Saturday Mar 15

by

Sent home to parents $5.00
& to Solomon & Priskas 2.50 each

Met Beite & her new husband
at Breindel’s and spent the
remainder of the evening at
Brother Rothblums house in E.N.Y.
making new aquaintances
especially that of a [pretty] girl who is
unusually gifted with knowledge

It was indeed not at all a burden
for me to take her home from the
farthest point in Brooklyn to the
farthest point in the Bronx, our
conversation was a varied one
being that of music, arts, business
etc, and she certainly made a
hit with me, she is not of that too naive
kind but shrewed and clever.

I reached home at 5 a.m.

——————

Matt’s Notes

Six weeks earlier, a woman Papa hadn’t seen for eight years approached him on the BMT from Brooklyn to Manhattan and confessed her love for him — fruitlessly so, for she was also engaged to be married. Though fate had denied her to him, he grabbed her for one impossibly melodramatic kiss before they reached their destinations. “If I had only known,” he wrote in his diary that night.

And now, another romantic, cinematic sequence aboard the BMT: Papa offers to escort the young woman to the subway and ride with her into Manhattan. He looks sharp and handsome; she’s happy to accept.

photo of papa in a sharp hat

As they cross the Williamsburg bridge, he tells her how his cousin Breindel, who he had seen in the early part of the evening, met him and his sister Clara when they arrived at Ellis Island in 1913.

At the Canal Street BMT stop, just a few block from his home, he walks her to the Broadway IRT; the train pulls up, and, impulsively, he jumps on board with her. If this were a silent movie, the title card might read:

Cupid's arrow finds its mark

The long ride up through Manhattan begins. Every few stops she assures him he does not have to see her home, but each time he tells her it’s his pleasure, he’s enjoying their talk, it’s getting late and she shouldn’t be alone, he wants to hear what she has to say. She asks him why he calls their mutual friend Rothblum his “brother,” and he explains that they are lodge brothers in the Order Sons of Zion.

He will not budge, so transfixed is he by her face

Finally, the subway emerges from under ground and becomes an elevated train at 161st street. Papa leans in close to point out Yankee Stadium, promises to take her to a game some day.

photo of Yankee Stadium

Only a few stops left now: Mt. Eden, 176th, Burnside, 183rd, Fordham Road, Kingsbridge Road. Finally, with the hour nearing 4:00 AM, she gets out at Mosholu Parkway. Perhaps she declines his offer to walk her to her door, a final treat she’ll save for another time.

photo of IRT map

He relives every moment of their ride on the way back, each stop reminds him of the way she turned her head, laughed, accidentally brushed her hand against his, impressed him with her strong opinions, her command of facts.

lost in his new memories, he nearly misses his stop

When he emerges onto the street, the sky is already a light purple. The streets are mostly empty. It is Sunday. The air is fresh and cool.

and so the world welcomes a new day. But what dawns for him?

————————

Image sources:

Sunday Mar 16

by

It was like a dream. My
last night’s experience, I will
try to have my dream repeated,

Visited Freidas children

Incidentally met the
Sherman sisters at Jeans house
Jean tells me that the Rose
Sh. cares for me which makes
me feel bad as I haven’t any
interest in her. —

I shall wait for the
certain girl and with certain
qualities.

I either I met her
or and I’m hopefull of meeting
her again or I am have yet
to find her.

———————

Matt’s Notes

Looks like Papa was officially smitten with the woman he met the night before, when he shared with her an epic, movie montage of a subway ride “from the farthest point in Brooklyn to the farthest point in the Bronx.” He couldn’t have slept much — he got home at 5:00 AM and I’m sure he was far too dutiful to be a late sleeper — but the first thing he did in the morning was grab his diary and get his excitement on paper. His romantic mind is hard at work, turning his encounter into “a dream,” something more than just a long ride, a memory he cherishes as if he were remembering it twenty years hence as the start of something big.

