Tuesday July 1

by


Dull

————–

Matt’s Notes

Papa was still on a forced break from work due to his factory’s “slack season,” and he never enjoyed idleness. I wonder, too, if the ongoing stasis at the Democratic Convention, delivered through his radio in all its grinding detail, had started to affect his mood.

The New York Times characterized the convention galleries as in a “deep depression” expressed “through the afternoon by a curious lowing noise.” Granted, the Times writer may have just needed some sort of hook for yet another article about a convention that was supposed to have adjourned a week earlier, but the proceedings probably felt genuinely boring after the previous days’ ballot swings and delegate-on-delegate fisticuffs.

Meanwhile, some other New York Times headlines that might have caught Papa’s eye as he listened to the Convention included:

  • NEW LAW TIGHTENS CONTROL OF AUTOS; Every Motorist in State Must Be Examined for a License Before Oct. 1. – Up until now, New York State had not required automobile drivers to carry a license. Other provisions of the law decreed “brakes and steering mechanism must be in good order and a suitable horn must be provided”; “a muffler must be used”; “two white headlights of twenty-one candlepower each must be carried on all vehicles”; “all motor vehicles carrying ten or more passengers must have fire extinguishers”; and “trucks must have a mirror adjusted to give a view of the traffic in the rear.” Does that last requirement imply that most cars in 1924 were operating without rear-view mirrors?
  • CELEBRATE OPENING OF SUBWAY LINK; Civic and City Officials Ride in First Train Over 14th St. Line to Brooklyn. – Looks like this “Fourteenth Street-Eastern District subway,” which ran from 6th Avenue and 14th Street in Manhattan to Montrose and Bushwick Avenues, was the first manifestation of today’s storied L line. New York Mayor Hylan used the opening ceremonies to restate his case for transferring control of New York’s Subways from private companies to a municipal body.

  • GIANTS BEAT ROBINS FOR 12TH TIME, 7-5; Sharp Fielding Behind Nehf and Jonnard and Timely Hitting Result in Victory – The Giants beat writer for the Times remains my favorite of all their baseball reporters. Today he said the Giants “put a horseshoe in the glove yesterday and knocked the Robins to a sitting position for the twelfth time this season,” among other colorful turns of phrase.

  • CALLS LEAGUE PLANK FATAL.; Senator Willis Asserts It and Split Will Defeat Democrats. – The debate over whether to call out the Ku Klux Klan by name in the Democratic platform’s anti-bigotry plank was the convention’s most contentious, but running a close second was the question of whether or not to endorse the League of Nations in the platform. The final platform did not include such language, and I imagine this was a great disappointment to Papa who, like Senator Willis, was a great admirer of Woodrow Wilson’s dedication to the League. Said Willis: “They have kicked the memory of Woodrow Wilson into the discard. They have been forgetful of the memory of Woodrow wilson for expediency’s sake.”
  • PEACE SEEMS NEAR IN GARMENT STRIKE; New Manufacturers’ Exchange Signs an Agreement With Workers. – The Amalgamated Clothing Workers strike that began on June 25th came to an early end as the union won a number of concessions on minimum pay and unemployment insurance. I thought at first that Papa may have been a member of the Amalgamated and therefore sitting out work due to the strike, but I’m sure he would have written something about it.

References:

Wednesday July 2

by


I saw the girl that the
marriage broker wanted
me to meet and to
my dissappointment she was
really good looking and
to my impression is very
refined and naive.

I enjoyed being there
for some time, and I will
try to meet her again,

She has the qualifications
that I desire, but will
a man of my nature appeal
to her? I would make an
end to my bachelor days
for the sake of relieving
my loneliness, and may God
help me to succeed.

She is worthy of love.

————–

Matt’s Notes

I first asked my mother if I could borrow Papa’s diary back in Thanksgiving of 2006, and when she brought it to the table my sister picked it up, opened it, and read this passage out loud. It was my first look at the diary in about 20 years, and it certainly dispelled any question of whether Papa’s writing was as compelling or poignant as I remember.

The real surprise of this entry is the unexpected sharp turn it takes in the first paragraph: “To my disappointment” followed by “she was really good looking” and an array of other compliments. It’s an incongruous, surprising phrase. Why would he be disappointed to meet such a desirable woman through his marriage broker? The sentiment becomes clear a few lines later when we realize Papa feared he was not in her league. It’s reminiscent of his early doubts about the 20th Century Girl, when he wrote “But have I the right as a wage earner to propose to a girl like her?” and “has a poor dog [like me] a chance? Is a girl even of her type ripe enough to see my qualities, and truly love me despite my poor standing?”

