That dreamy girl from
the factory 12 floor across
the 12th floor of the factory
I am working, looked at
me again as usual, as I’ve
noticed for some time during
the noon hour when I am
on the balcony.
I’ve tried to arrange for a
private meeting, but no success
so far. On account of the noise
from around, I have been
able to hear her voice but faintly
Will see what can be done
to date her up.
Am glad to have paid
up today a debt of $25
to Cousin H.B.
——————
This is the second day in a row that Papa’s used the expression “date her up,” so I guess he must have picked it up recently, maybe from his friend Shapiro over Labor Day weekend. Could they have spent their time at the “girls camp” conspiratorially whispering to each other about which women they’d like to “date up,” among other things? Maybe that’s what passed for lewd and crude in Papa’s circle.
Meanwhile, this entry gives us our first real picture of what Papa’s workplace was like — a noisy factory where workers took their breaks on the “balcony” (could this mean a fire escape?) and occasionally cast meaningful glances at each other across the rows of machinery. The light tone of this entry makes me think Papa might be emerging a bit more from the depression he felt all summer in the wake of his father’s death. Perhaps the change of season helped, though his repayment of his debt to Herman Breindel — incurred, I’m sure, back in May when Papa needed to raise $100 for his father’s funeral expenses — must have been a load off his mind as well.
It looks like my family will always owe a debt of gratitude to Herman, who gave Papa a place to stay when he first came to America and, apparently, was always ready to help him out in times of trouble.