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

———

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:

Tuesday July 8

by


After listening till 4 am
to the dem. convention at the
Garden, there is still no choice
of a candidate.

There is a new and powerful
radio station W.N.Y.C.
run by this city. I expect
to derive the most benefit from
it as I am an ardent radio
listener. The first nights
program was an indication
that they will give good programs
in the future!

—————

Matt’s Notes

Papa felt compelled to listen to the Democratic Convention broadcast until 4 AM because the voting deadlock that had crippled the nominating process (and kept the convention in Madison Square Garden for a week longer than originally intended) had finally broken. William McAdoo, who seemed a stone’s throw from the nomination just a couple of weeks earlier, had finally faced the impossibility of his candidacy and released his delegates, as had all other candidates including New York Governor Al Smith.

The nomination, of course, was not going to be more than a door prize at this point. The 1924 Presidential conventions were the first ever to be broadcast on the radio and accordingly received unprecedented scrutiny. The Democrats’ public, drawn-out conflicts over how to treat the Klan and the League of Nations in their platform, as well as their comically protracted balloting, had pretty much sealed their party’s defeat in the upcoming general election.

For those of you just joining us, we should note again that commercial radio was just finding its footing in 1924, and the novelty of the Democratic convention’s broadcast had New Yorkers enthralled. They clustered in public parks to listen to the action on public address systems, crowded the entrances of radio stores, and, if they were early adopters like Papa, stayed up until all hours with their headphones on. I suppose many people, including Papa (pictured below with his radio) must have spent the week of the Democratic convention, especially during its final days, in a hyper-attenuated, sleep-deprived state.

Yet even as New Yorkers wondered how the action at the convention was going to play out, they must have also wondered, in some way, at the strange cultural phenomenon unfolding in their city. New York may have been familiar with hosting large events, but until now there was no such thing as a broadcast “media event” of such scale and profile. Buildings were lined with bunting, the streets were full of parades and local businesses played host to packs of seersuckered delegates from all over. But now, in addition to what they could see, New Yorkers had the odd, new ability to witness the raw goings-on inside the Garden. There simply had never been anything like it. The ubiquity must have been disorienting, maybe even thrilling. How did it feel? Like a child tasting ice cream for the first time? A blind person suddenly seeing a rainbow? (Or, more appropriately, someone discovering e-mail in the early 90’s?) What was it, exactly, they were a part of? How were they supposed to regard it?

But, let’s get back to the night of the 8th: At some point around 9:00, well before he realized he’d be up until the wee hours with the convention broadcast on WEAF, Papa tuned his radio to the 526-meter wave and caught the first sounds of WNYC. Today, New Yorkers of a certain demographic know WNYC as their city’s public radio station and take its existence for granted, but back in the 20’s municipally-financed radio was a strange innovation; it would not have arrived in New York but for the political savvy and tenacity of Grover A. Whalen, the city’s Commissioner for Plant and Structures.

The New York Times‘ coverage of the opening ceremonies quoted Mayor Hylan’s descriptions of the station’s rather broad goals:

To insure uninterrupted programs of recreational entertainment for all the people is one of the compelling reasons for the installation of the Municipal Radio Broadcasting Station. To assist the Police Department in the work of crime prevention and detection; the Fire Department in the expeditious employment of its land and marine equipment in fighting fires; and the Health Department in safeguarding the physical well-being of New York’s gigantic population are also some of the conspicuous services to be rendered by this municipal plant.
…

Municipal information, formerly available only after patient perusal of reports, is not to be brought into one’s home in an interesting, delightful and attractive form. Facts, civic, social, commercial and industrial, will be marshaled and presented by those with their subjects well in hand. Talks on timely topics will also be broadcasted. Programs sufficiently diversified to meed all tastes, with musical concerts, both vocal in instrumental, featured at all times, should make ‘tuning in’ on the Municipal Radio pleasant as well as profitable.

According to the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, the night’s programming that so excited Papa included these highlights:

Clergymen of three different faiths pronounced invocations. Mons. Charles A. Cassidy, the Rev. Dr. Charles H. Nauman and Rabbi Bernard Drachman offered prayers. The program included several musical numbers in addition to addresses by many city officials. Vincent Lopez was there with his orchestra. The Six Brown Brothers saxophoned several selections. Miss Estelle Carey, who is widely known from her connection with the Mark Strand Theater in this boro, rendered a vocal solo. Several other features, including the Police Band and the Police Quartet, made the initial program pleasant to the musical ear.


Note that Papa almost never used exclamation marks in his diary, so I think the last line of this entry — “The first nights program was an indication that they will give good programs in the future!” — shows his excitement not only for the programming, but for the development of the radio medium in general. As I’ve mentioned before, Papa’s love of radio made him something of a proto-media geek — he likely built his radio set from a kit before commercial sets were commonly available, he listened obsessively (and, in his lonelier moments, wistfully characterized the radio as his “only companion”) and he recorded with boyish excitement the music, speeches, and sporting events he heard.

Alas, few recordings of 1924 radio exist (though WNYC has a simulation of their opening night’s programming on their 80th Anniversary retrospective Web site) though a few are still around. Earlier in the year, I paid a lunchtime visit to the Museum of Television and Radio and listened to a clip of Al Smith’s campaign manager, young Franklin Delano Roosevelt, announcing the release of Smith’s delegates to the roaring approval of the Democratic Convention crowd. I must admit I wasn’t prepared for how solemn I’d feel when I realized I was listening to the very sounds Papa must have heard himself. I sat there and stared for a while at my carrel’s desk. Some guy behind me chuckled aloud at the old sitcoms he was watching, and I felt offended somehow, as if he should have known how close I had just come to Papa.