Could Papa’s previously established distaste for the marriage broker (a.k.a. “shadchan“) have its roots less in his rejection of such a mercenary approach to romance (as I have posited) and more in his reluctance to see himself through the eyes of a prospective wife and find himself wanting? Does he fear his own tendency to idealize “naive” and “refined” women with the “qualifications” he desires, to see them as unattainable, towering presences, to embark, with each crush, on a Cyclonic roller coaster ride of infatuation and doubt and disappointment?

Whatever the reason, the confused and urgent pattern of this entry hints at some inner turmoil. She is attractive and well-qualified; he is not worthy; he would like to put an end to his loneliness; he prays to find someone who might help him. He seems to lose track of the woman he’s met as he goes through these ideas, as if he’s thinking more of what she represents, what she says about his need to marry, to raise a family, than who she really is.

But finally, he tells us, “she is worthy of love.” This assertion, and the way he delivers it, could not be more sad or perfect. It embodies everything he’s going through at once: all his doubt, all his need, all his bewilderment, all his abstraction, all his desire, all his hope. It is absolute; it is tentative. It is the declaration of a man who knows where his path leads but wonders, desperately, if someone will ever help him find where it starts.

Thursday July 3

by


I started to clean up
my nest and will try
to make it more attractive
even if it is for me alone.

Now I’ve been told that I made
not hit with yesterdays girl
however she wishes to go out
with me just so. Strange

—————-

Matt’s Notes

Papa met a woman through a marriage broker yesterday, examined himself through her eyes, and found himself wanting. He questioned whether he was a worthy suitor, whether a laborer of his lot had a chance with a lovely, “naive” woman like her. I wonder if, when he got home, he maintained her point of view and made a similarly unforgiving survey of his bachelor pad: the piles of newspapers he while he idled through his factory’s slack season; stacks of Zionist flyers he hadn’t yet distributed; a cup and a plate unwashed on his table; his monstrous radio, all knobs and bolts and snaking wires, on a makeshift stand, its headphones resting on the seat of his chair.

It was the apartment of a man on his own, a man underemployed, a man who had, since his father’s death two month ago, been too sad and distracted and lost in the whirl of profound grief to pay much attention to his surroundings. Perhaps he felt the need to clean house because the sadness was fading and the need to rebuild his life, rethink his relationship to the world, had taken hold a bit more. Perhaps the approaching Fourth of July milestone made him take stock, or the messiness of the Democratic Convention, now past its fiftieth ballot and still deadlocked, made him feel the need to straighten up what he could.

Then again, maybe he just liked the woman he’d met and thought he might one day have her up for coffee. The marriage broker’s mixed report on her feelings about Papa — she wasn’t that impressed, but would deign to see him again — may have been a familiar part of the matchmaking game, a bit of a ruse to keep him on his toes. So when he says he wants to make his “nest…more attractive even if it is for me alone,” is there a touch of a wish, a hint of a hope, that it might not be that way for long?

—————–

References:

  • HOW DELEGATES TOOK BRYAN’S SPEECH; Turmoil and Disorder Prevails as He Attempts to Push McAdoo. NEW YORK GROUP IS QUIET But Interrupters Were Plenty in the Other State Delegations. (From the July 3rd New York Times)
  • M’ADOO DRIVE FALTERING; Vote Drops Steadily in Second Day of Continuous Balloting. (From the July 3rd New York Times)
  • UNCEASING BALLOTS BENUMB GALLERIES; Din Headquarters Become Dormitories After Fiftieth Polling. (From the July 4th New York Times)

Friday July 4

by


Spending these days
at home doing nothing
but reading listening to the
radio.

This greatest of American
holidays the birthday of the
U.S. Independence I celebrated
quietly within the confines of
my home.

—————-

Matt’s Notes

I suppose someone unfamiliar with Papa’s diary might find Papa’s description of his solitary Independence Day to be mildly sad, but I expect he was more than just a little blue. Holidays and milestones usually made him feel particularly lonely, and a day like this, when it seemed like the whole country was having a party to which he wasn’t invited, couldn’t have made him feel any less alien (he was not yet a citizen) and adrift (the recent death of his father in the old country had left him without any true image of “home” to cling to).