It’s quite a thing to be single and struggling in New York City. Every conversation is heady with potential, every flirtation could be the turn you took, every subway platform could be the stage for act I. (I went through a little Roosevelt Island Tram phase myself, though Papa’s aphrodisiac seems to have been the BMT.) And the more strange dramas the real world forces on you — your faraway father is ill, like Papa’s was, and you don’t even know what he looks like anymore — the more you believe the unexpected must work the other way, too, that a two-hour subway ride you didn’t see coming has the power to make everything different.

Wait: Papa was a living, breathing, young man, too, not just a nexus of plotlines and motivations; he had almost no choice but to get excited about the woman he’d met. I like this entry because it shows his excitement and immersion in this moment so clearly — the uncharacteristically hurried handwriting, the crossed-out letters, the free associative weighing of what happened to him the previous night. He reveals it in the way he discusses “Rose,” the woman cousin Jean is nudging him toward. She’s not his speed, he’s really sorry, but she just doesn’t have those “certain qualities” he’s looking for. But we know who does, right? Well, let’s not go that far, he tells himself, let’s be objective, “I shall wait for the certain girl,” whoever that might be, but in a flash he’s back to the night before: “I either met her, or am hopefull of meeting her again,” written as if they are two separate options but, of course, refer only to his subway companion.

He checks his tone one last time, cautioning himself that maybe “I have yet to find her,” but he can’t contain his excitement. He wants to have the “dream repeated.” Who could blame him, but who wouldn’t tell him to be careful?

Monday Mar 17

by


Movies & home

My only companion radio
is again entertaining me
this evening.

My heart is full of dreams,
I am longing for a girl to
love me sincerely.

I can’t bear the emptiness
of my life.

H. whom I met Saturday
is a girl that appeals to me
most. I’m planning inviting
her to the opera —

But have I the right as a
wage earner to propose to
a girl like her?

I’m happy in the thought
that she is my friend now
being having been introduced to me by
my friend Rothblum.

———————

Matt’s Notes

“Perhaps in the pursuit of action yesterday’s dream will be forgotten before the day is over…”

Papa wrote those words a few weeks earlier after staying out all night with friends and acquaintances from the old country. How well he knew himself, or at least enough to dread his own swings from dreaminess to disappointment.

And here it is again: Just day ago, lost in fantasies, Papa dared to think he’d met the woman who would change his world. Now he corrects himself abruptly, angrily, declares himself unworthy of her, prepares himself to settle for mere friendship. A day in the factory, an evening alone, a night with his humble possessions — radio, chair, photo of his faraway parents — have shamed him, dissolved his illusions.

To see this reminds me of why Papa’s diary feels so important to me. His beautiful, spare prose speaks richly of his struggle to reconcile what he wants with what he has and is worth reading in its own right. But taken in view of his whole life, it testifies to a deeper, more difficult struggle — the struggle for perspective familiar to those of us who swing between extremes of expectation and judgment.

Papa has as little reason to call his life “empty” as he does to think “H” can transform it, yet he is convinced each is true, and the contrast is unbearable to him. Still, we know he rode out the stormy swings of his inner life to become a man who conveyed and imparted a sense of modulation, realism, and calm. I have idealized Papa, but the more I read about him, the more I realize he must have always retained a trace of his internal changeability; perhaps it was, in part, his mastery of it that made him so remarkable. I’m certainly no stranger to the private, stormy swings he writes about. (Is anyone?) It’s good to think they might be worth it.

—————–

Additional Notes:

Movies Papa might have seen that night include:

  • The Thief of Bagdad
  • The Covered Wagon
  • Thy Name is Woman
  • The Hunchback of Notre Dame (I wonder if he saw this — it would have matched his mood)
  • The Great White Way
  • America
  • The Ten Commandments
  • A Society Scandal
  • Yolanda
  • The Hoosier Schoolmaster
  • The Fighting Coward

The New York Times also published an article that day on the potential of the “phonofilm,” or sound movie. Author Lee De Forest takes on those who doubt its prospects and makes a strong case for the use of sound movies in news reporting and political coverage. While he’s not sure how it might help dramatic films, he seems most excited about the potential use of music. It’s worth reading here.

