melancholy, a man who wanders, unmoved, from throng to throng without allowing anything to intrude upon his detachment. Yet the pages of his diary attest to six months of unrelenting personal change: a new job, a new apartment, two new nephews, a new title in a new Zionist organization. And, more importantly, a new world: a world without his father; a world without the illusion of an untouched, unchanged childhood home; a world without the prospect, long-treasured, of returning to what he once knew.

Six months earlier, he pushed through the crush of Times Square and wondered why he felt so melancholy. He need not wonder anymore. Instead, the question brewing on his boat ride to Manhattan is how he will find something new now that his old life, an ocean away and eleven years gone, is finally, truly lost.

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Image Source: View of the Boardwalk and Beach from Steeplechase Pier, 1923. Courtesy of Brooklynpix.com.

Saturday June 28

by


Went this morning to
Shapiro, and went to
services in a Borough Park
Temple, later visited with
him Harry Eisenkraft
and winded up the day
in Coney Island where
I went to the evening services
in a synagogue there

—————-

Matt’s Notes

Papa hasn’t mentioned his Saturday worship habits that much throughout his diary, so I’m not sure if he typically went to synagogue twice on Saturdays or if this day was an exception for some reason. As far as I can tell it was not a Jewish holiday (Shevuoth was three weeks earlier) or a notable milestone in his mourning process (his father died five weeks ago). If you can enlighten me in any way, please write or drop a comment.

We do know the locations of Coney Island synagogues of the 20’s thanks to the fantastic Coney Island History Project (via a tip on the coneyisland.com message boards) so do yourself a favor and check out some of the site’s maps and information. For a number of reasons I think Papa went to the synagogue at West 31st street (listed on this map as Center Bikur Cholem) with his friends Shapiro and Eisenkraft, though I’d like to confirm this somehow.

Also among the throngs at Coney were 5,000 or so Democratic Convention delegates on an outing organized and led by New York’s Mayor Hyland himself (according to the New York Times, they were “escorted by the Police, Fire and Street Cleaning Departments’ bands to Steeplechast and Luna parks” among other distractions). They probably wished they could have stayed out there, too. The Convention proceedings at at Madison Square Garden had become rather sticky, due in part to 80-plus degree temperatures but mostly to the continuing battle over the influence of the Klan on the party platform. With balloting about to start, the Klan-induced schism was dominating all other Convention story lines, and delegates were digging in for a long fight.

—————-

Update:

Shows you what I know. My mother writes:

Religious Jews say Kaddish for the entire year, morning and night. When Papa died, Cousin Jeanie and Aunt Clara gave money to some organization on the lower east side, where aged men say Kaddish for the designated person, particularly if they are unfortunate enough to have no sons to do it.

And:

I just remembered the name of the lower East side organization that said Kaddish for Papa. It was called The Old Sages of Israel.

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The Coney Island History Project also has a photo of a brochure touting Coney Island’s role as an entertainment destination for Democratic Convention Delegates.

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Update 10/30/07 – After The New York Times Sunday City section published a story on Papa’s Diary Project on October 14th, I got an e-mail from the grandson of the above-mentioned Harry Eisenkraft. It looks like Papa’s father was the brother of Harry’s mother (making Papa and Harry cousins and the man who called me my own distant cousin). The photo below shows Harry Eisenkraft and his wife, Jennie, on their wedding day.

Sunday June 29

by


Another day in Coney Island
with the boys, another dip
in the ocean.

We took a locker for the
season at Hahns at 31 st. sr
and went back to city with
running board of Rothblum’s
auto.

—————-

Matt’s Notes

I thought Papa wrote “we took a locker for the season at Hahus at 3rd. st.” when I initially transcribed this entry, and I figured it might refer to a street intersection or a public park or something like that. But, thanks to the good people who aided my inquiry into the matter at the coneyisland.com message boards, we now know that Papa was talking about Hahn’s Baths at West 31st Street. This map from The Coney Island History Project shows that Hahn’s was right on the Boardwalk and adjacent to the much larger Roosevelt baths (a housing development now stands in their place).

Interestingly, the Coney Island History Project also features several studio shots of people sitting in prop cars, so I wonder if the photo of Papa below was taken in a Coney Island photo studio:

The real car he rode in was, as we discussed during the first appearance of “Rothblum’s auto” back in March, was probably a Model T sedan like the one below:


I asked my friend Sixto, who earns a fat salary as the Director of Automotive Research for Papa’s Diary Project and is no stranger to New York City history, what it would have been like for Papa to ride the running board of a car all the way from Coney Island to the Lower East Side. Wouldn’t the roads have been less congested and faster-moving than they are today, even with slower cars? Was Papa some kind of crazed daredevil to attempt such a trip? No, says Sixto:

Many cars had running boards (and they were very
sturdy, I’ve stood on several although not while
moving)…

By the mid 20’s the city could be quite congested with
traffic at times so it could have taken a long time. I
wouldn’t be surprised if they sat in a traffic jam or
two leaving the very popular Coney Island area. June
29th was a Sunday, there could have been half a
million people there easily and probably more, and
while most took the subway, I’m sure there were also a
lot of autos on the street.