While the above interpretations of Papa’s feelings are speculative, I’m more confident that the sounds of the Democratic Convention on his radio didn’t do much to cut through his gloom. Papa’s beloved party remained locked in limbo, still unable to settle on a Presidential candidate after seventy ballots. The New York Times increasingly cast the struggle in warlike terms; guest columnist Will Rogers compared the delegates to veterans of the Great War while accounts of near-riots and attendees collapsing to the floor made other headlines.

Yet the leading candidates, Smith and McAdoo, still soldiered on even though neither had a chance at the nomination. It was 12:18 AM when the convention finally adjourned and allowed Papa to switch off his radio and go to bed. I suppose the day’s demonstration of democracy at its sloppiest must have made for a strange and sour Fourth of July. Still, Papa would live to see his adopted country recover and accomplish many impressive things, which is some small comfort on July 4th, 2007, when our President has just set a new standard for grotesque tolerance of criminal behavior in his administration. Maybe we’ll get the taste out of our mouths one of these days.

——————————

References from the New York Times:

Saturday July 5

by


Radio and C.I.

Like an aimless wanderer
I find myself, I feel rather
pessimistic today, the outlook
is not so bright for the future,
constant worries, a little
idleness, and the continued
loneliness, are beginning
to have their affect on me.

————-

Matt’s Notes

Papa loneliness and worries about the future are familiar subjects in his diary, but for him to say they’re only just “beginning to” affect him, as if he’s feeling them for the first time, must mean he’s caught in a particularly voluminous wave of sadness right now. Unlike those on the beaches of “C.I.” (Coney Island) though, such waves do not break predictably and are difficult to avoid if they become too rough.

It is, of course, entirely reasonable for him to feel out of sorts since he’s only two months removed from the death of his father and he’s on a forced, extended break from work due to his factory’s slack season, but that’s only easy for us to see. He is simply overwhelmed by it all, and as is his romantic wont he casts is sadness in epic, poetic terms — “Like an aimless wanderer I find myself” — as if he’s living in a Greek myth, an allegorical hero forever riding between Coney Island and Manhattan but unable to touch either shore.

Yet even though his natural optimism has failed him for the moment and “the outlook is not so bright for the future,” we know how the story ends. Papa, this is you:

———————-

Democratic Convention Update:

The balloting deadlock continued at the Democratic Convention, but something new was brewing. If Papa had his radio tuned in to the proceedings, he would have heard the day’s session adjourn so candidates’ representatives could begin private talks on how to end the Democrats’ embarrassing show of disunity. It was impossible to deny that such a solution would have to include the withdrawal of both Al Smith and William McAdoo’s candidacies. Headlines from the New York Times tell the story:

Sunday July 6

by


Enjoyed with friend
Blaustein the cooling waters
at the beach at C.I. concluding
the evening at an open air
movie at Brighton.

———–

Matt’s Notes

Papa and his friend Blaustein (who was also Papa’s brother in the Zionist fraternal organization Order Sons of Zion) were among half a million visitors to Coney Island on this day. The large crowd was apparently well-behaved, though one young man was arrested for violation of the Volstead Act and another broke his neck diving into shallow water. (My grandmother, who lived nearby and would have been 15 at the time, probably heard about this incident and vowed never to so much as say the word “dive” within half a mile of water for the rest of her life.)

I like to think that the “open air movie” Papa saw was something appropriate to the surfside setting like the recently-released The Sea Hawk, a rip-snorting tale of Spanish galley adventures deemed by the New York Times to be “far and away the best sea story that has ever been brought to the screen.” If first-run films weren’t available to Brighton Beach exhibitors, Papa might have seen something that had hung around for a while, like The Thief of Badgad, The Ten Commandments, or Girl Shy with Harold Lloyd.

My own memories of visits to my grandmother on Brighton Beach make it hard for me to picture the screening setup (I keep thinking that someone must have just pointed a projector at a makeshift screen near the end of the boardwalk where my grandmother and her friends would congregate at night) but I’m sure it must have been in a formal outdoor amphitheater with wooden bleachers and roving concessionaires and a regular weekend movie lineup. I wonder if the memory of this night stuck with Papa: images flickering on the screen, ferris wheel turning lazily in the distance, ocean breeze blowing cool. Did he close his eyes for a moment, think to himself that everything would be okay if he could just find some way to stay right there? Did he remember the feeling years later when he moved out to Brighton to raise his family?

——

Update:

Here’s how the parking lot at Coney Island’s Dreamland looked on a crowded day (this photo was taken on July 22, 1923):

References:

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.

————————-

References from the New York Times:

Other References:

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