Tuesday Mar 18

by


Spent the night with
Rothblum first motoring around
with him and Mrs. Rothblum
in their car, and discussing
the possibility of my further
aquaintance with Miss. H.

After taking Mrs. Rothblum
to her sisters apt. we spent the
night at 2nd Ave Baths

I have resolved to call H.
the 20th Century girl because
in my opinion she mentally
stands above other women
her gayety, full of pep, and I’m
even told that she is smoking
cigarettes (to which I don’t object)
just the perfect 20th Century girl

—————–

Matt’s Notes

The roller coaster ride called “The 2oth Century Girl” continues. On day one, Papa is sure he’s met the girl of his dreams; on day two, seized by pessimism, he literally says “I’m not worthy” and reprimands himself for his folly; on day three, in a scene that could be from a Jewish version of The Great Gatsby, we find him back in the game, “motoring around” and taking a steam bath with the friends who’ll help him plot his next move.

He’s rebounded quite energetically from the previous day’s funk, and in the process has given us another great look at the texture of life in his New York. When he says he motored around in a car, he likely means something like a Model T Ford or a Chevy touring sedan:

My friend Sixto, the highest car authority I know, says there were “hundreds of thousands” of these cars on the road by the 1920’s, and even wage earners like Papa’s friends could have picked one up for very little money. (There were also “a lot of car builders in Manhattan and Brooklyn,” but odds are Rothblum owned a Model T, especially since Henry Ford’s antisemitism wasn’t so well-known yet and wouldn’t have dissuaded a Jewish activist from buying his products.) Sixto also says:

The model T was incredibly sturdy as it was
built to run on crappy rural roads (many, if not most,
unpaved) and share the road with horses on cobble
stoned streets…

The driver of that car drove the car with a huge
steering wheel, and he most likely worked the fuel
from a lever on the steering wheel, while shifting AND
adjusting the timing of the ignition as required
(another lever on the steering wheel). THAT was real
driving.

I don’t have any pictures of Papa driving, but I do have this studio photo of him posing in a prop car with a “huge steering wheel”:

I can picture Papa discussing the “20th Century girl’s” non-objectionable tobacco habit at the Second Avenue Baths, obviously one of the many “schvitzes,” or Russian bath houses, that used to be common in New York. (“Schvitz” literally means “sweat” in Yiddish, and it can be used either as a verb, as in “I’m schvitzing from the heat already,” as a noun to refer to a bath house itself, as in “get me to the schvitz on time” or as a reference to the act of taking a steam bath, as in “I can’t think straight without a schvitz“.)

The only schvitz I’ve even been to is the Tenth Street Baths between First Avenue and Avenue A, and as far as I can tell the overall experience hasn’t changed in a thousand years (except for some coed schvitzing on select nights). The intrepid schvitzer can choose from a Turkish-style steam room, which doesn’t seem very popular, or a dry heat room, which is always full of betoweled men sitting on stone risers that appear to have been carved by ancient peoples from the very bedrock of Manhattan. For a couple of dollars extra, a large person will rub mineral-infused, soapy water on you with a leafy tree branch, and your friends will question your manhood if you don’t take a couple of dips in the icy pool right outside the sauna. This is apparently good for your circulation, which is important if you’re going to avail yourself of the steak-heavy menu in the restaurant upstairs. I usually only take a schvitz before a major milestone, as I did before my wedding, but in Papa’s day it was a much more casual diversion, and certainly an appropriate environment in which to discuss dating strategies.

Update 4/7:

Reader Dina points out the existence of an 1895 comic operetta by Ludwig Englander called “The 20th Century Girl.” Here are the details according to a site called musicaltheaterguide.com:

The 20th Century Girl; comic opera; 3 acts; libretto by Sydney Rosenfeld; Bijou Theatre, New York; 25 January 1895; revised and reopened 6 May 1895 (total 43 perfs)

And here’s a New York Times humor piece from 1912 that uses the same expression (subscription required). Looks like it was, not surprisingly, a common expression.

—————-

Image credits

Library of Congress reproduction number LC-USZ62-63968. No known restrictions on publication.