Good to know. Meanwhile, a world away in midtown Manhattan, the Democratic Convention took a Sunday break from its contentious proceedings. This allowed pundits time to speculate on how damaging the fight over anti-Klan language in the Democratic platform would be (as Will Rogers noted in a New York Times article, “It is a Sunday…so they can’t do anything. If you can keep a Democrat from doing anything, you can save him from making a mistake. “)

I’m sure Papa was distressed, as were many other Democrats, over the convention’s ongoing troubles. By now it was clear to most realistic observers that neither William McAdoo nor Al Smith, the frontrunners who stood on opposite sides of the Klan debate, would be able to muster enough votes to secure the nomination in an early ballot, if at all (as a Herald Tribune editorial pointed out, the whole debate was “portentous of disintegration.”) By contrast, the Zionist Organization of America had just held its twenty-seventh annual convention in Pittsburgh and, without much ado, reelected Louis Lipsky as its chairman. Perhaps, as Papa sat at home that night glowing with sunburn and reading the evening papers, he was happy to know that at least one of the organizations he cared about had managed to behave itself.

————–

Update:

Here are a bunch of cars in the real world (this is a detail from a 1923 photo of Coney Island’s Dreamland parking lot). Check out the groovy motorcycle at left, too:

References:

Saturday July 5

by


Radio and C.I.

Like an aimless wanderer
I find myself, I feel rather
pessimistic today, the outlook
is not so bright for the future,
constant worries, a little
idleness, and the continued
loneliness, are beginning
to have their affect on me.

————-

Matt’s Notes

Papa loneliness and worries about the future are familiar subjects in his diary, but for him to say they’re only just “beginning to” affect him, as if he’s feeling them for the first time, must mean he’s caught in a particularly voluminous wave of sadness right now. Unlike those on the beaches of “C.I.” (Coney Island) though, such waves do not break predictably and are difficult to avoid if they become too rough.

It is, of course, entirely reasonable for him to feel out of sorts since he’s only two months removed from the death of his father and he’s on a forced, extended break from work due to his factory’s slack season, but that’s only easy for us to see. He is simply overwhelmed by it all, and as is his romantic wont he casts is sadness in epic, poetic terms — “Like an aimless wanderer I find myself” — as if he’s living in a Greek myth, an allegorical hero forever riding between Coney Island and Manhattan but unable to touch either shore.

Yet even though his natural optimism has failed him for the moment and “the outlook is not so bright for the future,” we know how the story ends. Papa, this is you:

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Democratic Convention Update:

The balloting deadlock continued at the Democratic Convention, but something new was brewing. If Papa had his radio tuned in to the proceedings, he would have heard the day’s session adjourn so candidates’ representatives could begin private talks on how to end the Democrats’ embarrassing show of disunity. It was impossible to deny that such a solution would have to include the withdrawal of both Al Smith and William McAdoo’s candidacies. Headlines from the New York Times tell the story:

Sunday July 6

by


Enjoyed with friend
Blaustein the cooling waters
at the beach at C.I. concluding
the evening at an open air
movie at Brighton.

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Matt’s Notes

Papa and his friend Blaustein (who was also Papa’s brother in the Zionist fraternal organization Order Sons of Zion) were among half a million visitors to Coney Island on this day. The large crowd was apparently well-behaved, though one young man was arrested for violation of the Volstead Act and another broke his neck diving into shallow water. (My grandmother, who lived nearby and would have been 15 at the time, probably heard about this incident and vowed never to so much as say the word “dive” within half a mile of water for the rest of her life.)

I like to think that the “open air movie” Papa saw was something appropriate to the surfside setting like the recently-released The Sea Hawk, a rip-snorting tale of Spanish galley adventures deemed by the New York Times to be “far and away the best sea story that has ever been brought to the screen.” If first-run films weren’t available to Brighton Beach exhibitors, Papa might have seen something that had hung around for a while, like The Thief of Badgad, The Ten Commandments, or Girl Shy with Harold Lloyd.

My own memories of visits to my grandmother on Brighton Beach make it hard for me to picture the screening setup (I keep thinking that someone must have just pointed a projector at a makeshift screen near the end of the boardwalk where my grandmother and her friends would congregate at night) but I’m sure it must have been in a formal outdoor amphitheater with wooden bleachers and roving concessionaires and a regular weekend movie lineup. I wonder if the memory of this night stuck with Papa: images flickering on the screen, ferris wheel turning lazily in the distance, ocean breeze blowing cool. Did he close his eyes for a moment, think to himself that everything would be okay if he could just find some way to stay right there? Did he remember the feeling years later when he moved out to Brighton to raise his family?

