Phil

Thursday Feb 21

by

Enjoyed dance given by
3rd dist Z.O.A. at the Parkway Palace.

My brother in law received
a summons to court from
the Success School,

My sister came up and
called me to go with her to
the School,

Because I told the School man
twice before that my brother in law
and out of work, he agreed
to teach him English for the
whole term on payments
of $2.00 a week, on account
I gave him the 2nd 5 dollars
I am glad this is off my
head, I will gladly pay for
him every week as he at present
cannot afford it.

—————

Matt’s Notes

I’m not sure where the Parkway Palace or the Third District of the Zionist Organization of America were located, though I’d say any establishment with the word “parkway” in its name was probably in the Bronx. Hopefully I can make it over to the New York Historical Society to look into it a little more…

Of more interest, though, is Papa’s description of his brother-in-law Phil’s problems with the Success School, which was obviously a vocational or language school catering to immigrants. If it had existed in modern times, it probably would have advertised itself on the subway.

I wonder what the atmosphere was like. Was it a second-floor classroom with a sign in the window and a bunch of typewriters sitting on old school desks? Was it close and stuffy, like the sweatshops its students work in? Maybe Papa’s meeting with the “school man” (his English vocabulary must not have included the words “headmaster” or “administrator”) took place in a dark hallway or staircase. It could have even happened in the classroom while class was in session — sounds like the “school man” wanted to get rid of Phil in favor of a full-tuition student, so he might have deliberately made Papa argue right there, thinking he’d be too embarrassed to discuss Phil’s discount arrangement in front of other students.

In any event, Papa’s sense of duty is once again on display as he forks over $5.00 to keep Phil in class (if a previous commenter on this blog has the conversion right, this would be the equivalent of $60 in 2007, which was probably no small chunk of Papa’s salary). My mother says the words “I am glad this is off my head” really jumped out at her because, for Papa, this would have been an over-the-top expression of impatience. But, these are Papa’s private thoughts, and if that’s as annoyed as he got I’m sure no one noticed.

Phil, by the way, was a Russian immigrant who came to America after his first wife “broke her head,” as Phil apparently put it, in a buggy accident. He would outlive three more wives, all of whom, including Papa’s sister Nettie, died under strange circumstances. This earned him the nickname “serial killer” among certain members of my family. According to one story, Phil half-jokingly offered to make Papa’s other sister Clara his fifth wife when she was around eighty. “No,” she replied, “I’m too young to die.”

Wednesday Feb 27

by


When I went up with Philip
to the School to pay for him
$2.00 the owner called him
out of the class and told me
and him that we would have
to pay the balance of 50 dollars
at once and when I told him
that I cannot do it besides
we have last week made up
for $2.00 a week, he sent
Philip and myself home,
saying ‘you can go home
Good night, good night’

I think it is an outrage
the way that school man
acted, I intend to take
action I will consult Sat.
Counsellor Levine about it,

Spent rest of the Evening
at hom adjusting my correspondence

—————

Matt’s Notes

This is a continuation of a saga involving Phil, who was Papa’s brother-in-law, the Success School, where Phil took English lessons, and Papa, who was paying for Phil’s lessons on an installment plan he’d arranged with the school’s headmaster. As I noted earlier, I think the headmaster wanted to kick Phil out in favor of a student who could pay in full. I don’t know why he needed the $50 so badly, but since he gave Papa so much grief I’ll take license to say he was an opium addict who’d promised Phil’s seat to one of the many prostitutes he owed money to. Poor guy. It’s hard to think straight when your brain is scrambled by syphilis and you’ve sold all your children to cover your gambling debts.

“Counsellor Levine” was, I expect, on retainer with one of the immigrant-oriented mutual aid societies Papa belonged to, most likely the Order Sons of Zion or the Sniatyn landsmanshaft. This would be a perfect example of why the services provided by landsmanshaftn were so important to people like Papa. He never could have afforded representation on his own, but for a few dollars a year in club dues he knew he could talk to a lawyer when jerks like the Success School’s headmaster tried to shit on his family.

—————-

Additional Notes

Sometimes little details in Papa’s entries really do a lot to illustrate the texture of his life in the 20’s. In this case, the headmaster’s bullying phrase “you can go home, good night, good night” (I can’t help but think of how Gene Wilder dismisses Charlie and Grandpa with a tight “I said good day sir…I said good day!” in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory) and Papa’s mention of “adjusting my correspondence” feel especially Edwardian to me. We shouldn’t forget, either, that Papa wrote this entry in a clothbound journal by gaslight, probably just before bed and just after using the communal toilet down the hall. The concerns of his life — political work, romantic adventures, sick parents, nasty school masters — were timeless, but his day-to-day experiences were, of course, strictly 1924.

Friday Oct 3

by

Philip my brother in law
had a serious accident
his hands are wounded
and his children are not well,

Oh God help them get well
again

————–

As I’ve mentioned before, Papa’s sister Nettie seemed to suffer far more from the day-to-day indignities of Jewish immigrant life in New York’s tenements than Papa did, at least in 1924. Her children were sick and wracked with coughing fits; the joy of her son’s birth was compromised by a telegram from overseas announcing her father’s death; her husband, Philip, got pushed around by an opportunistic shyster posing as a teacher of English; and now Philip, already in and out of work, suffered an accident from which, I’ve been told, he never quite recovered.

Unfortunately, even as Papa constructed a more uplifting story for himself in subsequent years, Nettie’s life continued to describe a tragic arc. Her daughter, Ruchale, would die of meningitis and Nettie would eventually conclude a long struggle with mental illness by taking her own life. Her sadness was of a very different sort than Papa’s, incurable, bleak; I wonder if, in subsequent years, Papa contrasted his own life to hers and felt, through his empathetic sadness, somehow thankful.