Library of Congress reproduction number LC-DIG-npcc-02566. No known restrictions on publication.

Wednesday Mar 19

by

On my way from work I was
instinctively walked into a
synagogue to listen to the
Megilath Esther (The Book of Esther)

The house was crowded, everything
went along mechanically, without
any enthusiasm. —

In my mind is a picture
of the same scene in the old
world in my early childhood,
at sunset all stores are closed
All work has stopped, All streets
are full of young & old go on their
way to the synagogues dressed in
their Sabbath’s best, At the places of
worship, everybody seems so happy
as if they would live there with Esther
her adventure. Thus they welcomed
the eve. of the happ merry fiesta of
Purim. — Sweet memories.

——————

Matt’s Notes:

Purim is one of the more cheerful Jewish holidays, a celebration of how ancient Jews of the Persian Empire saved themselves from an evil royal minister who hoped to destroy them. The celebration involves dressing up like characters from the story, putting on plays, having parties and giving to charity. Papa grew up in a Jewish ghetto where Purim was probably the biggest festival of the year and gave everyone a breather from the trials of their daily lives, so it’s no wonder it meant so much to him.

When I read about his disappointment, I’m reminded of the scene in Midnight Cowboy in which John Voight arrives in New York, sure his cowboy look will make him a standout gigolo, only to see dozens of other cowboy gigolos wandering around. This might seem like an odd association, but I bring it up because New York can be unforgiving that way — huge, busy and hungry, the city is indifferent even to the things we find most significant. New York has never needed help from any holiday to feel colorful and hectic; perhaps that’s why, in Papa’s eyes, Purim felt less important when imported.

I should note that my wife, Stephanie, who spent her early childhood in an insular Orthodox community, remembers Purim as a big deal and has many happy memories of it. Perhaps the dilution of Purim Papa sensed was due to the diversity of his neighborhood (yes, it was very Jewish, but not entirely so, while my wife’s neighborhood was probably as culturally homogeneous as Papa’s home town). He might have enjoyed Purim more, too, if he’d had children to dress up and regale with the old stories; surely such holidays intensified his longing for a family of his own and contributed to his sense of disappointment.

In any event, the Yivo Institute for Jewish Research has a great Web site called “People of a Thousand Towns” with images of Eastern European Purim celebrations in the early 20th Century. I’ve written to Yivo with a request to use some of these images. Alas, I’m not sure I’m ever going to hear back from them The above and below photos of early 20th Century Eastern European Purim celebrations come from this collection and are published with their permission. Check out the site when you get a chance (registration required) but beware — you may lose a few hours paging through all the images.

—————

Update 3/19 –

My mother writes:

When I was growing up in Brooklyn, Purim was also a big deal. I remember one play in Hebrew school where I played Queen Vashti, the king’s petulant wife. Papa thought I was wonderful and raved about the way I tossed my head, but I’m sure he believed I should have been chosen for the part of Esther.

—————-

Additional references:

Here’s more on the story of Purim from jewfaq.org and Wikipedia .

———-

Update 3/22 –

——–

–

Thursday Mar 20

by


I was embued with
a Purim spirit just thinking
a little of days gone by
Down in my neighborhood
I saw some cheep masquerades
just a shadow of a Purim
in the old world.

Visited my sisters.

I talked with the 20th
Century girl on the phone,
I long for a closer association
with her, I am constantly
thinking of her.

————

Matt’s Notes

Just a few days after meeting the “20th Century Girl,” Papa has become the very picture of a lovesick young man. Nothing can distract him from his longing; even children running by in their Purim regalia make him feel worse. (Not that he was happy about the state of Purim in New York to begin with, as we saw yesterday.) If this were an old cartoon he’d be kicking a can down the street. Maybe a car would drive through a puddle and splash him.

I wonder where he talked to the 20th Century Girl — he didn’t have a phone in his apartment, so he must have borrowed a neighbor’s or used a pay phone in his building or on the street. I’m sure he prearranged the call with his friend Rothblum (who introduced Papa to the 20th Century girl) during their conspiratorial shvitz a couple of nights earlier.