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Update:

Here’s how the parking lot at Coney Island’s Dreamland looked on a crowded day (this photo was taken on July 22, 1923):

References:

<!–
DARK HORSES READY FOR NEW CONTEST; Several Already Contending for Votes of Delegates Who May Be Freed

CONFEREES SPLIT ON PLANS; Two Reports to Be Made to Convention for Its Action. –>

Monday July 7

by


Radio and an open hour
at C.I. bathing.

Just heard on radio that
Presidents son died at 10:30
tonight. My sympathy goes
forth to the Presidents family

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Matt’s Notes

Papa likely heard about the death of President Coolidge’s son when the Democratic Convention, as heard on WEAF’s broadcast, adjourned early that night out of respect for the President’s family. (Calvin, Jr. died of septicemia after a tennis-related blister on his heel became infected.)

It’s worth pointing out how odd it must have been for Americans like Papa, who weren’t yet accustomed to live radio news, to learn of such an event as it happened. Papa was by all accounts an extraordinarily compassionate person, but I wonder if he would have written “my sympathy goes forth to the President’s family” in his private journal had he merely read the news in the morning papers. (Then again, he was still profoundly affected by his own father’s death, so perhaps he would have responded the same way to the President’s loss no matter how he heard about it.)

We should also note that the Democratic Convention had reached an interesting point before its early adjournment.

Balloting had been deadlocked for a week. The frontrunner, William McAdoo, had unsuccessfully proposed a rules change that would have allowed him to take the nomination with a simple majority of delegates as opposed to the traditional two-thirds. New York Governor Al Smith, who controlled a blocking minority, had led a push to get all candidates to release their delegates, but McAdoo had refused.

Into the fray waded James M. Cox, the newspaper publisher, former Governor of Ohio and 1920 Democratic Presidential candidate. The negotiations Cox held upon his arrival in New York seemed to trigger some movement at the convention. McAdoo’s delegates started to drift toward other candidates, effectively ending his bid. Smith gained a few votes, but seasoned political observers knew he had no chance, either. The race was wide open again.

I’ve been party to a conversational ice-breaker where someone asks everyone in the room whether they’d rather visit the past or the future. I usually say the future, but I must say it would be hard to resist a chance to witness the stunning levels of deal-making, cigar-smoking, hallway-sprinting and door-knocking that lit up convention headquarters at the Waldorf-Astoria that night. If the rules permitted, though, I’d probably sneak out, hop a subway to the Lower East Side, and knock on Papa’s door. I don’t know what I’d say when he answered. Maybe I’d just ask him how the waves were at Coney Island.

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References from the New York Times:

Other References:

Thursday July 10

by


C.I.

Sent home $15
5 for Mother, 5 Gittel,
3 Ettel, and 2 for Fule

————-

Matt’s Notes

Papa has been spending a lot of time at Coney Island since he and his friends took a locker for the season at Hahn’s Baths on the Boardwalk at 31st Street. I don’t have any photos of Hahn’s, but I do have this picture of what a Boardwalk bath house (in this case the Washington Baths at 21st street1) would have looked like in the 20’s:

Here it is a little closer:

And closer still:

As nice as it was for him to spend his days at the beach, Papa would have preferred to be at work. He was on a forced vacation due to his factory’s slack season, but he disliked idleness and, especially in the aftermath of his father’s death, dreaded free time, saw each unoccupied moment as a hazardous, risky invitation to depressing, worried thoughts.

He had also vowed to give more support to his family in the old country now that his father was gone, but working less obviously made this more difficult. I think that accounts for the careful distribution, and this entry’s careful accounting, of the $15 he sent home. I’m sure he gave to each person according to his perception of her needs, with his newly-widowed mother and his sister Gitel, who recently let him know she and her family were starving, getting the most and Ettel and Fule, the oldest and youngest sisters respectively, getting the least.

Regardless of Papa’s financial constraints, his siblings surely analyzed and discussed whatever messages, preferences and signs of failing generosity his disbursement described. If his previous descriptions of their attitudes are accurate, they thought the streets of New York were paved with gold and were sure he held out on them. Papa has described of both his guilt over not having the means to do more and, in one unusually dark moment, his resentment of their demands, and I can’t help but find some signs of related tension in this entry. He has never described who got what in such detail, and he also leaves out his brother Isaac, who has been the most vocal about his dissatisfaction with Papa’s support. Did Papa not name Isaac for this reason, or did he feel that Isaac, as a man, did not need as much help?

In any event, the women Papa mentions above are pictured below. They are, clockwise from the bottom right: Gittel (in a photo from 1938) Ettel (in a photo from 1895) his mother, Fagale (from an undated photo, but probably taken in the 1910’s) and Fule (in the photo with Gittel from 1938).

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References

1 – According to a 1930’s Coney Island directory archived at the Coney Island History Project, the Washington Baths were a place “Where young and old enjoy the swimming pool, handball courts, athletic fields, and tennis courts” and also “nude sun bathing.” The same brochure also touts “Baby Incubators,” “where premature infants first see the light of day. An educational journey through a miniature hospital.” If that grabs your interest, do yourself a favor and check out the Coney Island History Project’s collections.