Friday Feb 15

by

Movies & home.

I’ve a nice little home
but it is awfully lonesome.

————-

Papa doesn’t say what movie he went to, but here are a few that were in town that week:

  • The Yankee Consul
  • Bachelors and Children
  • My Man
  • An Innocent Sinner
  • Name The Man
  • When a Man’s a Man
  • The Ten Commandments
  • The Dramatic Life of Abraham Lincoln
  • The White Sister
  • The Great White Way
  • The Eternal City
  • The Covered Wagon

When he wanted to take a break from his “awfully lonesome” apartment on Attorney Street, there were at least two theaters right around the corner:

Saturday Feb 16

by


4:30 P.M.

Am waiting for a friend
since 2 o’clock, just another
little disappointment, Meanwhile
Enjoying radio. —

Attended evening a
party of the White & Blue
Club and addressed them –

—————

Matt’s Notes

I assume the White & Blue club is the same as the Blue & White club Papa mentioned in an earlier post. (Then again, maybe they were rival organizations, locked in a bitter Talmudic feud over whether the colors of Zionism were “blue and white” or “white and blue.”)

A couple of days ago I speculated on Papa’s personal disappointments and whether they affected how his family, co-workers or activist colleagues perceived him. I don’t think so, or at least not much. To be around Papa was to be on the receiving end of genuine empathy, of the instinctive, effortless way he worked to to make things better for everyone. And people who accept such attention — whether as a gift, a kind word, or a heartfelt talk — tend to admire and appreciate the giver, not to wonder what they might need or if they might indeed need anything.

In short, I think Papa, who was outwardly generous and focused on his causes, looked to others like he had his act together. I don’t think the people he spoke to about Zionism at the Blue and White club would have known how he spent the earlier part of the day, how a “friend” had kept him waiting for two-and-a-half hours, or if his “friend” was a woman he hoped to spend the afternoon with, or how cold a comfort the radio was while he sat by himself in his “awfully lonesome” apartment. I don’t think anyone would have asked.

Sunday Feb 17

by


After a rather monotonous
day spent the Evening at
home with some friends
(Bluestone, Blaustein & Julius)
at a little sociable game.

—————

Papa was hanging out that night with at least two important figures (Bluestone and Blaustein) from the early days of the Order Sons of Zion. I learned this when I called B’nai Zion’s New York office a few months ago; I don’t remember exactly how the conversation went, but I think one of the people I spoke to mentioned Bluestone and Blaustein without prompting, and the historical brochure they subsequently sent me devotes prominent space to them.

Since I’m not a practiced historian and I was just starting this project when I made that call, I didn’t yet know what it was like to stumble on the the answer to a question I’d never considered, in this case “who were Bluestone and Blaustein?” At most, I’d made a mental note to ask my mother if she’d ever heard of them, but they certainly weren’t on my mind or written down anywhere. So, it really rang my bell when they suddenly showed up in my research — it was like I’d found $20 in the lint screen of the dryer or bumped into David Bowie at the deli.

I half expected the B’nai Zion people to thank me for some reason. They had, after all, devoted their lives to an organization founded by Bluestone and Blaustein. If they hadn’t visited my grandfather that night, Bluestone might have gotten run over by a trolley, or Blaustein could have been falsely arrested for smuggling prohibition hooch. At the very least, my grandfather probably served them sandwiches. Doesn’t B’nai Zion at least owe me lunch?

Anyhow, nowadays the buzz of sudden discovery is more familiar and routine, more along the lines of finding a parking spot in Chinatown as opposed to hitting the numbers. Still, every name on my Cry For Help list could give me that Bluestone/Blaustein feeling again, so there’s nothing for me to do but chase the dragon.

Monday Feb 18

by

[no entry today]

——————-

This is the first day without an entry in Papa’s diary. Perhaps is was just an ordinary day in which Papa visited his sisters on the way home from work and spent the evening by himself.

Temperatures in New York were in the low to mid 30’s most of the day with no precipitation. Time Magazine’s cover featured Eleutherios Venizelos, the outgoing Premier of Greece, though much of the issue focused on Woodrow Wilson’s funeral and legacy. The Teapot Dome Scandal shows up in Time and The New York Times, but is not yet in full flower. In sports, the Westminster Dog Show reintroduced the Best In Show award after the previous year’s elimination of it proved unpopular; a Sealyham Terrier took the big prize.

Papa must have been pleased to read an article in the Times about non-Zionist Jewish leaders agreeing to invest in Palestine, another sign of American Jewish sentiment shifting toward unified support of a Jewish homeland. Maybe he read about it before he went to bed, or maybe he spent the night talking about it with friends.

Tuesday Feb 19

by

[no entry today]

————–

Matt’s Notes

This is the second day in a row without an entry. Perhaps Papa was too busy staying warm or just trying to get from place to place: Temperatures were around 20 degrees for most of the day and New York got over three inches of snow. What did this do to trolley and subway service back then? What was it like to walk on the streets?

The New York Times featured an editorial that day about the departure of Navy Secretary Denby, who resigned under pressure from Congress over his role in the Teapot Dome Scandal. Other stories of interest to Papa might have been: a tenement fire on the Lower East Side that killed 13 (was Papa out watching it the previous night? Is that why he didn’t write in his diary?); the Jewish boxer Abe Goldstein’s upcoming bout; an appeal from Samuel Gompers, President of the American Federation of Labor, to help German labor organizations; and the Federal Government’s takeover of the naturalization process.

Wednesday Feb 20

by


I saw H.S. after midnight in the
subway selling papers, hardly to be
recognized. —

When single he was sporty well
dressed had a little business of his own
was good, fine, a wonderful chap.
Well he married some time ago
a fine little girl.

He failed in business and to support
his little family he became a newsboy
How cruel fate is to some people.

Very hard is he struggling now
his little wife faithful at his side
encouraging him to carry on hoping
for better times.

A newsboy dressed in the humblest clothes
runs through the subway cars seeking
customers for his morning papers,
I hid myself on the platform that he
may not see me to spare him the possible
shame of his pride

————

Matt’s Notes

My mother writes:

“I wonder who the unlucky H.S. is. So typical and kind of Papa to hide so the man won’t be embarrassed. Look how he romanticizes his little wife by his side. She may have thrown him out on his sad backside…”

This portrait of H.S. is one of Papa’s more literary entries in a while; notice how it takes on an almost fictional narrative style when he says “a newsboy dressed in the humblest clothes runs through the subway cars…” And, as in all literature, the author’s own proclivities register between the lines: Papa’s own giving, generous nature, coupled with his own longing for a wife and family, guides his imagination toward idealized images of supportive spouses and cruel fates; as my mother observes, he never entertains thoughts of domestic trouble or H.S.’s culpability.

So he hides from H.S., and I truly believe he did it to spare the man’s feelings (and to spare his reputation for posterity, he hid his full name as well). But if I were directing this scene for a movie and the actor playing my grandfather asked why he was motivated to hide, I might suggest “because you’re similar people from similar backgrounds, and you’re hiding from the thought that you might wind up like him.” H.S. even has the same initials as Papa, almost like a symbolic figure in a Gothic novel, an unwelcome doppelgänger who challenges Papa’s illusions.

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.”

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