——————

Thanks to Andy and Jennifer at WNYC for their help with this post.

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References from The New York Times:

Other references:

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Image Source: “One of the delegates to the convention who comes from Texas.” Library of Congress #LC-USZ62-132243. Image rights not evaluated, according to the LOC.

Wednesday July 9

by


[no entry]

——————-

Matt’s Notes

I imagine Papa left today’s page blank because he was up until four in the morning listening to the Democratic Convention. As noted yesterday, the convention’s week-long balloting deadlock had finally broken and all candidates, including former frontrunners William McAdoo and Al Smith, had released their delegates. (Or, as the New York Times put it, “The two men in this convention who have inspired the bitterest ecstasies of love and had had been driven out of the running after a struggle that had endured too long…”)

Papa certainly tuned his radio to the convention proceedings on this day and heard, at 2:35 in the afternoon, the completion of the 103rd ballot in which John W. Davis received the nomination. A native West Virginian, Davis had served as Ambassador to the United Kingdom, as a one-term member of Congress and as Solicitor General under Woodrow Wilson. He was a fairly progressive Democrat — he condemned the Ku Klux Klan and advocated the repeal of prohibition — and was a formidable appellate lawyer. His running mate turned out to be Nebraska’s Charles W. Bryan, brother of the famed orator William Jennings Bryan (William J. had inauspiciously supported the more conservative William McAdoo throughout the convention and had lobbied against Davis’ nomination).

Davis was, of course, doomed to lose regardless of his qualifications. The Democratic Party had turned into a national joke, literally, during the protracted and contentious convention. (Since Alabama began each of the 103 convention ballots by nominating its Senator, Oscar Underwood, the words “Alabama casts twenty-four votes for Oscar W. Underwood” became a national catch phrase and vaudeville punch line along the lines of “I’m the decider.”) Papa would have liked Davis, but but no one would have been able to overcome the party’s problems in time for Election Day.

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).

——————————

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.

Friday July 11

by


C.I.

Attended funeral this
morning of Prof. I.S. Hurwich
and for the first time have
I seen how dead human
bodies are being cremated.

The gruelling process of
cremation is certainly
touching.

——————-

Matt’s Notes

I must say I’m a bit baffled by this entry. I think Papa says he went to the funeral of a Professor named “I.S. Hurwich,” though his handwriting bunches up a little and makes it hard to tell:

I haven’t yet learned who Professor Hurwich was or how Papa know him, though I’m more intrigued by the circumstances under which Papa watched the good Professor’s cremation. Did the funeral take place while Papa was out on Coney Island? Hurwich was no Viking — he was more likely a Zionist leader or, perhaps, a luminary of Yiddish-language criticism — so I don’t think he was set afire and launched out past the breakers. I suppose a public crematorium could have been one of Luna Park’s sideshow attractions — there was, after all, an “Incubator Baby” hospital right on the Boardwalk — but I don’t think Papa would have paid to see such a thing.

So, the question remains: Who was Professor Hurwich, and in what kind of facility did his cremation take place? Also, were open cremations an established tradition in the 1920’s? And what does Papa mean when he says the cremation process was “touching?” I usually think “touching” describes the invocation of gentle or wistful emotions, but maybe Papa, who also found the affair “grueling,” used it as a polite way to say “grotesque” or “frightening.” In any event, gentle reader, please send an e-mail or drop a comment if you have any ideas.

Saturday July 12

by


Coney Island again
until a late hour

———————

Matt’s Notes

With a lot of time to kill and little money to spend during his factory’s slack season, Papa has become a Coney Island regular over the summer (especially during the last week of 80-plus degree weather, when he visited five times).

As previously indicated, Papa liked to get there via the ferry that ran from the Battery in Manhattan (a good walk or short ride on the elevated train from his apartment on Attorney Street) to Seagate, where he and his friends had rented a locker for the season. (Alas, the Battery-Seagate ferry no longer runs, and had in fact been falling out of favor since the advent of subway service to Coney).

I’m trying to learn more about what he might have done there every day, but in the meantime we can at least be sure that his swimsuit was a full-body ensemble, to wit:

Sunday July 13

by

Empty

——————

Matt’s Notes

The words Papa chooses for his dismissive diary entries — whether he writes “dull” or “not important” or “unimportant” or “empty,” as he does today — always strike me as pointed and loaded with hidden emotion. To sit down, take pen in hand, and write “empty,” as opposed to one of a thousand other ways he could have described his nondescript day, recalls his earlier, anxious discussions of his life’s “emptiness” and the loneliness he’s struggled with all year.

Papa is idle, on a long, forced break from work. He lacks the money to do much more than ride out to Coney Island every day and wander, by himself, among the happy, thronging couples. He remains without romantic companionship. But perhaps his most difficult struggle is with a new form of homesickness grown thick and tangled since his father’s death. He no longer experiences ordinary longing for the old country, but instead faces the yawning absence of what he hoped to recapture one day with his family. He is awakened, after eleven years, from the sweet dream of safety and belonging and ease made possible by the prospect, however remote, that he might see them all in one place again.

For those of us following Papa’s diary, the word “empty” is anything but empty. It is a one-word poem written in longing for some relief. It is really true, can we really believe, that what came later would make him forget what it meant to him in 1924?

It seems that way. Papa, this is you:

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