In any event, when she talked to Papa, the 20th Century Girl might have looked a little something like this:



Image source: Young woman posed with a telephone, 1915. Library of Congress call # LC-USZ62-89817. No rights information indicated.

Friday Mar 21

by

(above date) First day of Spring
proper to renew hopes

I am restless, if my
not for my radio which
kept me spellbound, in
the report round by round
of a championship boxing
fight at the Madison Square Garden
where at the End a new Jewish
champion was crowned,
I would not [be able to] stand my
loneliness. —

Just at this time I am
thinking of the 20th C. girl.

Before long I expect to have
the pleasure of her company
at an opera performance.

Received a letter from home
(parents) father still ill, May
the next letter bring me the news
of his speedy recovery.

——————

Matt’s Notes

The boxing match Papa listened to while he pined for the 20th Century Girl was a bantamweight bout in which Abe Goldstein, the challenger, took the title from defending champ Joe Lynch in a 12-round decision. According to the New York Times, Goldstein was “a product of the Ninety-second Street Y.M.H.A. and a graduate of the fistic nursery over which Nat Osk, Y.M.H.A. athletic instructor, reigns.” This refers to the very 92nd St. Y known today for its upscale guest lectures (“In Conversation: The Nimoys on Collecting”) and adult education programs (“Healthy, Wealthy & Wise: Life After 50”) so it’s a little hard to picture it as a hotbed of pugilism.

Yet so it was. Abe Goldstein was one of the many Jews who, hoping to box their way out of the ghetto, came to dominate the sport in the 1920’s. In Papa’s day, more New York boxers were Jewish than Irish or Italian, and Jewish gym owners, promoters and trainers also “assumed disproportionately prominent roles in all aspects of the sport”.1 In fact, when Goldstein left the Y for Grupp’s Gymnasium on 116th Street in Harlem, he came under the wing of the great Jewish trainer Ray Arcel, a Stuyvesant High School grad who trained 20 world champions including Kid Gavilan, Roberto Duran and Larry Holmes. The owner of Grupp’s was apparently such an anti-Semite that Arcel and his charges picked up and took their act to the little-known, Jewish-owned Stillman’s Gym on 125th street, after which it grew into one of boxing’s legendary gyms.2

Jewish boxers usually wore Stars of David on their robes and trunks and rarely tried to pass for gentile, though their attitudes varied as to whether they were fighting on behalf of the Jewish people or just doing their jobs3. Papa had no such ambivalence, though. Like many Jewish immigrants who had experienced European anti-Semitism firsthand, Papa took pride in his fighting landsmen and other “muscle Jews” who refused to appear stereotypically weak and cowed. Remember, he nicknamed the chapter of the mutual aid society he belonged to “The Maccabeans” after the Jewish warriors of old, so living, breathing Jewish athletes (who probably lived across the alley from him) must have filled him with more than garden-variety ethnic pride.

Alas, no one — not “Slapsie” Maxie Rosenblum, Benny Leonard, or Ray Arcel himself — could have shown Papa how to conquer his loneliness or beat the poverty that kept his ailing parents in the old country. We’ve seen before how milestones made him especially contemplative and melancholy, and though the arrival of Spring was “proper to renew hopes,” I’m not sure he felt genuinely hopeful. Stay tuned.

————-

References for this post:

———————

And here’s a 1922 Benny Leonard fight via YouTube:

————–

Our friend J.R. adds:

For what it’s worth, Abe Goldstein’s first fight was on June 30, 1916, in New York, New York – he knocked out George Lewis in the 8th round. On August 4th, he defeated Kid Rago, and on August 26, he made quick work of a boxer who went by the name Smiling Willie. From what I can tell, the names of his competitors grew more and more comical as he went along culminating in successive and, one would assume, heartbreaking losses in 1925 to Bushy Graham in New York, and Dixie LaHood in Butte, Montana. (Even the names of the towns he fought in got funnier if you read them wrong!)

He was considered to be among the top five bantemweights of all time… presumably by some guy who was familiar with at least five bantemweights.

⇐ Previous 7 Days|Next 7 Days ⇒